THACKERAY'S     COMPLETE     WORKS. 

THE    PEOPLE'S    EDITION. 

With   325    Illustrations    by    the    Author,    Du    Maurier,   Cruikshank, 
Leech,  Millais,  Barnard,  and  others. 


THE 

ADVENTURES     OF     PHILIP 

ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD; 

SHEWING   WHO    ROBBED    HIM,    WHO    HELPED    HIM,    AND   WHO 

PASSED    HIM    BY  : 

TO    WHICH    IS    NOW    PREFIXED 

A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY. 
CATHERINE:    A    STORY. 

BY 

WILLIAM    MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 


'     2933G 

BOSTON 

ESTES    AND     LAURIAT 

1885 


SCoaa 

CONTENTS    OF    VOLUME    L 


-o- 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY. 
Chaptee  Page 

I 1 

II,     How  Mrs.  Gann  received  two  Lodgers 12 

III.  A  Shabby  Genteel  Dinner,  and  other  Incidents  of  a  like 

Nature 22 

IV.  In  which  Mr.  Fitch  proclaims  his  Love,  and  Mr.  Brandon 

prepares  for  War 36 

V.     Contains  a  great  Deal  of  complicated  Love-making    .     .       43 

VI.     Describes  a  Shabby  Genteel  Marriage,  and  more  Love- 
making    58 

VII.     Which  brings  a  great  Number  of  People  to  Margate  by 

the  Steamboat 64 

VIII.     Which  treats  of  War  and  Love,  and  many  Things  that 

are  not  to  be  understood  in  Chap.  VII 71 

IX.     Which  threatens  Death,   but  contains  a  great  Deal  of 

Marrying 83 


THE   ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 

I.  Doctor  Fell 97 

II.  At  School  and  at  Home 106 

III.  A  Consultation 115 

IV.  A  Genteel  Family 123 

V.  The  Noble  Kinsman 135 

VL  Brandon's 151 


vi  CONTENTS. 

Chapter  Page 

VII.     Impletur  Veteris  Bacchi 163 

VIII.  Will  be  pronounced  to  be  Cynical  by  the  Benevolent    .  178 

IX.  Contains  one   Riddle  which  is   solved,   and   perhaps 

some  more 184 

X.     In  which  we  visit  "  Admiral  Byng  " 195 

XI.     In  which  Philip  is  very  ill-tempered 205 

XII.     Damocles 219 

XIII.  Love  Me  love  my  Dog 237 

XIV.  Contains  two  of  Philip's  Mishaps 249 

XV.     Samaritans 266 

XVI.     In  which  Philip  shows  his  Mettle 274 

XVII.     Brevis  esse  Laboro 293 

XVIII.     Drum  ist's  so  wohl  mir  in  der  Welt 303 

XIX.     Qu'on  est  bien  a  Vingt  Ans ;     ...  320 

XX.     Course  of  True  Love 333 

XXI.     Treats  of  Dancing,  Dining,  Dying 348 

XXII.     Pulvis  et  Umbra  sumus 366 

XXIII.  In  which  we  still  hover  about  the  Elysian  Fields      .     .  375 


CONTENTS   OF  VOLUME   II. 


Chapter  Page 

I.  Nee  dulces  Amores  sperne,  Puer,  neque  tu  Choreas      .  '  1 

II.     Infandi  Dolores 11 

III.  Contains  a  Tug  of  War 27 

IV.  I  charge  you,  Drop  your  Daggers  ! 38 

V.  In  which  Mrs.  MacWhirter  has  a  New  Bonnet    ...  52 

VI.  In  the  Departments  of  Seine,  Loire,  and  Styx  (Inf^rieur)  66 

VII.     Returns  to  Old  Friends 80 

VIII.  Narrates  that  Famous  Joke  about  Miss  Grigsby  ...  94 

IX.     Ways  and  Means 110 

X.  Describes  a  Situation  interesting  but  not  unexpected    .  120 

XI.  In  which  I  own  that  Philip  tells  an  Untruth  ....  128 

XII.     Res  Augusta  Domi 147 

XIII.  In  which  the  Drawing-rooms  are  not  Furnished  after  all  160 

^    ^""IV.     Nee  plena  Cruoris  Hirudo 174 

-xV.     The  Bearer  of  the  Bowstring 186 

XVI.     In  which  several  People  have  their  Trials 201 

XVII.  In  which  the  Luck  goes  very  much  against  us      .     .     .  207 

XVIII.  In  which  we  reach  the  Last  Stage  but  one  of  this  Journey  228 

XIX.     The  Realms  of  Bliss 233 


CATHERINE  :    A    STORY. 

I.     Introducing  to   the   Reader  the  Chief   Personages  of  this 

Narrative 259 

II.     In   which   are   depicted  the   Pleasures    of   a    Sentimental 

Attachment 284 


iv  CONTENTS. 

Chapter  \  Page 

III.  In  which  a  Narcotic  is  administered,  and  a  great  deal  of 

Genteel  Society  depicted 294 

IV.  In  which  Mrs.    Catherine  becomes  an  Honest  Woman 

again 303 

V.     Contains  Mr.  Brock's  Autobiography,  and  other  Matter  312 

VI.     The  Adventures  of  the  Ambassador,  Mr.  Macshane  .     .  323 

VII.     Which  embraces  a  Period  of  Seven  Years 338 

VIII.  Enumerates  the  Accomplishments  of  Master  Thomas 
Billings  —  introduces  Brock  as  Dr.  Wood  —  and  an- 
nounces the  Execution  of  Ensign  Macshane     .     .     .  353 

IX.     Interview     between    Count     Galgenstein    and     Master 
Thomas  Billings,  when  he  informs  the  Count  of  his 

Parentage 366 

X.  Showing  how  Galgenstein  and  Mrs.  Cat  recognize  each 
other  in  Marylebone  Gardens  —  and  how  the  Count 
drives  her  Home  in  his  Carriage 376 

XI.     Of  some  Domestic  Quarrels,  and  the  Consequence  thereof  385 

XII.     Treats  of  Love,  and  prepares  for  Death 397 

XIII.     Being  a  Preptration  for  the  End 401 

Chapter  the  Last 403 

Another  Last  Chapter  .     .     .    , 407 


ILLUSTRATIONS   OF  VOLUME  I. 


Page 

What  Nathan  said  unto  David 123 

Mr.  Frog  requests   the  Honor  of  Prince  Ox's  Company  at 

Dinner 125 

The  Old  Fogies 155 

Laura's  Fireside 183 

Nurse  and  Doctor 211 

Hand  and  Glove 248 

"Good  Samaritans" 271 

Charlotte's  Convoy «...  310 

Morning  Greetings 828 

A  Quarrel 369 


ILLUSTRATIONS   OF  VOLUME  IL 


Page 

Miss  Charlotte  and  her  Partners      ..,,,.  6 

Comfort  in  Grief 30 

The  Poor  helping  the  Poor 65 

At  the  sick  Man's  Door 78 

A  Letter  from  New  York 109 

Mugford's  Favorite 125 

Paterfamilias <=•,,..  148 

Judith  and  Holofernes 195 

More  Free  than  Welcome 216 

Thanksgiving ,  233 


CATHERINE. 

Mrs.  Catherine's  Temptation 267 

The  Interrupted  Marriage .  312 

Captain    Brock    appears   at    Court   with    my   Lord    Peter- 
borough          317 

Catherine's  Present  to  Mr.  Hates 363 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


CHAPTER  I. 


At  that  remarkable  period  when  Louis  XVIII.  was  restored 
a  second  time  to  the  throne  of  his  fathers,  and  all  the  English 
who  had  money  or  leisure  rushed  over  to  the  Continent,  there 
lived  in  a  certain  boarding-house  at  Brussels  a  genteel  young 
widow,  who  bore  the  elegant  name  of  Mrs.  Wellesley  Macarty. 

In  the  same  house  and  room  with  the  widow  lived  her 
mamma,  a  lady  who  was  called  Mrs.  Crabb.  Both  professed 
to  be  rather  fashionable  people.  The  Crabbs  were  of  a  vezy 
old  English  stock,  and  the  Macartys  were,  as  the  world  knows, 
Count}'  Cork  people  ;  related  to  the  Sheenys,  Finnigans,  Clancys, 
and  other  distinguished  families  in  their  part  of  Ireland,  But 
Ensign  Wellesley'  Mac,  not  having  a  shilling,  ran  off  with  Miss 
Crabb,  who  possessed  the  same  independence  ;  and  after  having 
been  married  about  six  months  to  the  lady,  was  carried  otl"  sud- 
denly, on  the  18th  of  June,  1815,  by  a  disease  very  prevalent  in 
those  gloi'ious  times  —  the  fatal  cannon-shot  morbus.  He,  and 
many  hundred  young  fellows  of  his  regiment,  the  Clonnkilty 
Fencibles,  were  attacked  by  this  epidemic  on  the  same  day,  at 
a  place  about  ten  miles  from  Brussels,  and  there  perished.  The 
ensign's  lad}'  had  accompanied  her  husband  to  the  Continent, 
and  about  five  months  after  his  death  brought  into  the  Avorld 
two  remarkablv  fine  female  children. 

Mrs.  Wellesley's  mother  had  been  reconciled  to  her  daughter 
by  this  time  —  for,  in  truth,  IMrs.  Crabb  had  no  other  child  but 
her  runaway  Juliana,  to  whom  she  flew  when  she  heard  of  her 
destitute  condition.  And,  indeed,  it  was  high  time  that  some 
one  should  come  to  the  .young  widow's  nid  ;  for  as  her  husband 
did  not  leave  money,  nor  anything  that  represented  money, 
except  a  number  of  tailors'  and  bootmakers'  bills,  neatl}'  dock- 

1 


2  A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY. 

eted,   in  his  writing-desk,  Mrs.  Wellesley  was  in  danger  of 
starvation,  should  no  friendly  person  assist  her. 

Mrs.  Crabb,  then,  came  off  to  her  daughter,  whom  the 
Sheenys,  Finnigans,  and  Clancys  refused,  with  one  scornful 
voice,  to  assist.  The  fact  is,  that  Mr.  Crabb  had  once  been 
butler  to  a  lord,  and  his  lady  a  lady's-maid  ;  and  at  Crabb's 
death,  Mrs.  Crabb  disposed  of  the  "Ram"  hotel  and  posting- 
house,  where  her  husband  had  made  three  thousand  pounds, 
and  was  living  in  genteel  ease  in  a  country  town,  when  Ensign 
Macartj'  came,  saw,  and  ran  away  with  Juliana.  Of  such  a 
connection,  it  was  impossible  that  the  great  Clanc3^s  and  Finni- 
gans could  take  notice  ;  and  so  once  more  widow  Crabb  was 
compelled  to  share  with  her  daughter  her  small  income  of  a 
hundred  and  twenty  a  year. 

Upon  this,  at  a  boarding-house  in  Brussels,  the  two  managed 
to  live  pretty  smartly,  and  to  maintain  an  honorable  reputation. 
The  twins  were  put  out,  after  the  foreign  fashion,  to  nurse,  at 
a  village  in  the  neighborhood  ;  for  Mrs.  Macarty  had  been  too 
ill  to  nurse  them  ;  and  Mrs.  Crabb  could  not  afford  to  purchase 
that  most  expensive  article,  a  private  wet-nurse. 

There  had  been  numberless  tiffs  and  quarrels  between  mother 
and  daughter  when  the  latter  was  in  her  maiden  state  ;  and  Mrs. 
Crabb  was,  to  tell  the  truth,  in  nowise  sorry  when  her  J00I3' 
disappeared  with  the  ensign,  — for  the  old  lady  dearly  loved  a 
gentleman,  and  was  not  a  little  flattered  at  being  the  mother  to 
Mrs.  Ensign  Macarty.  WJiy  the  ensign  should  have  run  away 
with  his  lad}'  at  all,  as  he  might  have  had  her  for  the  asking,  is 
no  business  of  ours  ;  nor  are  we  going  to  rake  up  old  stories  and 
village  scandals,  which  insinuate  that  Miss  Crabb  i-an  awaj-with 
hirn^  for  with  these  points  the  writer  and  the  reader  have  noth- 
ing to  do. 

Well,  then,  the  reconciled  mother  and  daughter  lived  once 
more  together,  at  Brussels.  In  the  course  of  a  year,  Mrs. 
Macarty's  sorrow  had  much  abated  ;  and  having  a  great  natu- 
ral love  of  dress,  and  a  tolerabl}'  handsome  face  and  person, 
she  was  induced,  without  much  reluctance,  to  throw  her  weeds 
aside,  and  to  appear  in  the  most  becoming  and  varied  costumes 
which  her  means  and  ingenuity  could  furnish.  Considering, 
indeed,  the  smallness  of  the  former,  it  was  agreed  on  all  hands 
that  Mrs.  Crabb  and  her  daughter  deserved  wonderful  credit,  — 
that  is,  they  managed  to  keep  up  as  respectable  an  appearance 
as  if  the}'  had  five  hundred  a  3-ear  ;  and  at  church,  at  tea-par- 
ties, and  abroad  in  the  streets,  to  be  what  is  called  quite  the 
gentlewomen.    If  they  starved  at  home,  nobod}-  saw  it;  if  they 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  3 

patched  and  pieced,  nobodj^  (it  was  to  be  hoped)  knew  it ;  if 
they  bragged  about  their  relations  and  pr'opert}',  could  an}-  one 
sa}'  them  nay?  Thus  the}'  lived,  hanging  on  with  desperate 
energy  to  the  skirts  of  genteel  societ}- ;  Mrs.  Crabb,  a  sharp 
woman,  rather  respected  her  daughter's  superior  rank ;  and 
Mrs.  Macarty  did  not  quarrel  so  much  as  heretofore  with  her 
mamma,  on  whom  herself  and  her  two  children  were  entirely 
dependent. 

While  affairs  were  at  this  juncture,  it  happened  that  a  3'oung 
Englishman,  James  Gann,  Esq.,  of  the  great  oil-house  of  Gann, 
Blubbery  and  Gann  (as  he  took  care  to  tell  you  before  you  had 
been  an  hour  in  his  company),  —  it  happened,  I  say,  that  James 
Gann,  Esq.,  came  to  Brussels  for  a  month,  for  the  purpose  of 
perfecting  himself  in  the  French  language  ;  and  while  in  that 
capital  went  to  lodge  at  the  very  boarding-house  which  con- . 
tained  Mrs.  Crabb  and  her  daughter.  Gann  was  young,  weak, 
inflammable  ;  he  saw  and  adored  Mrs.  Wellesley  Macart}' ;  and 
she,  who  was  at  this  period  all  but  engaged  to  a  stout  old 
wooden-legged  Scotch  regimental  surgeon,  pitilessly  sent  Dr. 
M'Lint  about  his  business,  and  accepted  the  addresses  of  Mr. 
Gann.  How  the  .young  man  arranged  matters  with  his  papa 
the  senior  partner,  I  don't  know  ;  but  it  is  certain  that  there 
was  a  quarrel,  and  afterwards  a  reconciliation  ;  and  it  is  also 
known  that  James  Gann  fought  a  duel  with  the  surgeon,  —  re- 
ceiving the  -^sculapian  fire,  and  discharging  his  own  bullet 
into  the  azure  skies.  About  nine  thousand  times  in  the  course 
of  his  after  years  did  Mr.  Gann  narrate  the  history  of  the  com- 
bat ;  it  enabled  him  to  go  through  life  with  the  reputation  of  a 
man  of  courage,  and  won  for  him,  as  he  said  with  pride,  the 
hand  of  his  Juliana;  perhaps  this. was  rather  a  questionable 
benefit. 

One  part  of  the  tale,  however,  honest  James  never  did  dare 
to  tell,  except  when  peculiarlj-  excited  by  wrath  or  liquor ;  it 
was  this  :  that  on  the  day  after  the  wedding,  and  in  the  pres- 
ence of  many  friends  who  had  come  to  offer  their  congratula- 
tions, a  stout  nurse,  bearing  a  brace  of  chubby  little  ones, 
made  her  appearance ;  and  these  rosy  urchins,  springing  for- 
ward at  the  sight  of  Mrs.  James  Gann,  shouted  aflectionatel}', 
'•'•  Maman!  Maman!"  at  which  the  lady,  blushing  ros}'  red, 
said,' "  James,  these  two  are  j'ours  ; "  and  poor  James  well- 
nigh  fainted  at  this  sudden  paternity  so  put  upon  him.  "  Chil- 
dren !  "  screamed  he,  aghast;  "whose  children?"  at  which 
Mrs.  Crabb,  majestically  checking  him,  said-,  "These,  m}'  dear 
James,   are   the   daughters   of  the   gallant   and  good  Ensign 


4  A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY. 

Macarty,  whose  widow  you  yesterday  led  to  the  altar.  May 
you  he  happy  with  her,  aiid  may  these  blessed  children  "  (tears) 
""  find  in  yo\i  a  father,  who  shall  replace  him  that  fell  in  the 
field  of  glory  !  " 

Mrs.  Crabb,  Mrs.  James  Gann,  Mrs.  Major  Lolly,  Mrs. 
Piffler,  and  several  ladies  present,  set  up  a  sob  immediately ; 
.  and  James  Gann,  a  good-humored,  soft-hearted  man,  was  quite 
'  taken  aback.  Kissing  his  lady  hurriedly,  he  vowed  that  he 
would  take  care  of  the  poor  little  things,  and  proposed  to  kiss 
them  likewise;  which  caress  the  darhngs  refused  with  many 
roars.  Gann's  fate  was  sealed  from  that  minute  ;  and  he  was 
properly  henpecked  by  his  wife  and  mother-in-law  during  the 
life  of  the  latter.  Indeed,  it  was  to  Mrs.  Crabb  that  the 
stratagem  of  the  infant  concealment  was  due  ;  for  when  her 
daughter  innocently  proposed  to  have  or  to  see  the  children, 
the  old  lady  strongly  pointed  out  the  folly  of  such  an  arrange- 
ment, which  might,  "perhaps,  frighten  away  Mr.  Gann  from  the 
delightful  matiimonial  trap  into  which  (lucky  rogue  !)  he  was 
about  to  fall. 

Soon  after  the  marriage,  the  happy  pair  returned  to  Eng- 
land, occupving  the  house  in  Thames  Street,  City,  until  the 
death  of  Gann  senior ;  when  his  son,  becoming  head  of  the 
firm  of  Gann  and  Blal)bery,  quitted  the  dismal  precincts  of 
Billingsgate  and  colonized  *  in  the  neighborhood  of  Putney  ; 
where  a"  neat  box,  a  couple  of  spare  bedrooms,  a  good  cellar, 
and  a  smart  gig  to  drive  into  and  out  from  towMi,  made  a  real 
gentleman  of  him.  Mrs.  Gann  treated  him  with  much  scorn, 
to  be  sure,  called  him  a  sot,  and  abused  hugely  the  male  com- 
panions that  he  brought  down  with  him  to  Putney.  Honest 
James  would  listen  meekly,  would  yield,  and  would  bring  down 
a  brace  more  friends  the  nest  day,  with  whom  he  would  discuss 
his  accustomed  lumaber  of  bottles  of  port.  About  this  period,  a 
daughter  was  born  to  him,  called  Caroline  Brandenburg  Gann  ; 
so  named  after  a  large  mansion  near  Hammersmith,  and  an 
injured  queen  who  lived  there  at  the  time  of  the  little  girl's 
birth,  and  who  was  greatly  compassioned  and  patronized  by 
Mrs.  James  C4ann,  and  other  ladies  of  distinction.  Mrs.  James 
was  a  lady  in  those  days,  and  gave  evening-parties  of  the  very 
first  order. 

At  this  period  of  time,  Mrs.  James  Gann  sent  the  twins, 
Rosalind  Clancy  and  Isabella  Finnigan  Wellesley  Macarty,  to  a 
boarding-school  for  young  ladies,  and  grumbled  much  at  the 
amount  of  the  half-years'  bills  which  her  husband  was  called 
upon  to  pay  for  them  ;  for  though  James  discharged  them  with 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  5 

perfect  good-humor,  his  lady  began  to  entertain  a  mean  opinion 
indeed  of  her  pretty  young  children.  They  could  expect  no 
fortune,  she  said,  from  Mr.  Gann,  and  she  wondered  that  he 
should  think  of  bringing  them  up  expensively,  when  he  had  a 
darling  child  of  his  own,  for  whom  he  was  bound  to  save  all 
the  money  that  he  could  la}'  b3\ 

Grandmamma,  too,  doted  on  the  little  Caroline  Branden- 
burg, and  vowed  that  she  would  leave  her  three  thousand 
pounds  to  this  dear  infant ;  for  in  this  way  does  the  world  show 
its  respect  for  that  most  respectable  thing,  prosperity.  Who 
in  this  life  get  the  smiles,  and  the  acts  of  friendship,  and  the 
pleasing  legacies  ?  —  The  rich.  And  I  do,  for  my  part,  heartily 
wish  that  some  one  would  leave  me  a  trifle  —  say  twenty  thou- 
sand pounds  —  being  perfectly  confident  that  some  one  else 
would  leave  me  more  ;  and  that  I  should  sink  into  my  grave 
worth  a  plum  at  least. 

Little  Caroline  then  had  her  maid,  her  aiij  nursery,  her 
little  carriage  to  drive  in,  the  promise  of  her  grandmamma's 
consols,  and  that  priceless  treasure  —  her  mamma's  undivided 
affection.  Gann,  too,  loved  her  sincerely,  in  his  careless,  good- 
humored  way  ;  but  he  determined,  notwithstanding,  that  his 
step-daughters  should  have  something  handsome  at  his  death, 
but  —  but  for  a  great  But. 

Gann  and  Blubbery  were  in  the  oil  line,  — have  we  not  said 
so?  Their  profits  arose  from  contracts  for  lighting  a  great 
number  of  streets  in  London  ;  and  about  this  period  Gas  came 
into  use.  Gann  and  Bluljbery  appeared  in  the  Gazette ;  and,  I 
am  sorry  to  saj-,  so  bad  had  been  the  management  of  Blubbery 

—  so  great  the  extravagance  of  both  partners  and  their  ladies, 

—  that  they  only  paid  their  creditoi's  fourteenpence  halfpenny 
in  the  pound. 

When  Mrs.  Crabb  heard  of  this  dreadful  accident  —  Mrs. 
Crabb,  who  dined  thrice  a  week  with  her  son-in-law  ;  who  never 
would  have  been  allowed  to  enter  the  house  at  all  had  not 
honest  James  interposed  his  good  nature  between  her  quarrel- 
some daughter  and  herself — Mrs.  Crabb,  I  say,  proclaimed 
James  Gann  to  be  a  swindler,  a  villain,  a  disreputable,  tips}", 
vulgar  man,  and  made  over  her  money  to  the  Misses  Rosalind 
Clancy  and  Isabella  Finnigan  Macarty  ;  leaving  poor  little  Caro- 
line without  one  sinsfle  maravedi.  Half  of  one  thousand  five 
hundred  pounds  allotted  to  each  was  to  be  paid  at  marriage, 
the  other  half  on  the  death  of  Mrs.  James  Gann,  who  was  to 
enjoy  the  interest  thereof.  Thus  do  we  rise  and  fall  in  this 
world  —  thus  does  Fortune  shake  her  swift  wings,  and  bid  us 


6  A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY. 

abruptly  to  resign  the  gifts  (or  rather  loans)  which  we  have 
had  from  her. 

How  Gann  and  his  famil}^  lived  after  their  stroke  of  misfor- 
tune, I  know  not ;  but  as  the  failing  tradesman  is  going  through 
the  process  of  bankruptcy,  and  for  some  months  afterwards,  it 
may  be  remarked  that  he  has  usuallj'  some  mj'stcrious  means 
of  subsistence  —  stra}'  spars  of  the  wreck  of  his  property,  on 
which  he  manages  to  seize,  and  to  float  for  a  while.  During 
his  retirement,  in  an  obscure  lodging  in  Lambeth,  where  the 
poor  fellow  was  so  tormented  b}^  his  wife  as  to  be  compelled  to 
fly  to  the  public-house  for  refuge,  Mrs.  Crabb  died ;  a  hundred 
a  year  thus  came  into  the  possession  of  Mrs.  Gann  ;  aud  some 
of  James's  friends,  who  thought  him  a  good  fellow  in  his  pros- 
perity, came  forward,  and  furnished  a  house,  in  which  they 
placed  him,  and  came  to  see  and  comfort  him.  Then  the}^ 
came  to  see  him  not  quite  so  often ;  then  they  found  out  that 
Mrs.  Gann  was  a  sad  t3'rant,  and  a  sill}'  woman ;  then  the 
ladies  declared  her  to  be  insupportable,  and  Gann  to  be  a  low, 
tipsy  fellow :  and  the  gentlemen  could  but  shake  their  heads, 
and  admit  that  the  charge  was  true.  Then  they  left  off"  coming 
to  see  him  altogether ;  for  such  is  the  wa}'  of  the  world,  where 
many  of  us  have  good  impulses,  and  are  generous  on  an  occa- 
sion, but  are  wearied  b}'  perpetual  want,  and  begin  to  grow  angry 
at  its  importunities  —  being  very  properly  vexed  at  the  daily 
recurrence  of  hunger,  and  the  impudent  unreasonableness  of 
starvation.  Gann,  then,  had  a  genteel  wife  and  children,  a 
furnished  house,  and  a  hundred  pounds  a  year.  How  should 
he  live?  The  wife  of  James  Gann,  Esq.,  would  never  allow 
him  to  demean  himself  by  taking  a  clerk's  place  ;  and  James 
himself,  being  as  idle  a  fellow  as  ever  was  known,  was  fain  to 
acquiesce  in  this  determination  of  hers,  and  to  wait  for  some 
more  genteel  employment.  And  a  curious  list  of  such  genteel 
employments  might  be  made  out,  were  one  inclined  to  follow 
this  interesting  subject  far  ;  shabby  compromises  with  the  world, 
into  which  poor  fellows  enter,  and  still  fondly  talk  of  their 
"  position,"  and  strive  to  imagine  that  they  are  really  working 
for  their  liread. 

Numberless  lodging-houses  are  kept  b}-  the  females  of  fami- 
lies who  have  met  with  reverses  :  are  not  "  boarding-houses, 
with  a  select  musical  society,  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
squares,"  maintained  by  such?  Do  not  the  gentlemen  of  the 
boarding-houses  issue  forth  every  morning  to  the  City,  or  make 
believe  to  go  thither,  on  some  mysterious  business  which  they 
have  ?     After  a  certain  period,  Mrs.  James  Gann  kept  a  lodg- 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  7 

ing-house  (in  her  own  words,  received  "  t^vo  inmates  into  her 
famil}'"),  and  Mr.  Gann  had  his  mysterious  business. 

In  the  j-ear  1835,  when  this  story  begins,  there  stood  in  a 
certain  back-street  in  the  town  of  Margate  a  house,  on  the  door 
of  whicli  might  be  read,  in  gleaming  brass,  the  name  of  Mr. 
Gank.  It  was  the  work  of  a  single  smutty  servant-maid  to 
clean  this  brass  plate  ever}^  morning,  and  to  attend  as  far  as 
possible  to  the  wants  of  Mr.  Gann,  his  family,  and  lodgers  ; 
and  his  house  being  not  very  far  from  the  sea,  and  as  you 
might,  by  climbing  up  to  the  roof,  get  a  sight  between  two 
chimneys  of  that  multitudinous  element,  Mrs.  Gann  set  down 
her  lodo-ino-s  as  fashionable  ;  and  declared  on  her  caxxls  that  her 
house  commanded  "  a  fine  view  of  the  sea." 

On  the  wire  window-blind  of  the  parlor  was  written,  in  large 
characters,  the  word  Office  ;  and  here  it  was  that  Gann's  ser- 
vices came  into  play.  He  was  very  much  changed,  poor  fellow  ! 
and  humbled ;  and  from  two  cards  that  hung  outside  the  blind, 
1  am  led  to  believe  that  he  did  not  disdain  to  be  agent  to  the 
"  London  and  Jamaica  Ginger-beer  Company,"  and  also  for  a 
certain  preparation  called  "  Gaster's  Infants'  Farinacio,  or 
Mothers'  Invigorating  Substitute," — a  damp,  black,  mould}^ 
half-pound  packet  of  which  stood  in  permanence  at  one  end  of 
the  ' '  office  "  mantel-piece  ;  while  a  fly-blown  ginger-beer  bottle 
occupied  the  other  extremity.  Nothing  else  indicated  that  this 
ground-floor  chamber  was  an  office,  except  a  huge  black  inkstand, 
in  which  stood  a  stump}'  pen,  richl}'  crusted  with  ink  at  the  nib, 
and  to  all  appearance  for  many  months  enjo3'ing  a  sinecure. 

To  this  room  5'ou  saw  every  day,  at  two  o'clock,  the  employe 
from  the  neighboring  hotel  bring  two  quarts  of  beer  ;  and  if  you 
called  at  that  hour,  a  tremendous  smoke,  and  smell  of  dinner, 
would  gush  out  upon  yoxx  from  the  "office,"  as  3'ou  stumbled 
over  sundry  battered  tin  dish-covers,  which  lay  gaping  at  the 
threshold.  Thus  had  that  great  bulwark  of  gentilit}^,  the  din- 
ing at  six  o'clock,  been  broken  in  ;  and  the  reader  must  there- 
fore judge  that  the  house  of  Gann  was  in  a  demoralized  state. 

Gann  certainly  was.  After  the  ladies  had  retired  to  the 
back-parlor  (which,  with  yellow  gauze  round  the  frames,  win- 
dow-curtains, a  red  silk  cabinet  piano,  and  an  album,  was  still 
tolerabl}'  genteel),  Gann  remained,  to  transact  business  in  the 
office.  This  took  place  in  the  presence  of  friends,  and  usually 
consisted  in  the  production  of  a  bottle  of  gin  from  the  corner 
cupboard,  or,  ma3-hap,  a  litre  of  brand}^  which  was  given  by 
Gann  with  a  knowing  wink,  and  a  fat  finger  pUiccd  on  a  twink- 
ling red  nose :  when  Mrs.  G.  was  out,  James  would  also  pro- 


8  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

duce  a  number  of  pipes,  that  gave  this  room  a  constant  and 
agreeable  odor  of  shag  tobacco. 

In  fact,  Mr.  Gann  had  nothing  to  do  from  morning  till  night. 
He  was  now  a  fat,  bald-headed  man  of  fifty ;  a  dirty  dandy  on 
week-days,  with  a  shawl- waistcoat,  a  tuft  of  hair  to  his  great 
double  chin,  a  snuffy  shirt-frill,  and  enormous  breastpin  and 
seals  :  he  had  a  pilot-coat,  with  large  mother-of-pearl  buttons, 
and  always  wore  a  great  rattling  telescope,  with  which  he  might 
be  seen  for  hours  on  the  sea-shore  or  the  pier,  examining  the 
ships,  the  bathing-machines,  the  ladies'  schools  as  they  paraded 
up  and  down  the  esplanade,  and  all  other  objects  which  the 
telescopic  view  might  give  him.  He  knew  every  person  con- 
nected with  every  one  of  the  Deal  and  Dover  coaches,  and  was 
sure  to  be  witness  to  the  arrival  or  departure  of  several  of  them 
in  the  course  of  the  daj- ;  he  had  a  word  for  the  ostler  about  that 
"gray  mare,"  a  nod  for  the  "  shooter"  or  guard,  and  a  bow 
for  the  dragsman  ;  he  could  send  parcels  for  nothing  up  to 
town  ;  had  twice  had  Sir  Rumble  Tumble  (the  noble  driver  of 
the  Flash-o'-lightning-light- four-inside-post-coach)  "up  at  his 
place,  ■  and  took  care  to  tell  j-ou  that  some  of  the  party  were 
pretty  considerably  "  sewn  up,"  too.  He  did  not  frequent  the 
large  hotels  ;  but  in  revenge  he  knew  every  person  who  entered 
or  left  them  ;  and  was  a  great  man  at  the  "  Bag  of  Nails  "  and 
the  "Magpie  and  Punchbowl,"  where  he  was  president  of  a 
club  ;  he  took  the  bass  in  "  Mynheer  Van  Dunk,"  "  The  Wolf," 
and  many  other  morsels  of  concerted  song,  and  used  to  go 
backwards  and  forwards  to  London  in  the  steamers  as  often 
as  ever  he  liked,  and  have  his  "grub,"  too,  on  board.  Such 
was  James  Gann.  Many  people,  when  they  wrote  to  him,  ad- 
dressed him  James  Gann,  Esq. 

His  reverses  and  former  splendors  afforded  a  never-failing 
theme  of  conversation  to  honest  Gann  and  the  whole  of  his 
family ;  and  it  ma}'  be  remarked  that  such  pecuniary  misfor- 
tunes, as  they  are  called,  are'by  no  means  misfortunes  to  people 
of  certain  dispositions,  but  actual  pieces  of  good  luck.  Gann, 
for  instance,  used  to  drink  liberally  of  port  and  claret,  when 
the  house  of  Gann  and  Blubbery  was  in  existence,  and  was 
henceforth  compelled  to  imbibe  only  brandy  and  gin.  Now  he 
loved  these  a  thousand  times  more  than  the  wine  ;  and  had  the 
advantage  of  talking  about  the  latter,  and  of  his  great  merit  in 
giving  them  up.  In  those  prosperous  days,  too,  being  a  gen- 
tleman, he  could  not  frequent  the  public-house  as  he  did  at 
present ;  and  the  sanded  tavern-parlor  was  Gann's  supreme 
enjoyment.     He  was  obliged  to  spend  many  hours  daily  in  a 


A  SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  9 

dark  unsavor}'  room  in  an  alley  off  Thames  Street ;  and  Gann 
hated  books  and  business,  except  of  other  people's.  His  tastes 
were  low  ;  he  loved  public-house  jokes  and  company  ;  and  now 
being  fallen,  was  voted  at  the  "  Bag  of  Nails  "  and  the  "  Mag- 
pie "  before  mentioned  a  tip-top  fellow  and  real  gentleman, 
whereas  he  had  been  considered  an  ordinary-  vulgar  man  by  his 
fashionable  associates  at  Putney.  Many  men  are  there  who 
are  made  to  fall,  and  to  profit  by  the  tumble. 

As  for  Mrs.  G.,  or  Jooly,  as  she  was  indifferently  called  by 
her  husband,  she,  too,  had  gained  by  her  losses.  She  bragged 
of  her  former  acquaintances  in  the  most  extraordinary  wa}',  and 
to  hear  her  you  would  fancy  that  she  was  known  to  and  con- 
nected with  half  the  peerage.  Her  chief  occupation  was  taking 
medicine,  and  mending  and  altering  her  gowns.  She  had  a 
huge  taste  for  cheap  finery,  loved  raffles,  tea-parties,  and  walks 
on  the  pier,  where  she  flaunted  herself  and  daughters  as  gay 
as  butterflies.  She  stood  upon  her  rank,  did  not  fail  to  tell  her 
lodgers  that  she  was  "  a  gentlewoman,"  and  was  mighty  sharp 
with  Beck}'  the  maid,  and  poor  Carr^',  her  youngest  child. 

For  the  tide  of  affection  had  turned  now,  and  the  "Misses 
Wellesley  Macarty "  were  the  darlings  of  their  mother's  heart, 
as  Caroline  had  been  in  the  early  days  of  Putney  prosperity. 
Mrs.  Gann  respected  and  loved  her  elder  daughters,  the  stately 
heiresses  of  1,500^.,  and  scorned  poor  Caroline,  who  was  like- 
wise scorned  (like  Cinderella  in  the  sweetest  of  all  stories)  by 
her  brace  of  haughty,  thoughtless  sisters.  These  3'oung  women 
were  tall,  well-grown,  black-browed  girls,  little  scrupulous,  fond 
of  fun,  and  having  great  health  and  spirits.  Caroline  was  pale 
and  thin,  and  had  fair  hair  and  meek  gray  eyes  ;  nobody  thought 
her  a  beauty  in  her  moping  cotton  gown  ;  whereas  the  sisters, 
in  flaunting  printed  muslins,  with  pink  scarfs,  and  artificial 
flowers,  and  brass  ferronnieres,  and  other  fallals,  were  voted 
very  charming  and  genteel  by  the  Ganns'  circle  of  friends. 
They  had  pink  cheeks,  white  shoulders,  and  many  glossy  curls 
stuck  about  their  shining  foreheads,  as  dam^)  and  as  black  as 
leeches.  Such  charms,  madam,  cannot  fail  of  having  their 
effect ;  and  it  was  very  lucky  for  Caroline  that  she  did  not  pos- 
sess them,  for  she  might  have  been  rendered  as  A-ain,  frivolous, 
and  vulgar,  as  these  3'oung  ladies  were. 

While  these  enjoyed  their  pleasures  and  tea-parties  abroad, 
it  was  Carry's  usual  fate  to  remain  at  home  and  help  the  servant 
in  the  many  duties  which  were  required  in  Mrs.  Gann's  estab- 
lishment. She  dressed  that  lady  and  her  sisters,  brought  her 
papa  his  tea  in  bed,  kept  the  lodgers'  bills,  bore  their  scoldings 


10  A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY. 

if  thej'  were  ladies,  and  sometiraes  gave  a  hand  in  the  kitchen 
if  any  extra  pie-crust  or  cookery  was  required.  At  two  she  made 
a  little  toilet  for  dinner,  and  was  employed  on  numberless  house- 
hold darnings  and  mendings  in  the  long  evenings,  while  her 
sisters  giggled  over  the  jingling  piano,  mamma  sprawled  on  the 
sofa,  and  Gann  was  over  his  glass  at  the  club.  A  weary  lot, 
in  sooth,  was  yours,  poor  little  Caroline !  since  the  days  of 
j'our  infancy,  not  one  hour  of  sunshine,  no  friendship,  no  cheery 
plaj'fellows,  no  mother's  love  ;  but  that  being  dead,  the  affec- 
tions which  would  have  crept  round  it,  withered  and  died  too. 
Only  James  Gann,  of  all  the  household,  had  a  good-natured 
look  for  her,  and  a  coarse  word  of  kindness  ;  nor,  indeed,  did 
Caroline  complain,  nor  shed  many  tears,  nor  call  for  death,  as 
she  would  if  she  had  been  brought  up  in  geuteeler  circles.  The 
poor  thing  did  not  know  her  own  situation  ;  her  misery  was 
dumb  and  patient ;  it  is  such  as  thousands  and  thousands  of 
women  in  our  society  bear,  and  pine,  and  die  of;  made  up 
of  sums  of  small  tyrannies,  and  long  indifference,  and  bitter, 
wearisome  injustice,  more  dreadful  to  bear  than  any  tortures 
that  we  of  the  stronger  sex  are  pleased  to  cry  All  All  about. 
In  our  intercourse  with  the  world — (which  is  conducted  with 
that  kind  of  cordiality  that  we  see  in  Sir  Harry  and  my  lady  in 
a  corned}'  —  a  couple  of  painted,  grinning  fools,  talking  parts 
that  they  have  learned  out  of  a  book,) —  as  we  sit  and  look  at 
the  smiling  actors,  we  get  a  glimpse  behind  the  scenes  from 
time  to  time  ;  and  alas  for  the  wretched  nature  that  appears 
there  !  —  among  women  especially,  who  deceive  even  more  than 
men,  having  more  to  hide,  feeling  more,  living  more  than  we 
who  have  our  business,  pleasure,  ambition,  which  carries  us 
abroad.  Ours  are  the  great  strokes  of  misfortune,  as  they  are 
called,  and  tlieirs  the  small  miseries.  While  the  male  thinks, 
labors,  and  battles  without,  the  domestic  woes  and  wrongs  are 
the  lot  of  the  women  ;  and  the  little  ills  are  so  bad,  so  infinitely 
fiercer  and  bitterer  than  the  great,  that  I  would  not  change  my 
condition  —  no,  not  to  be  Helen,  Queen  Elizabeth,  Mrs.  Coutts, 
or  the  luckiest  she  in  histor3\ 

Well,  then,  in  the  manner  we  have  described  lived  the  Gann 
family.  Mr.  Gann  all  the  better  for  his  "misfortunes,"  Mrs. 
Gann  little  the  worse  ;  the  two  young  ladies  greatly  improved 
by  the  circumstance,  having  been  cast  thereby  into  a  society 
where  their  expected  three  thousand  pounds  made  great  heir- 
esses of  them ;  and  poor  Caroline,  as  luckless  a  being  as  any 
that  the  wide  sun  shone  upon.  Better  to  be  alone  in  the  world 
and  utterly  friendless,  than  to  have  sham  friends  and  no  sym- 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  11 

patliy ;  ties  of  kindred  wliich  bind  one  as  it  were  to  the  corpse 
of  relationship,  and  oblige  one  to  bear  through  life  the  weight 
and  the  embraces  of  this  lifeless,  cold  connection. 

I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  Caroline  would  ever  have  made 
use  of  this  metaphor,  or  suspected  that  her  connection  with  her 
mamma  and  sisters  was  anything  so  loathsome.  She  felt  that 
she  was  ill-treated,  and  had  no  companion  ;  but  was  not  on 
that  account  envious,  only  humble  and  depressed,  not  desiring 
so  much  to  resist  as  to  bear  injustice,  ancl  hardly  venturing  to 
think  for  herself.  This  tyranny  and  humility  served  her  in 
place  of  education,  and  formed  her  manners,  which  were  won- 
derfully gentle  and  calm.  It  was  strange  to  see  such  a  person 
growing  up  in  such  a  famil}^ ;  the  neighbors  spoke  of  her  with 
much  scornful  compassion.  "A  poor  half-witted  thing,"  they 
said,  "  who  could  not  say  bo!  to  a  goose  ;"  and  I  think  it  is 
one  good  test  of  gentility  to  be  thus  looked  down  on  by  vulgar 
people. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  elder  girls  had  reached 
their  present  age  without  receiving  a  number  of  offers  of  mar- 
riage, and  been  warmly-  in  love  a  great  many  times.  But  many 
unfortunate  occurrences  had  compelled  them  to  remain  in  their 
virgin  condition.  There  was  an  attorney  who  had  proposed  to 
Rosalind ;  but  finding  that  she  would  receive  only  750/.  down, 
instead  of  1,500?.',  the  monster  had  jilted  her  pitilessly,  hand- 
some as  she  was.  An  apothecary,  too,  had  been  smitten  by 
her  charms ;  but  to  live  in  a  shop  was  beneath  the  dignity  of 
a  Wellesley  Macarty,  and  she  waited  for  better  things.  Lieu- 
tenant Swabber,  of  the  coast-guard  service,  had  lodged  two 
months  at  Gann's  ;  and  if  letters,  long  walks,  and  town-talk 
could  settle  a  match,  a  match  between  him  and  Isabella  must 
have  taken  place.  Well,  Isabella  was  not  married ;  and  the 
lieutenant,  a  colonel  in  Spain,  seemed  to  have  given  up  all 
thoughts  of  her.  She  meanwhile  consoled  herself  with  a  ga}' 
young  wine-merchant,  who  had  latel}^  established  himself  at 
Brighton,  kept  a  gig,  rode  out  with  the  hounds,  and  was  voted 
perfectly  genteel ;  and  there  was  a  certain  French  marquess, 
with  the  most  elegant  black  raustachios,  who  had  made  a  vast 
impression  upon  the  heart  of  Rosalind,  having  met  her  first  at 
the  circulating  library,  and  afterwards,  b}^  the  most  extraordi- 
nar}?^  series  of  chances,  coming  upon  her  and  her  sister  daily 
in  their  Avalks  upon  the  pier. 

Meek  little  Caroline,  meanwhile,  trampled  upon  though  she 
was,  was  springing  up  to  womanhood  ;  and  though  jjale,  freckled, 
thin,   meanly  dressed,  had  a  certain  charm  about  her  which 


12  A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY. 

some  people  might  prefer  to  the  cheap  splendors  and  rude  red 
and  white  of  the  Misses  Macarty.  In  fact  we  have  now  come 
to  a  period  of  her  history  when,  to  the  amaze  of  her  mamma 
and  sisters,  and  not  a  little  to  the  satisfaction  of  James  Gann, 
Esquire,  she  actually  inspired  a  passion  in  the  breast  of  a  very 
respectable  young  man. 


CHAPTER  II. 

HOW   MRS.    GANN    RECEIVED    TWO    L0D6ERS. 

It  was  the  winter  season  when  the  events  recorded  in  this 
history  occurred  ;  and  as  at  that  period  not  one  out  of  a  thou- 
sand lodging-houses  in  Margate  are  let,  Mrs.  Gann,  who 
generally  submitted  to  occupy  her  own  first  and  second  floors 
during  this  cheerless  season,  considered  herself  more  than 
ordinarily  luck}^  when  circumstances  occurred  which  brought 
no  less  than  two  lodgers  to  her  establishment. 

She  had  to  thank  her  daughters  for  the  first  inmate  ;  for, 
as  these  two  3'oung  ladies  were  walking  one  day  down  their 
own  street,  talking  of  the  joys  of  the  last  season,  and  the  delight 
of  the  raffles  and  singing  at  the  libraries,  and  the  intoxicating 
pleasures  of  the  Vauxhall  balls,  they  were  remarked  and  evi- 
dently^ admired  by  a  young  gentleman  who  was  sauntering 
listlessly  up  the  street. 

He  stared,  and  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  fascinating 
girls  stared  too,  and  put  each  other's  head  into  each  other's 
bonnet,  and  giggled  and  said,  "Lor'!"  and  then  looked  hard 
at  the  young  gentleman  again.  Their  eyes  were  black,  their 
cheeks  were  very  red.  Fancy  how  Miss  Bella's  and  Miss 
Linda's  hearts  beat  when  the  gentleman,  dropping  his  glass  out 
of  his  eye,  actualh'  stepped  across  the  street,  and  said,  "  Ladies, 
I  am  seeking  for  lodgings,  and  should  be  glad  to  look  at  those 
which  I  see  are  to  let  in  your  house." 

' '  How  did  the  conjurer  know  it  was  our  house  ?  "  thought 
Bella  and  Linda  (thej^  always  thought  in  couples).  From  the 
very  simple  fact  that  Miss  Bella  had  just  thrust  into  the  door 
a  latch-ke3\ 

Most  bitterl}^  did  Mrs.  James  Gann  regret  that  she  had  not 
on  her  best  gown  when  a  stranger  —  a  stranger  in  February  — 
actually  called  to  look  at  the  lodgings.     She  made  up,  however, 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  1 


o 


for  the  slovenliness  of  her  dress  by  the  dignit}^  of  her  demeanor  ; 
and  asked  the  gentleman  for  references,  informed  him  that  she 
was  a  gentlewoman,  and  that  he  wonld  have  peculiar  advan- 
tages in  her  establishment ;  and,  finall}',  agreed  to  receive  him 
at°the  rate  of  twenty  shillings  per  week.  The  bright  e^-es  of 
the  young  ladies  had  done  the  business  ;  but  to  this  day  Mrs. 
James  Gann  is  convinced  that  her  peculiar  dignity  of  manner, 
and  great  fluency  of  brag  regarding  her  family,  have  been  the 
means  of  bringing  hundreds  of  lodgers  to  her  house,  who  but 
for  her  would  never  have  visited  it. 

"Gents,"  said  Mr.  James  Gann,  at  the  "Bag  of  Nails" 
that  very  evening,  "we  have  got  a  new  lodger,  and  I'll  stand 
glasses  round  to  his  jolly  good  health  !  " 

The  new  lodger,  who  w^as  remarkable  for  nothing  except 
very  black  eyes,  a  sallow  face,  and  a  habit  of  smoking  cigars 
in  bed  until  noon,  gave  his  name  George  Brandon,  Esq.  As 
to  his  temper  and  habits,  when  humbly  requested  by  Mrs.  Gann 
to  pay  in  advance,  he  laughed  and  presented  her  with  a  bank- 
note, never  quarrelled  with  a  single  item  in  her  bills,  walked 
much,  and  ate  two  mutton-chops  per  diem.  The  young  ladies, 
who  examined  all  the  boxes  and  letters  of  the  lodgers,  as  young 
ladies  will,  could  not  find  one  single  docnment  relative  to  their 
new  inmate,  except  a  tavern-bill  of  the  "  White  Hart,"  to  wliich 
the  name  of  George  Brandon,  Esquir.e,  was  prefixed.  Any 
other  papers  which  might  elucidate  his  historj^,  were  locked  np 
in  a  Bramah  box,  likewise  marked  G.  B.  ;  and  though  these 
were  but  unsatisfactory  points  by  which  to  judge  a  man's  char- 
acter, there  was  a  something  about  Mr.  Brandon  which  caused 
all  the  ladies  at  Mrs.  Ganu's  to  vote  he  was  quite  a  gentle- 
man. 

When  this  was  the  case,  I  am  happy  to  say  it  would  not 
unfrequently  happen  that  Miss  Rosalind  or  Miss  Isabella  would 
appear  in  the  lodger's  apartments,  bearing  in  the  breakfast- 
cloth,  or  blushingly  appearing  with  the  weekly  bill,  apologizing 
for  mamma's  absence,  "  and  hoping  that  everything  was  to 
the  gentleman's  liking." 

Both  the  Misses  Wellesley  Macarty  took  occasion  to  visit 
Mr.  Brandon  in  this  manner,  and  he  received  both  with  such  a 
fascinating  ease  and  gentleman-like  freedom  of  manner,  scan- 
ning their  points  from  head  to  foot,  and  fixing  his  great  black 
eyes  so  earnestly  on  their  faces,  that  the  blushing  creatures 
turned  away  abashed,  and  3'et  pleased,  and  had  man}^  conver- 
sations about  him. 

"  Law,  Bell,"  said  Miss  Rosalind,  "  what  a  chap  that  Bran- 


14  A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STOKY. 

(Ion  is  !     I  don't  half  like  him,  I  do  declare !  "     Than  which 
there  can  be  no  greater  compliment  from  a  woman  to  a  man. 

"  No  more  do  I  neither,"  says  Bell.  "  The  man  stares  so, 
and  says  such  things!  Just  now,  when  Becky  brought  his 
paper  and  sealing-wax  —  the  silly  girl  brought  black  and  red 
too — I  took  them  up  to  ask  which  he  would  have,  and  what 
do  you  think  he  said?  " 

"Well,  dear,  what?"  said  Mrs.  Gann. 

"  '  Miss  Bell,'  says  he,  looking  at  me,  and  with  such  eyes  ! 
'  I'll  keep  everything  :  the  red  wax,  because  it's  hke  your  lips  ; 
the  black  wax,"' because  it's  like  your  hair  ;  and  the  satin  paper, 
because  it's  like  your  skin  ! '     Wasn't  it  genteel?  " 

"  Law,  now  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gann. 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  think  it's  very  rude  !  "  said  Miss  Lindy  ; 
"and  if  he'd  said  so  to  me,  I'd  have  slapped  his  face  for  his 
imperence  ! "  And  much  to  her  credit,  Miss  Lindy  went  to  his 
room  ten  minutes  after  to  see  if  he  would  say  anything  to  her. 
What  Mr.  Brandon  said,  I  never  knew  ;  but  the  httle  pang  of 
envy  which  had  caused  Miss  Lindy  to  retort  sharply  upon  her 
sister,  had  given  place  to  a  pleased  good-humor,  and  she 
allowed  Bella  to  talk  about  the  new  lodger  as  much  as  ever 
she  liked. 

And  now  if  the  reader  is  anxious  to  know  what  was  Mr. 
Brandon's  character,  h(i  had  better  read  the  following  letter 
from  him.  It  was  addressed  to  no  less  a  person  than  a  vis- 
count ;  and  given,  perhaps,  with  some  little  ostentation  to 
Becky,  the  maid,  to  carry  to  the  post.  Now  Becky,  before 
she  executed  such  errands,  always  showed  the  letters  to  her 
mistress  or  one  of  the  young  ladies  (it  must  not  be  supposed 
that  Miss  Caroline  was  a  whit  less  curious  on  these  matters 
than  her  sisters)  ;  and  when  the  family  beheld  the  name  of 
Lord  Viscount  Cinqbars  upon  the  superscription,  their  respect 
for  their  lodger  was  greater  than  ever  it  had  been  :  — 

"  Margate,  February,  1835. 

"Mr  DEAR  Viscount,  — For  a  reason  I  have,  on  coming  down  to  Mar- 
gate, I  with  much  gravity  mformed  the  people  of  the  '  White  Hart '  that 
my  name  was  Brandon,  and  intend  to  bear  that  honorable  appellation 
during  my  stay.  For  the  same  reason  (I  am  a  modest  man,  and  love  to  do 
good  in  secret),  I  left  the  public  hotel  immediately,  and  am  now  housed  in 
private  lodgings,  humble,  and  at  a  humble  price.  I  am  here,  thank  heaven, 
quite  alone.  Robinson  Crusoe  had  as  much  society  in  his  island,  as  I  in 
this  of  Thanet.  In  compensation  I  sleep  a  great  deal,  do  nothmg,  and 
walk  much,  silent,  by  the  side  of  the  roaring  sea,  like  Calchas,  priest  of 

Apollo.  ■  u   1, 

"  The  fact  is,  that  until  papa's  wrath  is  appeased,  I  must  hve  with  the 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY.  15 

utmost  meekness  and  humility,  and  have  barely  enough  money  in  my  pos- 
session to  pay  such  small  current  expenses  as  fall  on  me  here,  where 
strangers  are  many  and  credit  does  not  exist.  I  pray  you,  therefore,  to 
tell  Mr.  Snipson  the  tailor,  Mr.  Jackson  the  bootmaker,  honest  Solomonson 
the  discounter  of  bills,  and  all  such  friends  in  London  and  Oxford  as  may 
make  inquiries  after  me,  that  I  am  at  this  very  moment  at  the  city  of 
Munich  in  Bavaria,  from  which  I  shall  not  return  until  my  marriage  with 
Miss  Goldmore,  the  great  Indian  heiress ;  who,  upon  my  honor,  will  have 
me,  I  believe,  any  day  for  the  asking. 

"  Nothing  else  will  satisfy  my  honored  father,  I  know,  whose  purse  has 
already  bled  pretty  freely  for  me,  I  must  confess,  and  who  has  taken  the 
great  oath  that  never  is  broken,  to  bleed  no  more  unless  this  marriage  is 
brought  about.  Come  it  must.  I  can't  work,  I  can't  starve,  and  I  can't 
live  under  a  thousand  a  year. 

"  Here,  to  be  sure,  the  charges  are  not  enormous  ;  for  your  edification, 
read  my  week's  bill :  — 

'  George  Brandon,  Esquire, 

'  To  Mrs.  James  Gann. 

£    s.   d. 

A  week's  lodging 100 

Breakfast,  cream,  eggs 090 

Dinner  (fourteen  mutton-chops) 0  10     6 

Fire,  boot-cleaning,  &c 0    3    6 

£2     3    0 

'  Settled,  Juliana  Gann.' 


"  Juliana  Gann !  Is  it  not  a  sweet  name  ?  it  sprawls  over  half  the  paper. 
Could  you  but  see  the  owner  of  the  name,  my  dear  fellow !  I  love  to  ex- 
amine the  customs  of  natives  of  all  countries,  and  upon  my  word  there  are 
some  barbarians  in  our  own  less  known,  and  more  worthy'  of  being  known, 
than  Hottentots,  wild  Irish,  Otaheiteans,  or  any  such  savages.  If  you  could 
see  the  airs  that  this  woman  gives  herself ;  the  rouge,  ribands,  rings,  and 
other  female  gimcracks  that  she  wears ;  if  you  could  hear  her  reminis- 
cences of  past  times,  '  when  she  and  Mr.  Gann  moved  in  the  very  gentcelest 
circles  of  society  ; '  of  the  peerage,  which  she  knows  by  heart ;  and  of  the 
fashionable  novels,  in  every  word  of  which  she  believes,  you  would  be 
proud  of  your  order,  and  admire  the  intense  respect  which  tlie  candille 
show  towards  it.  There  never  was  such  an  old  woman,  not  even  our  tutor 
at  Christchurch. 

"  There  is  a  he  Gann,  a  vast,  bloated  old  man,  in  a  rough  coat,  who  has 
met  nie  once,  and  asked  me,  with  a  grin,  if  my  mutton-chops  was  to  my 
liking  ?  The  satirical  monster!  What  can  I  eat  in  this  place  but  mutton- 
chops  ■?  A  great  bleeding  beefsteak,  or  a  filthy,  reeking  gigot  a  I'ean,  with 
a  turnip  poultice  ?  I  sliould  die  if  I  did.  As  for  fish  in  a  watering-place, 
I  never  touch  it;  it  is  sure  to  be  bad.  Nor  care  I  for  little  sinewy,  dry, 
black-legged  fowls.  Cutlets  are  my  only  resource  ;  I  have  them  nicely 
enough  broiled  by  a  little  humble  companion  of  the  family,  (a  companion, 
ye  gods,  in  this  family  !)  who  blushed  hugely  when  she  confessed  that  the 
cooking  was  hers,  and  that  her  name  was  Caroline.  For  drink  I  indulge 
in  gin,  of  which  I  consume  two  wine-glasses  daily,  in  two  tumblers  of  cold 


16  A  SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY» 

water;  it  is  the  only  liquor  that  one  can  be  sure  to  find  genuine  in  a  com- 
mon house  in  England. 

"  This  Gann,  I  take  it,  has  similar  likings,  for  I  hear  him  occasionally 
at  midnight  floundering  up  the  stairs  (his  boots  lie  dirty  in  the  passage)  — 
floundering,  I  say,  up  the  stall's,  and  cursing  the  candlestick,  whence  escape 
now  and  anon  the  snuffers  and  extinguisher,  and  with  brazen  rattle  disturb 
the  silence  of  the  night.  Thrice  a  week,  at  least,  does  Gann  breakfast  in 
bed  —  sure  sign  of  pridian  intoxication ;  and  thrice  a  week,  in  the  morning, 
I  hear  a  hoarse  voice  roaring  for  '  my  soda-water.'  How  long  have  the 
rogues  drunk  soda-water  1 

"  At  nine,  Mrs.  Gann  and  daughters  are  accustomed  to  breakfast ;  a 
handsome  pair  of  girls,  truly,  and  much  followed,  as  1  hear,  in  the  quarter. 
These  dear  creatures  are  always  paying  me  visits  —  visits  with  the  tea- 
kettle, visits  with  the  newspaper  (one  brings  it,  and  one  comes  for  it) ;  but 
the  one  is  always  at  the  other's  heels,  and  so  one  cannot  show  oneself  to  be 
that  dear,  gay  seducing  fellow  that  one  has  been,  at  home  and  on  the  Con- 
tinent. Do  you  remember  cette  chere  marquise  at  Pau  ?  That  cursed  conju- 
gal pistol-bullet  still  plays  the  deuce  with  my  shoulder.  Do  you  remember 
Betty  Bundy,  the  butcher's  daughter  1  A  pretty  race  of  fools  are  we  to 
go  mad  after  such  women,  and  risk  all — oaths,  prayers,  promises,  long 
wearisome  courtships  —  for  what? — for  vanity,  truly.  When  the  battle 
is  over,  behold  your  conquest !  Betty  Bundy  is  a  vulgar  country  wench ; 
and  cette  belle  marquise  is  old,  rouged,  and  has  false  hair.  Vanitas  vanitatum  ! 
what  a  moral  man  I  will  be  some  day  or  other ! 

"  I  have  found  an  old  acquaintance  (and  be  hanged  to  him!)  who  has 
come  to  lodge  in  this  very  house.  Do  you  recollect  at  Rome  a  young  artist, 
Fitch  by  name,  the  handsome  gaby  with  the  large  beard,  that  mad  Mrs. 
Carrickf  ergus  was  doubly  mad  about  ?  On  the  second  floor  of  Mrs.  Gann's 
house  dwells  thJs  youth.  His  beard  brings  the  gamins  of  the  streets  troop- 
ing and  yelling  about  him ;  his  fine  braided  coats  have  grown  somewhat 
shabby  now  ;  and  the  poor  fellow  is,  like  your  humble  servant  (by  the  way, 
have  you  a  500  franc  billet  to  spare  1 )  —  like  your  humble  servant,  I  say, 
very  low  in  pocket.  The  young  Andrea  bears  up  gayly,  however ;  twangles 
his  guitar,  paints  the  worst  pictures  in  the  world,  and  pens  sonnets  to  his 
imaginary  mistress's  eyebrow.  Luckily  the  rogue  did  not  know  my  name, 
or  I  should  have  been  compelled  to  unbosom  to  him ;  and  when  I  called 
out  to  him,  dubious  as  to  my  name,  '  Don't  you  know  me  ?  I  met  you  in 
Rome.  My  name  is  Brandon,'  the  painter  was  perfectly  satisfied,  and  ma- 
jestically bade  me  welcome. 

"  Fancy  the  continence  of  this  young  Joseph  —  he  has  absolutely  run 
away  from  Mrs.  Carrickfergus  !  '  Sir,'  said  he,  with  some  hesitation  and 
blushes,  when  I  questioned  him  about  the  widow,  '  I  was  compelled  to  leave 
Rome  in  consequence  of  the  fatal  fondness  of  that  woman.  I  am  an 
'andsome  man,  sir,  —  I  know  it  —  all  the  chaps  in  the  Academy  want  me 
for  a  model;  and  that  woman,  sir,  is  sixty.  Do  you  think  I  would  ally 
myself  with  her ;  sacrifice  my  happiness  for  the  sake  of  a  creature  that's 
as  hugly  as  an  'arpy  1  I'd  rather  starve,  sir.  I'd  rather  give  up  my  hart 
and  my  'opes  of  rising  in  it  than  do  a  haction  so  dis/iA/i/wnorable.' 

"  There  is  a  stock  of  virtue  for  you!  and  the  poor  fellow  half-starved. 
He  lived  at  Rome  upon  the  seven  portraits  that  the  Carrickfergus  ordered 
of  him,  and,  as  I  fancy,  now  does  not  make  twenty  pounds  in  the  year.  0 
rare  chastity!  0  wondrous  silly  hopes!  0  motns  nnimorum,  atqiie  0  certa- 
mina  tania ! — puloeris  exir;ui  jat'tu,  in  such  an  insignificant  little  lump  of  mud 
as  this !  Why  the  deuce  does  not  the  fool  marry  the  widow  1  His  betters 
would.     Til  ere  was  a  captain  of  dragoons,  an  Italian  prince,  and  four  sons 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY.         17 

of  Irish  peers,  all  at  her  feet;  but  the  Cockney's  beard  and  whiskers  have 
overcome  them  all.  Here  my.  paper  has  come  to  an  end ;  and  I  have  tlie 
honor  to  bid  your  lordship  a  respectful  farewell. 

"G.  B." 

Of  the  young  gentleman  who  goes  b3^  the  name  of  Brandon, 
the  reader  of  the  above  letter  will  not  be  so  misguided,  we 
trust,  as  to  have  a  very  exalted  opinion.  The  noble  viscount 
read  this  document  to  a  supper-party  in  Cliristchurch,  in  Ox- 
ford, and  left  it  in  a  bowl  of  milk-punch  ;  whence  a  scout  ab- 
stracted it,  and  handed  it  over  to  us.  My  lord  was  twenty 
3'ears  of  age  when  he  received  the  epistle,  and  had  spent  a 
couple  of  3-ears  abroad,  before  going  to  the  universitj^  under 
the  guardianship  of  the  worthy  individual  who  called  himself 
George  Brandon. 

Mr.  Brandon  was  the  son  of  a  half-pay  colonel,  of  good 
famil}-,  who,  honoring  the  great  himself,  thought  his  son  would 
vastly  benefit  b}^  an  acquaintance  with  them,  and  sent  him  to 
Eton,  at  cruel  charges  upon  a  slender  purse.  From  Eton  the 
lad  went  to  Oxford,  took  honors  there,  frequented  the  best 
society,  followed  with  a  kind  of  proud  obsequiousness  all  the 
tufts  of  the  university,  and  left  it  owing  exactly-  two  thousand 
pounds.  Then  there  came  storms  at  home  ;  fur}-  on  the  part 
of  the  stern  old  "governor;"  and  final  payment  of  the  debt. 
But  while  this  settlement  was  pending.  Master  George  had 
contracted  man}'  more  debts  among  bill-discounters,  and  was 
glad  to  fl}^  to  the  Continent  as  tutor  to  3'oung  Lord  Cinqbars, 
in  whose  company  he  learned  ever}^  one  of  the  vices  in  Europe  ; 
and  having  a  good  natural  genius,  and  a  heart  not  unkindly, 
had  used  these  quahties  in  such  an  admirable  manner  as  to  be 
at  twenty-seven  utterly  ruined  in  purse  and  principle  —  an 
idler,  a  spendthrift,  and  a  glutton.  He  was  free  of  his  money  ; 
would  spend  his  last  guinea  for  a  sensual  gratification  ;  would 
borrow  from  his  neediest  friend  ;  had  no  kind  of  conscience  or 
remorse  left,  but  believed  himself  to  be  a  good-natured  devil- 
ma^'-care  fellow ;  had  a  good  deal  of  wit,  and  indisputably 
good  manners,  and  a  pleasing,  dashing  frankness  in  conversa- 
tion with  men.  I  should  like  to  know  how  man}'  such  scoun- 
drels our  universities  have  turned  out ;  and  how  much  ruin  has 
been  caused  by  that  accursed  system  which  is  called  in  England 
"the  education  of  a  gentleman."  Go,  my  son,  for  ten  3'ears 
to  a  public  school,  that  "  world  in  miniature  ;  "  learn  "  to' fight 
for  yourself"  against  the  time  when  your  real  struggles  shall 
begin.  Begin  to  be  selfish  at  ten  years  of  age  ;  study'for  other 
ten  3'ears ;  get  a  competent  knowledge  of  boxing,  swimming, 

2 


18  A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY. 

rowing,  and  cricket,  with  a  pretty  knack  of  Latin  hexameters 
and  a  decent  smattering  of  Greek  pla^-s,  —  do  tliis  and  a  fond 
father  shall  bless  yon  —  bless  the  two  thousand  pounds  which 
he  has  spent  in  acquiring  all  these  benefits  for  you.  And, 
besides,  what  else  have  you  not  learned?  You  have  been 
many  hundreds  of  times  to  chapel,  and  have  learned  to  con- 
sider the  religious  service  performed  there  as  the  vainest  parade 
in  the  world.  If  your  father  is  a  grocer,  you  have  been  beaten 
for  his  sake,  and  have  learned  to  be  ashamed  of  him.  You 
have  learned  to  forget  (as  how  should  you  remember,  being 
separated  from  them  for  three-fourths  of  your  time  ?)  the  ties 
and  natural  affections  of  home.  You  have  learned,  if  3'ou 
have  a  kindly  heart  and  an  open  hand,  to  compete  with  asso- 
ciates much  more  wealthy  than  yourself;  and  to  consider  money 
as  not  much,  but  honor — the  honor  of  dining  and  consorting 
with  your  betters  —  as  a  great  deal.  All  tliis  does  the  public- 
school  and  college  bo}^  learn  ;  and  woe  be  to  his  knowledge  ! 
Alas,  what  natural  tenderness  and  kindlj^  clinging  filial  affec- 
tion is  he  taught  to  trample  on  and  despise  !  My  friend  Bran- 
don had  gone  through  this  process  of  education,  and  had  been 
irretrievabl_y  ruined  by  it  —  his  heart  and  his  honesty  had  been 
ruined  by  it,  that  is  to  say  ;  and  he  had  received,  in  return  for 
them,  a  small  quantit}'  of  classics  and  mathematics  ^ — prett}' 
compensation  for  all  he  had  lost  in  gaining  them  ! 

But  I  am  wandering  most  absurdly-  from  the  point ;  right  or 
wrong,  so  nature  and  education  had  formed  Mr.  Brandon,  who 
is  one  of  a  considerable  class.  Well,  this  young  gentleman 
was  established  at  Mrs.  Gann's  house  ;  and  we  are  obliged  to 
enter  into  all  these  explanations  concerning  him,  because  they 
are  necessary  to  the  right  understanding  of  our  story  —  Brandon 
not  being  altogether  a  bad  man,  nor  much  worse  than  many  a 
one  who  goes  through  a  course  of  regular  selfish  swindling  all 
his  life  long,  and  dies  rehgious,  resigned,  proud  of  himself,  and 
universally  respected  by  others  ;  for  this  eminent  advantage 
has  the  getting-and-keeping  scoundrel  over  the  extravagant 
and  careless  one. 

One  day,  then,  as  he  was  gazing  from  the  window  of  his 
lodging-house,  a  cart,  containing  a  vast  number  of  easels,  port- 
folios, wooden  cases  of  pictures,  and  a  small  carpet-bag  that 
might  hold  a  change  of  clothes,  stopped  at  the  door.  The 
vehicle  was  accompanied  by  a  remarkable  young  fellow  — 
dressed  in  a  frock-coat  covered  over  with  frogs,  a  dirty  furned- 
down  shirt-collar,  with  a  blue  satin  cravat,  and  a  cap  placed 
wonderfully  on  one  ear  —  who  had  evidently  hired  apartments 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  19 

at  Mr.  Gann's.     This  new  lodger  was  no  other  than  Mr.  Andrew 
Fitch  ;  or,  as  he  wrote  on  his  cards,  without  the  prefix, 


Andrea  Fitch. 


Preparations  had  been  made  at  Gann's  for  the  reception  of 
Mr.  Fitch,  whose  aunt  (an  auctioneer's  lady  in  the  town)  had 
raade  arrangements  that  he  should  board  and  lodge  with  the 
Gann  famil}',  and  have  the  apartments  on  the  second  floor  as 
his  private  rooms.  In  these,  then,  young  Andrea  was  in- 
stalled. He  was  a  3"outh  of  a  poetic  temperament,  loving 
solitude  ;  and  where  is  such  to  be  found  more  easily  than  on 
the  storm-washed  shores  of  Margate  in  winter?  Then  the 
boarding-house  keepers  have  shut  up  their  houses  and  gone 
away  in  anguish  ;  then  the  taverns  take  their  carpets  up,  and 
you  can  have  3-our  choice  of  a  hundred  and  twenty  beds  in  any 
one  of  them  ;  then  but  one  dismal  waiter  remains  to  superintend 
this  vast  echoing  pile  of  loneliness,  and  the  landlord  pines  for 
summer ;  then  the  flys  for  Ramsgate  stand  tenantless  beside 
the  pier ;  and  about  four  sailors,  in  pea-jackets,  are  to  be  seen 
in  the  three  principal  streets  ;  in  the  rest,  silence,  closed  shut- 
ters, torpid  chimneys  enjoying  their  unnatural  winter  sinecure 
—  not  the  clack  of  a  patten  echoing  over  the  cold  dry  flags  ! 

This  solitude  had  been  chosen  by  Mr.  Brandon  for  good 
reasons  of  his  own  ;  Gann  and  his  family  would  have  fled,  but 
that  the}'  had  no  other  house  wherein  to  take  refuge  ;  and  Mrs. 
Hamraerton,  the  auctioneer's  lady,  felt  so  keenly  the  kindness 
which  she  was  doing  to  Mrs.  Gann,  in  providing  her  with  a 
lodger  at  such  a  period,  that  she  considered  herself  fully  justi- 
fied in  extracting  from  the  latter  a  bonus  of  two  guineas, 
threatening  on  refusal  to  send  her  darling  nephew  to  a  rival 
establishment  over  the  waj'. 

Andrea  was  here  then,  in  the  loneliness  that  he  loved,  — a 
fantastic  youth,  who  lived  but  for  his  art ;  to  whom  the  world 
was  like  the  Coburg  Theatre,  and  he  in  a  magnificent  costume 
acting  a  principal  pai't.  His  art,  and  his  beard  and  whiskers, 
were  the  darlings  of  his  heart.  His  long  pale  hair  fell  over  a 
high  polished  brow,  which  looked  wonderfully  thoughtful ;  and 
yet  no  man  was  more  guiltless  of  thinking.  He  was  always 
putting  himself  into  attitudes  ;  he  never  spoke  the  truth  ;  and 
was  so  entirely  aflected  and  absurd,  as  to  be  quite  honest  at 


20  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STOEY. 

last :  for  it  is  my  belief  that  the  man  did  not  know  truth  from 
falsehood  an}^  longer,  and  was  when  he  was  alone,  when  he  was 
in  company,  nay,  when  he  was  unconscious  and  sound  asleep 
snoring  in  bed,  one  complete  lump  of  affectation.  When  his 
apartments  on  the  second  floor  were  arranged  according  to  his 
fancy,  they  made  a  tremendous  show.  He  had  a  large  Gothic 
chest,  in  which  he  put  his  wardrobe  (namely,  two  velvet  waist- 
coats, four  varied  satin  under  ditto,  two  pairs  braided  trousers, 
two  shirts,  half  a  dozen  false  coUars,  and  a  couple  of  pairs  of 
dreadfully  dilapidated  Blucher  boots).  He  had  some  pieces 
of  armour  ;  some  China  jugs  and  Venetian  glasses  ;  some  bits 
of  old  damask  rags,  to  drape  his  doors  and  windows  :  and  a 
rickety  lay  figure,  in  a  Spanish  hat  and  cloak,  over  which  slung 
a  long  Toledo  rapier,  and  a  guitar,  with  a  riband  of  dirty  sk}'- 
blue. 

Such  was  our  poor  fellow's  stock  in  trade.  He  had  some 
volumes  of  poems  —  "  Lalla  Rookh,"  and  the  sterner  composi- 
tions of  B3Ton;  for,  to  do  him  justice,  he  hated  "  Don  Juan," 
and  a  woman  was  in  his  eyes  an  angel ;  a  Mangel,  alas  !  he 
would  call  her,  for  nature  and  the  circumstances  of  his  family 
had  taken  sad  Cockney  advantages  over  Andrea's  pronuncia- 
tion. 

The  Misses  Wellesley  Macarty  were  not,  however,  very 
squeamish  with  regard  to  grammar,  and,  in  this  dull  season, 
voted  Mr.  Fitch  an  elegant  young  fellow.  His  immense  beard 
and  whiskers  gave  them  the  highest  opinion  of  his  genius  ;  and 
before  long  the  intimacy  between  the  young  people  was  con- 
siderable, for  Mr.  Fitch  insisted  upon  drawing  the  portraits  of 
the  whole  family.  He  painted  Mrs.  Gann  in  her  rouge  and 
ribands,  as  described  by  Mr.  Brandon ;  Mr.  Gann,  who  said 
that  his  picture  would  be  very  useful  to  the  artist,  as  every 
soul  in  Margate  knew  him  ;  and  the  Misses  Macarty  (a  neat 
group,  representing  Miss  Bella  embracing  Miss  Linda,  who  was 
pointing  to  a  pianoforte). 

"  I  suppose  you'll  do  ray  Carry  next?  "  said  Mr.  Gann,  ex- 
pressing his  approbation  of  the  last  picture. 

"  Law,  sir,"  said  Miss  Linda,  "  Carry,  with  her  red  hair !  — 
it  would  be  ojus." 

"  Mr.  Fitch  might  as  well  paint  Becky,  our  maid,"  said  Miss 
Bella. 

"  Carry  is  quite  impossible,  Gann,"  said  Mrs.  Gann  ;  "  she 
hasn't  a  gown  fit  to  be  seen  in.  She's  not  been  at  church  for 
thirteen  Sundays  in  consequence." 

"  And  more  shame  for  you,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Gann,  who 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  21 

liked  his  child;  "Carry  shall  have  a  gown,  and  the  best  of 
gowns."  And  jingling  three-and-twentv  shillings  in  his  pocket, 
Mr.  Gann  determined  to  spend  them  all  in  the  purchase  of  a 
robe  for  Carry.  But  alas,  the  gown  never  came  ;  half  the 
mone}'  was  spent  that  very  evening  at  the  "  Bag  of  Nails." 

"Is  that  —  that  3'oung  lad^-,  3-our  daughter?"  said  Mr. 
Fitch,  surprised,  for  he  fancied  Carry  was  a  humble  companion 
of  the  family. 

"  Yes,  she  is,  and  a  ver}-  good  daughter,  too,  sir,"  answered 
Mr.  Gann.  '•'•Fetch  and  Carry  I  call  her,  or  else  Carrj'van  — 
she's  so  useful.     Ain't  you.  Carry?  " 

"I'm  very  glad  if  I  am,  papa,"  said  the  3"0ung  lady,  who 
was  blushing  violently,  and  in  whose  presence  all  this  conver- 
sation had  been  carried  on. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  miss,"  said  her  mother ;  "  3-0U  are  very 
expensive  to  us,  that  you  are,  and  need  not  brag  about  the 
work  3'ou  do.  You  would  not  live  on  charit}-,  would  3'ou,  like 
some  folks  ?  "  (here  she  looked  fiercel}'  at  Mr.  Gann)  ;  ' '  and  if 
your  sisters  and  me  starve  to  keep  3'ou  and  some  folks,  I  pre- 
sume 3'ou  are  bound  to  make  us  some  return." 

When  any  allusion  was  made  to  Mr.  Gann's  idleness  and 
extravagance,  or  his  lady  showed  herself  in  any  way  inclined 
to  be  angr}",  it  was  honest  James's  habit  not  to  answer,  but  to 
take  his  hat  and  walk  abroad  to  the  public-house  ;  or  if  haply 
she  scolded  him  at  night,  he  would  turn  his  back  and  fall 
a-snoring.  These  were  the  only  remedies  he  found  for  Mrs. 
James's  bad  temper,  and  the  first  of  them  he  adopted  on  hearing 
these  words  of  his  lady,  which  we  have  just  now  transcribed. 

Poor  Caroline  had  not  her  father's  refuge  of  flight,  but  was 
obliged  to  stay  and  listen  ;  and  a  wondrous  eloquence,  God 
wot !  had  Mrs.  Gann  upon  the  subject  of  her  daughter's  ill- 
conduct.  The  first  lecture  Mr.  Fitch  heard,  he  set  down 
Caroline  for  a  monster.  Was  she  not  idle,  sulk}',  scornful, 
and  a  sloven?  For  these  and  many  more  of  her  daughter's 
vices  Mrs.  Gann  vouched,  declaring  that  Caroline's  misbe- 
havior was  hastening  her  own  death,  and  finishing  b}'  a 
lainting-fit.  In  the  presence  of  all  these  charges,  there  stood 
Miss  Caroline,  dumb,  stupid,  and  careless  ;  na}-,  when  the 
fainting-fit  came  on,  and  Mrs.  Gann  fell  back  on  the  sofa,  the 
unfeeling  girl  took  the  opportunity  to  retire,  and  never  offered 
to  smack  her  mamma's  hands,  to  give  her  the  smelling-bottle, 
or  to  I'estore  her  with  a  glass  of  water. 

One  stood  close  at  hand  ;  for  Mr.  Fitch,  when  this  first  fit 
occurred,  was  sitting  in  the  Gann  parlor,  painting  that  lady'a 


22  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

portrait ;  and  he  was  making  towards  her  with  his  tumbler, 
when  Miss  Linda  cried  out,  "  Stop  !  the  water's  full  of  paint ;  " 
and  straightway  burst  out  laughing.  Mrs.  Gann  jumped  up 
at  this,  cured  suddenly,  and  left  the  room,  looking  somewhat 
foolish. 

"You  don't  know  Ma,"  said  Miss  Linda,  still  giggling; 
"  she's  alwa3's  fainting." 

"  Poor  thing !  "  cried  Fitch  ;  "  very  nervous,  I  suppose?" 

"Oh,  ver}^  "  answered  the  lad}^,  exchanging  arch  glances 
with  Miss  Bella. 

"  Poor  dear  lady  !  "  continued  the  artist ;  "I  pit}'  her  from 
my  hinmost  soul.  Doesn't  the  himmortal  bard  of  Havon  ob- 
serve, how  sharper  than  a  serpent's  tooth  it  is  to  have  a  thank- 
less child  ?  And  is  it  true,  ma'am,  that  that  3'oung  woman  has 
been  the  ruin  of  her  family  ?  " 

"Ruin  of  her  fiddlestick!"  rej^lied  Miss  Bella.  "Law, 
Mr.  Fitch,  3'ou  don't  know  Ma  yet ;  she  is  in  one  of  her 
tantrums." 

"What,  then,  it  isn't  true?"  cried  simple-minded  Fitch. 
To  which  neither  of  the  young  ladies  made  any  answer  in 
words,  nor  could  the  little  artist  comprehend  why  thej^  looked 
at  each  other,  and  burst  out  laughing.  But  he  retired  ponder- 
ing on  what  he  had  seen  and  heard ;  and  being  a  very  soft 
young  fellow,  most  implicitly  believed  the  accusations  of  poor 
dear  Mrs.  Gann,  and  thought  her  daughter  Caroline  was  no 
better  than  a  Regan  or  Goneril. 

A  time,  however,  was  to  come  when  he  should  believe  her 
to  be  a  most  pure  and  gentle  Cordelia ;  and  of  this  change  in 
Fitch's  opinions  we  shall  speak  in  Chapter  LLI. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A   SHABBY   GENTEEL    DINNER,    AND    OTHER    INCIDENTS    OF    A   LIKE 

NATURE. 

Mr.  Brandon's  letter  to  Lord  Cinqbars  produced,  as  we 
have  said,  a  great  impression  upon  the  famil}^  of  Gann ;  an 
impression  which  was  considerabl}'  increased  by  their  lodger's 
subsequent  behavior :  for  although  the  persons  with  whom  he 
now  associated  were  of  a  very  vulgar  ridiculous  kind,  they  were 
by  no  means  so  low  or  ridiculous  that  Mr.  Brandon  should  not 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  23 

wish  to  appear  before  them  in  the  most  advantageous  light; 
and,  accordingl}',  he  gave  himself  the  greatest  airs  when  in 
their  company,  and  bragged  incessantly  of  his  acquaintance 
and  familiarity  with  the  nobility.  Mr.  Brandon  was  a  tuft- 
hunter  of  the  genteel  sort ;  his  pride  being  quite  as  slavish, 
and  his  haughtiness  as  mean  and  cringing,  in  fact,  as  poor 
Mrs.  Gann's  stupid  wonder  and  respect  for  all  the  persons 
whose  names  are  written  with  titles  before  them.  O  free  and 
happy  Britons,  what  a  miserable,  truckling,  cringing  race  ye 


are 


The  reader  has  no  doubt  encountered  a  number  of  such 
swaggerers  in  the  course  of  his  conversation  with  the  world  — 
men  of  a  decent  middle  rank,  who  affect  to  despise  it,  and  herd 
only  with  persons  of  the  fashion.  This  is  an  offence  in  a  man 
which  none  of  us  can  forgive  ;  we  call  him  tuft-himter,  lick- 
spittle, sneak,  unmanly  ;  we  hate,  and  profess  to  despise  him. 
I  fear  it  is  no  such  thing.  We  envy  Lickspittle,  that  is  the 
fact;  and  therefore  hate  liira.  Were  he  to  plague  us  with  the 
stories  of  Jones  and  Brown,  our  familiars,  the  man  would  be  a 
simple  bore,  his  stories  heard  patientl.y ;  but  so  soon  as  he 
talks  of  my  lord  or  the  duke,  we  are  in  arms  against  him.  I 
have  seen  a  whole  merry  party  in  Russell  Square  grow  sud- 
denly gloomy  and  dumb,  because  a  pert  barrister,  in  a  loud, 
shrill  voice,  told  a  story  of  Lord  This  or  the  Marquis  of  That. 
We  all  hated  that  man  ;  and  I  would  lay  a  wager  that  every 
one  of  the  fourteen  persons  assembled  round  the  boiled  turkey 
and  saddle  of  mutton  (not  to  mention  side-dishes  from  the 
pastry-cook's  opposite  the  British  Museum)  —  I  would  wager,  I 
say,  that  every  one  was  muttering  inwardly,  "  A  plague  on  that 
fellow  !  he  knows  a  lord,  and  I  never  spoke  to  more  than  three 
in  the  wliole  course  of  my  life."  To  our  betters  we  can  recon- 
cile ourselves,  if  you  please,  respecting  them  very  sincerely, 
laughing  at  their  jokes,  making  allowance  for  their  stupidities, 
meekly  suffering  their  insolence  ;  but  we  can't  pardon  our  equals 
going  beyond  us.  A  friend  of  mine  who  lived  amicably  and 
happily  among  his  friends  and  relatives  at  Hackney,  was  on  a 
sudden  disowned  by  the  latter,  cut  by  the  former,  and  doomed 
in  innumerable  prophecies  to  ruin,  because  he  kept  a  footboy, 
—  a  harmless  little  blowsy-faced  urchin,  in  light  snuff-colored 
clothes,  glistering  over  with  sugar-loaf  buttons.  There  is  an- 
other man,  a  great  man,  a  literary  man,  whom  the  public  loves, 
and  who  took  a  sudden  leap  from  obscurity  into  fame  and 
wealth.  This  was  a  crime  ;  but  he  bore  his  rise  with  so  much 
modesty,  that  even  his  brethren  of  the  pen  did  not  env^'^  him. 


24  A   SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

One  luckless  day  he  set  up  a  one-horse  chaise  ;  from  that  min- 
ute he  was  doomed. 

"  Have  you  seen  his  new  carriage?"  says  Snarley. 

"  Yes,"  says  Yow  ;  "  he's  so  consumedlj'  proud  of  it,  that  he 
can't  see  his  old  friends  while  he  drives." 

"  Ith  it  a  donkey-cart,"  hsps  Simper,  "  thith  gwand  caw- 
waige?  I  always  thaid  that  the  man,  from  hith  thtile,  wath 
fitted  to  be  a  vewy  dethent  cothtermonger." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  cries  old  Candor,  "  a  sad  pity  indeed  ! — dread- 
fully extravagant,  I'm  told  —  bad  health  —  expensive  family  — 
works  going  down  every  day  —  and  now  he  must  set  up  a  car 
riage  forsooth  !  " 

Snarley,  Yow,  Simper,  Candor,  hate  their  brother.  If  he 
is  ruined,  thej^  will  be  kind  to  him  and  just ;  but  he  is  success- 
ful, and  woe  be  to  him  ! 

•  ••••••• 

This  trifling  digression  of  half  a  page  or  so,  although  it 
seems  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  stor}^  in  hand,  has,  never- 
theless, the  strongest  relation  to  it ;  and  you  shall  hear  what. 

In  one  word,  then,  Mr.  Brandon  bragged  so  much,  and  as- 
sumed such  airs  of  superiorit}',  that  after  a  while  he  perfectly 
disgusted  Mrs.  Cann  and  the  Misses  Macaily,  who  were  gen- 
tlefolks themselves,  and  did  not  at  all  like  his  way  of  telling 
them  that  he  was  their  better.  Mr.  Fitch  was  swallowed  up  in 
his  hart,  as  he  called  it,  and  cared  nothing  for  Brandon's  airs. 
Gann,  being  a  low-spirited  fellow,  completely  submitted  to  Mr. 
Brandon,  and  looked  up  to  him  with  deepest  wonder.  And  poor 
little  Caroline  followed  her  father's  faith,  and  in  six  weeks  after 
Mr.  Brandon's  arrival  at  the  lodgings,  had  grown  to  believe 
him  the  most  perfect,  finished,  polished,  agreeable  of  mankind. 
Indeed,  the  poor  girl  had  never  seen  a  gentleman  before,  and 
towards  such  her  ffentle  heart  turned  instinctivelv.  Brandon 
never  offended  her  by  hard  words  ;  insulted  her  b}'  cruel  scorn, 
such  as  she  met  with  from  her  mother  and  her  sisters  ;  there  was 
a  quiet  manner  about  the  man  quite  diflferent  to  any  that  she  had 
before  seen  amongst  the  acquaintances  of  her  familj^ ;  and  if 
he  assumed  a  tone  of  superiority  in  his  conversation  with  her 
and  the  rest,  Caroline  felt  that  he  was  their  superior,  and  as 
such  admired  and  respected  him. 

What  happens  when  in  the  innocent  bosom  of  a  girl  of  six- 
teen such  sensations  arise?  What  has  happened  ever  since  the 
world  began? 

I  have  said  that  Miss  Caroline  had  no  friend  in  the  world 
but  her  father,  and  must  here  take  leave  to  recall  that  asser- 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  25 

tion ;  —  a  friend  she  most  certainly  had,  and  that  was  honest 
Becky,  the  smutt}'  maid,  whose  name  has  been  mentioned  be- 
fore. Miss  Caroline  had  learned,  in  the  course  of  a  Ufe  spent 
under  the  tyranny  of  her  jaamma,  some  of  the  notions  of  the 
latter,  and  would  have  been  very  much  offended  to  call  Becky  her 
friend :  but  friends,  in  fact,  they  were  ;  and  a  great  comfort  it 
was  for  Caroline  to  descend  to  the  calm  kitchen  from  the  stormy 
'back-parlor,  and  there  vent  some  of  her  httle  woes  to  the  com- 
passionate servant  of  all  work. 

When  Mrs.  Gann  went  out  with  her  daughters,  Beck}'  would 
take  her  work  and  come  and  keep  Miss  Caroline  company  ;  and, 
if  the  truth  must  be  told,  the  greatest  enjoyment  the  pair  used 
to  have  was  in  these  afternoons,  when  they  read  together  out  of 
the  precious  greasy,  marble-covered  volumes  that  Mrs.  Gann 
was  in  the  habit  of  fetching  from  the  library.  Many  and  many 
a  tale  had  the  pair  so  gone  through.  I  can  see  them  over 
"  Manfrone  ;  or  the  One-handed  Monk"  — the  room  dark,  the 
street  silent,  the  hour  ten  —  the  tall,  red,  lurid  candlewick 
wagghng  down,  the  flame  flickering  pale  upon  Miss  Caroline's 
pale  face  as  she  read  out,  aud  lighting  up  honest  Becky's  gog- 
gling eyes,  who  sat  silent,  her  work  in  her  lap :  she  had  not 
done  a  stitch  of  it  for  an  hour.  As  the  trap-door  slowly  opens, 
and  the  scowhng  Alonzo,  bending  over  the  sleeping  Imoinda, 
draws  his  pistol,  cocks  it,  looks  well  if  the  priming  be  right, 
places  it  then  to  the  sleeper's  ear,  and  —  thunder-under-under  — 
down  fall  the  snuflers  !  Becky  has  had  them  in  her  hand  for 
ten  minutes,  afraid  to  use  them.  Up  starts  Caroline,  and  flings 
the  book  back  into  mamma's  basket.  It  is  that  lady  returned 
with  her  daughters  from  a  tea-party,  where  two  young  gents 
from  London  have  been  might}'  genteel  indeed. 

For  the  sentimental  too,  as  well  as  for  the  terrible,  Mis.s  Caro- 
line and  the  cook  had  a  strong  predilection,  and  had  wept  their 
poor  e3-es  out  over  "  Thaddeus  of  Warsaw"  and  the  "  Scottish 
Chiefs."  Fortified  by  the  examples  drawn  from  those  instructive 
volumes,  Becky  was  firml}^  convinced  that  her  3'oung  mistress 
would  meet  with  a  great  lord  some  day  or  other,  or  be  carried 
off",  like  Cinderella,  b}'  a  brilliant  prince,  to  the  mortification  of 
her  elder  sisters,  whom  Becky  hated.  And  when,  therefore,  the 
new  lodger  came,  lonel}',  mj'sterious,  melanchol}'^,  elegant,  with 
the  romantic  name  of  George  Brandon  —  when  he  wrote  a  letter 
directed  to  a  lord,  and  Miss  Caroline  and  Becky  together  ex- 
amined the  superscription,  such  a  look  passed  between  them 
as  the  pencil  of  Leslie  or  Maclise  could  alone  describe  for  us. 
Becky's  orbs  were  lighted  up  with  a  preternatural  look  of  won- 


26  A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY. 

dering  wisdom ;    whereas,  after  an  instant,  Caroline  dropped 
hers,  and  blushed,  and  said,  "  Nonsense,  Becky  !  " 

"  /s  it  nonsense?"  said  Becky,  grinning,  and  snapping  her 
fingers  with  a  triumphant  air  ;  "  the  cards  comes  true  ;  I  knew 
they  would.  Didn't  3'ou  have  king  and  queen  of  hearts  three 
deals  running?  What  did  you  dream  about  last  Tuesday,  tell 
me  that?" 

But  Miss  Caroline  never  did  tell,  for  her  sisters  came  boun-  " 
cing  down  the  stairs,  and  examined  the  lodger's  letter.     Caro- 
line, however,  went  away  musing  much  upon  these  points  ;  and 
she  began  to  think  Mr.  Brandon  more  wonderful  and  beautiful 
every  day. 

In  the  meantime,  while  Miss  Caroline  was  innocently  indulg- 
ing in  her  inclination  for  the  brilliant  occupier  of  the  first  floor, 
it  came  to  pass  that  the  tenant  of  the  second  was  inflamed  by  a 
most  romantic  passion  for  her. 

For,  after  partaking  for  about  a  foi'tnight  of  the  family 
dinner,  and  passing  some  eyenings  with  Mrs.  Gann  and  the 
young  ladies,  Mr.  Fitch,  though  by  no  means  quick  of  com- 
prehension, began  to  perceive  that  the  nightly  charges  that  were 
brought  against  poor  Caroline  could  not  be  founded  upon  truth. 
"Let's  see,"  mused  he  to  himself.  "  Tuesda}^  the  old  lady 
said  her  daughter  was  bringing  her  gray  hairs  with  sorrow  to 
the  grave,  because  the  cook  had  not  boiled  the  potatoes. 
Wednesda}^,  she  said  Caroline  was  an  assassin,  because  she 
could  not  find  her  own  thimble.  Thursday,  she  vows  Caroline 
has  no  rehgion,  because  that  old  pair  of  silk  stockings  were  not 
darned.  And  this  can't  be,"  reasoned  Fitch,  deeply.  "  A  gal 
haint  a  murderess  because  her  Ma  can't  find  her  thimble.  A 
woman  that  goes  to  slap  her  grown-up  daughter  on  the  back, 
and  before  company  too,  for  such  a  paltry  thing  as  a  hold  pair 
of  stockings,  can't  be  surely  a-speaking  the  truth."  And  thus 
gradualh'  his  first  impression  against  Caroline  wore  awa}'.  As 
this  disappeared,  pity  took  possession  of  his  soul  —  and  we 
know  what  pity  is  akin  to  ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  a  correspond- 
ing liatred  for  the  oppressors  of  a  creature  so  amiable. 

To  sum  up,  in  six  short  weeks  after  the  appearance  of 
the  two  gentlemen,  we  find  our  chief  dramatis  personce  as 
follows  :  — 

Caroline,  an  innocent  young  woman,  in  love  with  Brandon. 
Fitch,  a  celebrated  painter,  almost  in  love  with  Caroline. 
Brandon,  a  young  gentleman,  in  love  with  himself. 

At  first  he  was  pretty  constant  in  his  attendance  upon  the 


A  SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  27 

Misses  Macarty  when  they  went  out  to  walk,  nor  were  they  dis- 
pleased at  his  attentions  ;  but  he  found  that  there  were  a  great 
number  of  Margate  beaux  —  ugly,  vulgar  fellows  as  ever  were  — 
who  always  followed  in  the  young  ladies'  train,  and  made  them' 
selves  infinitely  more  agreeable  than  he  was.  These  men  Mr, 
Brandon  treated  with  a  great  deal  of  scorn  :  and,  in  return, 
they  hated  him  cordially.  So  did  the  ladies  speedily :  his 
haughty  manners,  though  quite  as  impertinent  and  free,  were 
not  half  so  pleasant  to  them  as  Jones's  jokes  or  Smith's  charm- 
ing romps  ;  and  the  girls  gave  Brandon  very  shortly  to  under- 
stand that  they  were  much  happier  without  him.  '-Ladies, 
3^our  humble,"  he  heard  Bob  Smith  say,  as  that  little  linen- 
draper  came  skipping  to  the  door  from  which  they  were  issuing. 
"  The  sun's  hup  and  trade  is  down  ;  if  you're  for  a  walk,  I'm 
your  man."  And  Miss  Linda  and  Miss  Bella  each  took  an  arm 
of  Mr.  Smith,  and  sailed  down  the  street.  "  I'm  glad  you  ain't 
got  that  proud  gent  with  the  glass  hi,"  said  Mr.  Smith  ;  "  he's 
the  most  hillbred,  supercilious  beast  I  ever  see." 

"  So  he  is,"  saj-s  Bella. 

"  Hush  !  "  says  Linda. 

The  "proud  gent  with  the  glass  hi"  was  at  this  moment 
lolling  out  of  the  first-floor  window,  smoking  his  accustomed 
cigar ;  and  his  eyeglass  was  fixed  upon  the  ladies,  to  whom  he 
made  a  very  low  bow.  It  may  be  imagined  how  fond  he  was 
of  them  afterwards,  and  what  looks  he  cast  at  Mr.  Bob  Smith 
the  next  time  he  met  him.  Mr.  Bob's  heart  beat  for  a  day 
afterwards  ;  and  he  found  he  had  business  in  town. 

But  the  love  of  society  is  stronger  than  even  pride  ;  and  the 
great  Mr.  Brandon  was  sometimes  fain  to  descend  from  his  high 
station  and  consort  with  the  vulgar  family  with  whom  he  lodged. 
But,  as  we  have  said,  he  always  did  this  with  a  wonderfully 
condescending  air,  giving  his  associates  to  understand  how  great 
was  the  honor  he  did  them.  ' 

One  day,  then,  he  was  absolutely  so  kind  as  to  accept  of  an 
invitation  from  the  ground-floor,  which  was  delivered  in  the 
passage  by  Mr.  James  Gann,  who  said,  "  It  was  hard  to  see  a 
gent  eating  mutton-chops  from  week's  end  to  week's  end  ;  and 
if  Mr.  Brandon  had  a  mind  to  meet  a  devilish  good  fellow  as 
ever  was,  my  friend  Swigb}-,  a  man  who  rides  his  horse,  and 
has  his  five  hundred  a  3"ear  to  spend,  and  to  eat  a  prime  cut 
out  of  as  good  a  leg  of  pork  (though  he  said  it)  as  ever  a  knife 
was  stuck  into,  the}-  should  dine  that  day  at  three  o'clock  sharp, 
and  Mrs.  G.  and  the  gals  would  be  glad  of  the  honor  of  his 
company." 


28  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

The  person  so  invited  was  rather  amused  at  the  terms  in 
which  Mr.  Gann  "  conveyed  his  hospitable  message  ;  and  at 
three  o'clock  made  his  appearance  in  the  back-parlor,  whence 
he  had  the  honor  of  conducting  Mrs.  Gann  (dressed  in  a  sweet 
yeWow mousseline  delaine,  with  a  large  red  turban,  aferronniere, 
and  a  smelling-bottle  attached  by  a  ring  to  a  very  damp,  fat 
hand)  to  the  "  office,"  where  the  repast  was  set  out.  The 
Misses  Macarty  were  in  costumes  equally  tasty :  one  on  the 
guest's  right  hand  ;  one  near  the  boarder,  Mr.  Fitch  —  who,  in 
a  large  beard,  an  amethyst  velvet-waistcoat,  his  hair  fresh 
wetted,  and  parted  accurately'  down  the  middle  to  fall  in  curls 
over  his  collar,  would  have  been  irresistible  if  the  collar  had 
been  a  little,  little  whiter  than  it  was. 

Mr.  Brandon,  too,  was  dressed  in  his  very  best  suit ;  for 
though  he  affected  to  despise  his  hosts  very  much,  he  wished  to 
make  the  most  favorable  impression  upon  them,  and  took  care 
to  tell  Mrs.  Gann  that  he  and  Lord  So-and-so  were  the  only 
two  men  in  the  world  who  were  in  possession  of  that  particular 
waistcoat  which  she  admired  :  for  Mrs.  Gann  was  verj'  gracious, 
and  had  admired  the  waistcoat,  being  desirous  to  impress  with 
awe  Mr.  Gann's  friend  and  admirer,  Mr.  Swigb}^  —  who,  man 
of  fortune  as  he  was,  was  a  constant  frequenter  of  the  club  at 
the  "  Bag  of  Nails." 

About  this  club  and  its  supporters  Mr.  Gann's  guest 
Mr.  Swigby,  and  Gann  himself,  talked  very  gajdy  before  din- 
ner ;  all  the  jokes  about  all  the  club  being  roared  over  by  the 
pair. 

Mr.  .Brandon,  who  felt  he  was  the  great  man  of  the  party, 
indulged  himself  in  his  great  propensities  without  restraint,  and 
told  Mrs.  Gann  stories  about  half  the  hobility.  Mrs.  Gann 
conversed  knowingly  about  the  Opera ;  and  declared  that  she 
thought  Taglioni  the  sweetest  singer  in  the  world. 

"  Mr.  —  a  —  Swigb}',  have  3-ou  ever  seen  Lablache  dance?" 
asked  Mr.  Brandon  of  that  gentleman,  to  whom  he  had  been 
formaU}'  introduced. 

"  At  Vauxhall  is  he?"  said  Mr.  Swigby,  who  was  just  from 
town. 

"'Yes,  on  the  tight-rope  ;  a  charming  performer." 

On  which  Mr.  Gann  told  how  he  had  been  to  Vauxhall  when 
the  princes  were  in  London ;  and  his  lady  talked  of  these 
knowingly.  And  then  they  fell  to  conversing  about  fireworks 
and  rack-punch ;  Mr.  Brandon  assuring  the  .young  ladies  that 
Vauxhall  was  the  ver}'  pink  of  the  fashion,  and  longing  to  have 
the  honor  of  dancing  a  quadrille  with  them  there.     Indeed; 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY. 


29 


Brandon  was  so  very  sarcastic,  that  not  a  single  soul  at  table 
understood  him. 

The  table,  from  Mr.  Brandon's  plan  of  it;  which  was  after- 
wards sent  to  my  Lord  Cinqbars,  was  arranged  as  follows  :  — 


Miss  Caroline. 

Mr.  Fitch. 

Miss  L.  Macarty. 

1. 

Potatoes. 

3. 

A   roast    leg    of 

Three  shreds 

Boiled  haddock, 

e-i 

pork,  with  sage  and 

of   celery  in   a 

removed  by  hashed 

B 

onions. 

glass. 

mutton. 

o 

a 

3 

2. 

Cabbage. 

4. 

Mr.  Swigby. 

W 

iss  B.  Macart 

y.         Mr.  Brandon. 

1  and  2  are  pots  of  porter;  3,  a  quart  of  ale,  Mrs.  Gann's 
favorite  drink  ;  4,  a  bottle  of  fine  old  golden  sherry,  the  real 
produce  of  the  Uva  grape,  purchased  at  the  "Bag  of  Nails" 
Hotel  for  Is.  dd.  by  Mr.  J.  Gann. 

Mr.  Gann.  "Taste  that  sherry,  sir.  Your 'ealth,  and  my 
services  to  you,  sir.  That  wine,  sir,  is  given  me  as  a  particular 
favor  by  my  —  ahem  !  —  mj'  wine-merchant,  who  only  will  part 
with  a  small  quantity  of  it,  and  imports  it  direct,  sir,  from  — 
ahem  !  —  from  —  " 

il/r.  Brandon.  "  From  Xeres,  of  course..  It  is,  I  really 
think,  the  finest  wine  I  ever  tasted  in  my  life  —  at  a  commoner's 
table,  that  is." 

Mrs.  Gann.  "Oh,  in  course,  a  commoner's  table!  —  we 
have  no  titles,  sir,  (Mr.  Gann,  I  will  trouble  you  for  some 
more  crackling.)  though  my  poor  dear  girls  are  related,  by 
their  blessed  father's  side,  to  some  of  the  first  nobility  in  the 
land,  I  assure  you." 

Mi\  Gann.  "Gammon,  Jooly  my  dear.  Them  Irish  no- 
bilit}',  3'ou  know,  what  are  they?  And  besides,  it's  my  belief 
that  the  gals  are  no  moi'e  related  to  them  than  I  am." 

Miss  Bella  (to  Mr.  Brandon,  confidentially).  "  Y'ou  must  find 
that  poor  Par  is  sadly  vulgar,  Mr.  Brandon." 

Mrs.  Gann.  "Mr.  Brandon  has  never  been  accustomed  to 
such  language,  I  am  sure  ;  and  I  entreat  you  will  excuse  Mr. 
Gann's  rudeness,  sir." 


30  A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY. 

Miss  Linda.  "  Indeed,  I  assure  3'ou,  Mr.  Brandon,  that 
we've  high  connections  as  well  as  low  ;  as  high  as  some  people's 
connections,  per'aps,  though  we  are  not  always  talking  of  the 
nobility."  This  was  a  double  shot :  the  first  barrel  of  Miss 
Linda's  sentence  hit  her  step-father,  the  second  part  was  lev- 
elled directl^f  at  Mr.  Brandon.  "Don't  you  think  I'm  right, 
Mr.  Fitch?" 

Mr.  Brandon.  "  You  are  quite  right,  Miss  Linda,  in  this  as 
in  every  other  instance  ;  but  I  am  afraid  Mr.  Fitch  has  not  paid 
proper  attention  to  your  excellent  remark  :  for,  if  I  don't  mis- 
take the  meaning  of  that  beautiful  design  which  he  has  made 
with  his  fork  upon  the  tablecloth,  his  soul  is  at  this  moment 
wrapped  up  in  his  art." 

This  was  exactly  what  Mr.  Fitch  wished  that  all  the  world 
should  suppose.  He  flung  back  his  chair,  and  stared  wildly 
for  a  moment,  and  said,  "Pardon  me,  madam:  it  is  true  my 
thoughts  were  at  that  moment  far  away  in  the  regions  of  my 
hart."  He  was  really  thinking  that  his  attitude  was  a  very 
elegant  one,  and  that  a  large  garnet  ring  which  he  wore  on  his 
forefinger  must  be  mistaken  b}-  all  the  eompau}-  for  a  rub}'. 

"Art  is  very  well,"  said  Mr.  Brandon;  "but  with  such 
pretty  natural  objects  before  j-ou,  I  wonder  3'ou  were  not  con- 
tent to  think  of  them." 

"Do  you  mean  the  mashed  potatoes,  sir?"  said  Andrea 
Fitch,  wondering. 

"  I  mean  Miss  Rosalind  Macarty,"  answered  Brandon,  gal- 
lantly, and  laughing  heartily  at  the  painter's  simplicity.  But 
this  compliment  could  not  soften  Miss  Linda,  who  had  an 
uneas}'  conviction  that  Mr.  Brandon  was  laughing  at  her,  and 
disliked  him  accordingl}'. 

At  this  juncture.  Miss  Caroline  entered  and  took  the  place 
marked  as  hers,  to  the  left  hand  of  Mr.  Gann,  vacant.  An  old 
rickety  wooden  stool  was  placed  for  her,  instead  of  that  elegant 
and  commodious  Windsor  chair  which  supported  every  other 
person  at  table  ;  and  by  the  side  of  the  plate  stood  a  curious 
old  battered  tin  mug,  on  which  the  antiquarian  might  possibly' 
discover  tlie  inscription  of  the  word  "  Caroline."  This,  in 
truth,  was  poor  Caroline's  mug  and  stool,  having  been  appro- 
priated to  her  from  childhood  upwards  ;  and  here  it  was  her 
custom  meekl}^  to  sit,  and  eat  her  daily  meal. 

It  was  well  that  the  girl  was  placed  near  her  father,  else  I 
do  believe  she  would  have  been  starved  ;  but  Gann  was  much 
too  good-natured  to  allow  that  any  difference  should  be  made 
between   her  and   her  sisters.      There  are  some   meannesses 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  31 

which  are  too  mean  even  for  man  —  woman,  lovely  woman 
alone,  can  venture  to  commit  them.  Well,  on  the  present 
occasion,  and  when  the  dinner  was  half  over,  poor  Caroline 
stole  gently  into  the  room  and  took  her  ordinary  place.  Caro- 
line's pale  face  was  very  red  ;  for  the  fact  must  be  told  that 
she  had  been  in  the  kitchen  helping  Beck3-,  the  universal  maid  ; 
and  having  heard  how  the  great  Mr.  Brandon  was  to  dine  with 
them  upon  that  day,  the  simple  girl  had  been  showing  her 
respect  for  him,  by  compiling,  in  her  best  manner,  a  certain 
dish,  for  the  cooking  of  which  her  papa  had  often  praised  her. 
She  took  her  place,  blushing  violently  when  she  saw  him,  and 
if  Mr.  Gann  had  not  been  mailing  a  violent  clattering  with  his 
knife  and  fork,  it  is  possible  that  he  might  have  heard  Miss 
Caroline's  heart  thump,  which  it  did  violentl}-.  Her  dress  was 
somehow  a  little  smarter  than  usual ;  and  Becky  the  maid,  who 
brouglit  in  that  remove  of  hashed  mutton  whicli  lias  been  set 
down  in  the  bill  of  fare,  looked  at  her  young  lady  with  a  good 
deal  of  complacenc}',  as,  loaded  with  plates,  she  quitted  the 
room.  Indeed,  the  poor  girl  deserved  to  be  looked  at:  there 
was  an  air  of  gentleness  and  innocence  about  her  that  was  apt 
to  please  some  persons,  much  more  than  the  bold  beauties  of 
her  sisters.  The  two  young  men  did  not  fail  to  remark  this  ; 
one  of  them,  the  little  painter,  had  long  since  observed  it. 

"  You  are  very  late,  miss,""  cried  Mrs.  Gann,  who  affected 
not  to  know  what  had  caused  her  daughter's  delay,  "You're 
always  late  ! "  and  the  elder  girls  stared  and  grinned  at  each 
other  knowingly,  as  they  always  did  when  mamma  made  such 
attacks  upon  Caroline,  who  only  kept  her  eyes  down  upon 
the  tablecloth,  and  began  to  eat  her  dinner  without  saying  a 
word. 

"  Come,  my  dear,"  cried  honest  Gann,  "  if  she  is  late  you 
know  why.  A  girl  can't  be  here  and  there  too,  as  I  say  ;  can 
they,  Swigby?" 

"  Impossible  !  "  said  Swigby. 

"Gents,"  continued  Mr.  Gann,  "our  Carry,  3'ou  must 
know,  has  been  down  stairs  making  the  pudding  for  her  old 
pappy  ;  and  a  good  pudding  she  makes,  I  can  tell  you  " 

Miss  Caroline  blushed  more  vehemently  than  ever  ;  the  artist 
stared  her  full  in  the  face  ;  Mrs.  Gann  said  "  Nonsense  "  and 
"stuff"  very  majestically;  only  Mr.  Brandon  interposed  in 
Caroline's  favor. 

' '  I  would  sooner  that  my  wife  should  know  how  to  make  a 
pudding,"  said  he,  "  than  how  to  play  the  best  piece  of  music 
in  the  world  !  " 


32  A   SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

"  Law,  Mr.  Brandon  !  I,  for  my  part,  wouldn't  demean  my- 
self by  any  such  kitchen- work  !  "  cries  Miss  Linda. 

"  Make  puddens,  indeed  :  it's  ojous  !  "  cries  Bella. 

"  For  you,  my  loves,  of  course  !  "  interposed  their  mamma. 
"  Young  women  of  your  family  and  circumstances  is  not  ex- 
pected to  perform  any  such  work.  It's  different  with  Miss 
Caroline,  who,  if  she  does  make  herself  useful  now  and  then, 
don't  make  herself  near  so  useful  as  she  should,  considerino- 
that  she's  not  a  shilling,  and  is  living  on  our  charity,  like  some 
other  folks." 

Thus  did  this  amiable  woman  neglect  no  opportunity  to 
give  her  opinions  about  her  husband  and  daughter.  The 
former,  however,  cared  not  a  straw  ;  and  the  latter,  in  this 
instance,  was  perfectly  happy.  Had  not  kind  Mr.  Brandon 
approved  of  her  work  ;  and  could  she  ask  for  more  ? 

"  Mamma  may  say  what  she  pleases  to-daj","  thought  Caro- 
line.    "  I  am  too  happy  to  be  made  angry  by  her." 

Poor  little  mistaken  Caroline,  to  think  you  were  safe  against 
three  women !  The  dinner  had  not  advanced  much  further, 
when  Miss  Isabella,  who  had  been  examining  her  younger 
sister  curiously  for  some  short  time,  telegraphed  Miss  Linda 
across  the  table,  and  nodded,  and  winked,  and  pointed  to  her 
own  neck ;  a  very  white  one,  as  I  have  before  had  the  honor  to 
remark,  and  quite  without  any  covering,  except  a  smart  neck- 
lace of  twent3'-four  rows  of  the  lightest  blue  glass  beads,  finish- 
ing in  a  neat  tassel.  Linda  had  a  similar  ornament  of  a 
vermilion  color ;  whereas  Caroline,  on  this  occasion,  wore 
a  handsome  new  collar  up  to  the  throat,  and  a  brooch,  which 
looked  all  the  smarter  for  the  shabby  frock  over  which  they 
were  placed.  As  soon  as  she  saw  her  sister's  signals,  the  poor 
little  thing,  who  had  only  just  done  fluttering  and  blushing,  fell 
to  this  same  work  over  again.  Down  went  her  eyes  once  more, 
and  her  face  and  neck  lighted  up  to  the  color  of  Miss  Linda's 
sham  cornelian. 

"What's  the  gals  giggling  and  oghng  about?"  said  Mr. 
Gann,  innocently. 

''What  is  it,  my  darling  loves?"  said  stately  Mrs. 
Gann. 

"  Why,  don't  yon  see,  Ma?  "  said  Linda.  "  Look  at  Miss 
Carry  !  I'm  blessed  if  she  has  not  got  on  Becky's  collar  and  brooch 
that  Sims  the  pilot  gave  her !  " 

The  young  ladies  fell  back  in  uiiroarious  fits  of  laughter, 
and  laughed  all  the  time  that  their  mamma  was  thundering  out 
a  speech,  in  which  she  declared  that  her  daughter's  conduct 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  33 

was  unworth}'^  a  gentlewoman,  and  bid  her  leave  the  room  and 
take  off  those  disgraceful  ornaments. 

There  was  no  need  to  tell  her ;  the  poor  little  thing  gave  one 
piteous  look  at  her  father,  who  was  whistling,  and  seemed  in- 
deed to  think  the  matter  a  good  joke  ;  and  after  she  had  man- 
aged to  open  the  door  and  totter  into  the  passage,  you  might 
have  heard  her  weeping  there,  weeping  tears  more  bitter  than 
any  of  the  nianj^  she  had  shed  in  the  course  of  her  life.  Down 
she  went  to  the  kitchen,  and  when  she  reached  that  humble 
place  of  refuge,  first  pulled  at  her  neck  and  made  as  if  she 
would  take  off  Becky's  collar  and  brooch,  and  then  flung  her- 
self into  the  arms  of  that  honest  scullion,  where  she  cried  and 
cried  till  she  brought  on  the  first  fit  of  hysterics  that  ever 
she  had  had. 

This  cr3'ing  could  not  at  first  be  heard  in  the  parlor,  where 
the  young  ladies,  Mrs.  Gann,  Mr.  Ganu,  and  his  friend  from 
the  "■  Bag  of  Nails"  were  roaring  at  the  excellence  of  the  joke. 
Mr.  Brandon,  sipping  sherr^^,  sat  b}',  looking  very  sarcastically 
and  slyly  from  one  party  to  the  other ;  Mr.  Fitch  was  staring 
about  him  too,  but  with  a  very  different  expression,  anger  and 
wonder  inflaming  his  bearded  countenance.  At  last,  as  the 
laughing  died  away  and  a  faint  voice  of  weeping  came  from  the 
kitchen  below,  Andrew  could  bear  it  no  longer,  but  bounced  up 
from  his  chair  and  rushed  out  of  the  room  exclaiming,  — 

"  By  Jove,  it's  too  bad  ! " 

"  What  does  the  man  mean?"  said  Mrs.  Gann. 

He  meant  that  he  was  from  that  moment  over  head  and  ears 
in  love  with  Caroline,  and  that  he  longed  to  beat,  buffet,  pum- 
mel, thump,  tear  to  pieces,  those  callous  ruffians  who  so  piti- 
lessl}'  laughed  at  her. 

"  What's  that  chop  wi'  the  beard  in  such  tantrums  about?" 
said  the  gentleman  from  the  "  Bag  of  Nails." 

Mr.  Gann  answered  this  query  b}'  some  joke,  intimating 
that  "  per'aps  Mr.  Fitch's  dinner  did  not  agree  with  him,"  at 
which  these  worthies  roared  again. 

The  young  ladies  said,  "  Well,  now,  upon  m}-  word  !  " 

"Might}'  genteel  behavior,  truly!"  cried  mamma;  "but 
what  can  you  expect  from  the  poor  thing?  " 

Brandon  only  sipped  more  sherry,  but  he  looked  at  Fitch 
as  the  latter  flung  out  of  the  room,  and  his  countenance  was 
lighted  up  by  a  more  unequivocal  smile. 

•  ••••••• 

These  two  little  adventures  were  followed  b}'  a  silence  of 
some  few  minutes,   during  which  the  meats  remained  on  the 

3 


34  A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY. 

table,  and  no  signs  were  shown  of  that  pudding  upon  which 
poor  Caroline  had  exhausted  her  skill.  The  absence  of 
this  delicious  part  of  the  repast  was  first  remarked  b.y  Mr. 
Gann  ;  and  his  lady,  after  jangling  at  the  bell  for  some  time 
in  vain,  at  last  begged  one  of  her  daughters  to  go  and  hasten 
matters. 

"Becky!"  shrieked  Miss  Linda  from  the  hall,  but  Becky 
replied  not.  "Becky,  are  we  to  be  kept  waiting  all  day?" 
continued  the  lady  iii  the  same  shrill  voice.  "  Mamma  wants 
the  pudding  !  " 

"  Tell  her  to  fetch  it  herself  !  "  roared  Becky,  at  which 
remark  Gann  and  his  facetious  friend  once  more  went  olf  into 
fits  of  laughter. 

"  Tliis  is  too  bad  !  "  said  Mrs.  G.,  starting  up  ;  "  she  shall 
leave  the  house  this  instant !  "  and  so  no  doubt  Becky  would, 
but  that  the  lady  owed  her  five  quarters'  wages  ;  which  she,  at 
that  period,  did  not  feel  inclined  to  pay. 

Well,  the  dinner  at  last  was  at  an  end  ;  the  ladies  went 
away  to  tea,  leaving  the  gentlemen  to  their  wine  ;  Brandon, 
very  condescendingly,  partaking  of  a  bottle  of  port,  and  listen- 
ing with  admiration  to  the  toasts  and  sentiments  with  which  it 
is  still  the  custom  among  persons  of  Mr.  Gann's  rank  of  life  to 
preface  each  glass  of  wine.     As  thus  :  — • 

Glass  1.  "Gents,"  says  Mr.  Gann,  rising,  "this  glass_  I 
need  say  nothink  about.  Here's  the  king,  and  long  life  to  him 
and  the  family  !  " 

Mr.  Swigby,  with  his  glass,  goes  knock,  knock,  knock  on 
the  table;  and  saying  gravely,  "The  king!"  drinks  off  his 
glass,  and  smacks  his  lips  afterwards. 

Mr.  Brandon,  who  had  drunk  half  his,  stops  in  the  midst 
and  says,  "Oh,  '  the  king  !  '" 

Mr.  Swighj.   "  A  good  glass  of  wine  that,  Gann  my  boy  1  " 

Mr.  Brandon.  "  Capital,  really  ;  though,  upon  my  faith,  I'm 
no  judge  of  port." 

Mr.  Gann  (smacks).  "A  fine  fruity  wine  as  ever  I  tasted. 
I  suppose  5^ou,  Mr.  B.,  are  accustomed  only  to  claret.  I've 
'ad  it,  too,  in  my  time,  sir,  as  Swigby  there  very  well  knows. 
I  travelled,  sir,  sure  le  Continong,  I  assure  you,  and  drank  my 
glass  of  claret  with  the  best  man  in  France,  or  England  either. 
I  wasn't  always  what  I  am,  sir." 

Mr.  Brandon.    "You  don't  look  as  if  3'ou  were." 

Mr.  Gann.   "  No,  sir.     Before  that gas  came  in,  I  was 

head,  sir,  of  one  of  the  fust  'ouses  in  the  hoil-trade,  Gann, 
Blubbery  &  Gann,  sir  — Thames  Street,  City.     I'd  ray  box 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  35 

at  Piitnej',    as   good   a   gig    and    horse   as   my   friend   there 
drives." 

Mr.  Swighy.  "  Ay,  and  a  better  too,  Gann,  I  make  no 
donbt." 

3Tr.  Gann.  "Well,  say  a  better.  I  had  a  better,  if  money 
could  fetch  it,  sir ;  and  I  didn't  spare  that,  I  warrant  you.  No, 
no,  James  Gann  didn't  grudge  his  purse,  sir ;  and  had  his 
friends  ai'ound  him,  as  he's  'appj'^  to  'ave  now,  sir.  Mr.  Bran- 
don, your  'ealth,  sir,  and  ma}'  we  hoften  meet  under  this 
ma'ogany.     Swigby,  my  boy,  God  bless  you  !  " 

Mr.  Brandon.   "■  Your  ver}'  good  health." 

Mr.  Swighy.  '•  Thank  you,  Gann.  Here's  to  you,  and  long 
life  and  prosperity  and  happiness  to  you  and  yours.  Bless 
you,  Jim  my  boy  ;  heaven  bless  you  !  I  say  this,  Mr.  Bandon 
—  Brandon  —  what's  your  name  —  there  ain't  a  better  fellow 
in  all  Margate  than  James  Gann,  —  no,  nor  in  all  England. 
Here's  Mrs.  Gann,  gents,  and  the  family.  Mrs.  Gann  ! " 
{drinks.^ 

Mr.  Brandon.   "  Mrs.  Gann.     Hip,  hip,  hurrah!  "  (drinks.) 

Mr.  Gann.  "  Mrs.  Gann,  and  thank  3-ou,  gents.  A  fine 
woman,  Mr.  B.  ;  ain't  she  now?  Ah,  if  you'd  seen  'er  when  I 
married  her  !  Gad,  she  was  fine  then  —  an  out  and  outer,  sir ! 
Such  a  figure  !  " 

3fr.  Sivigby.  "  Y^ou'd  choose  none  but  a  good  'un,  I  war'ut. 
Ha,  ha,  ha  !  "" 

Mr.  Gann.  "  Did  I  ever  tell  you  of  my  duel  along  with  the 
regimental  doctor?  No!  Then  I  will.  I  was  a  3'oung  chap, 
3'ou  see,  in  those  da3's  ;  and  when  I  saw  her  at  Brussels  — 
{Brusell-i  they  call  it) —  I  was  right  slick  up  over  head  and 
ears  in  love  with  her  at  once.  But  wliat  was  to  be  done  ?  There 
was  another  gent  in  the  case  —  a  regimental  doctor,  sir  —  a 
reg'lar  dragon.  '  Faint  heart,'  says  I,  '  never  won  a  fair  lad_y,' 
and  so  I  made  so  bold.  She  took  me,  sent  the  doctor  to  the 
right  about.  I  met  him  one  morning  in  the  park  at  Brussels, 
and  stood  to  him,  sir,  like  a  man.  When  the  affair  was  over, 
my  second,  a  leftenant  of  dragoons,  told  me,  '  Gann,'  says  he, 
'I've  seen  many  a  man  under  fire  —  I'm  a  Waterloo  man,' 
savs  he,  — '  and  have  rode  by  Wellington  many  a  long  da_y ; 
but  I  never,  for  coolness,  see  such  a  man  as  3'ou.'  Gents, 
here's  the  Duke  of  Wellington  and  the  British  army ! "  ( the 
gents  drink.) 

Mr.  Brandon.   "  Did  3'ou  kill  the  doctor,  sir?" 

Mr.  Gann.   "  Why,  no,  sir;  I  shot  in  the  hair." 

Mr.  Brandon.    "Shot  him  in   the  hair!    Egad,  that  was  a 


36  A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY. 

severe  shot,  and  a  very  lucky  escape  the  doctor  had  ot  it? 
Whereabout  in  the  hair !  a  whisker,  sir ;  or,  perhaps,  a  pig- 
tail?" 

Mr.  Swighy.  "  Haw,  haw,  haw  !  shot'n  in  the  hair  —  capital, 
capital ! " 

3Ir.  Gann^  who  has  grown  very  red,  "  No,  sir,  there  ma}'  be 
some  mistake  in  my  pronounciation,  which  I  didn't  expect  to 
have  laughed  at,  at  my  hown  table." 

Mr.  Brandon.   "  My  dear  sir !  I  protest  and  vow  —  " 

3Ir.  Gann.  "  Never  mind  it,  sir.  I  gave  you  my  best,  and 
did  my  best  to  make  you  welcome.  If  you  like  better  to  malie 
fun  of  me,  do,  sir.  That  may  be  the  genteel  way,  but  hang  me  if 
it's  hour  way  ;  is  it.  Jack?    Our  waj' ;  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir." 

Mr.  Swighy.  "Jim,  Jim!  for  heaven's  sake! — peace  and 
harmony  of  the  evening  —  conviviality  —  social  enjoj-ment  — 
didn't  mean  it  —  did  3'ou  mean  anything,  Mr.  What-d'-ve- 
call-'im?" 

Mr.  Brandon.   "  Nothing,  upon  m}^  honor  as  a  gentleman  !  " 

Mr.  Gann.  "Well,  then,  there's  m}^  hand!"  and  good- 
natured  Gann  tried  to  forget  the  insult,  and  to  talk  as  if  nothing 
had  occurred  :  but  he  had  been  wounded  in  the  most  sensitive 
point  in  which  a  man  can  be  touched  b}'  his  superior,  and  never 
forgot  Brandon's  joke.  That  night  at  the  club,  when  dread- 
fully tipsy,  he  made  several  speeches  on  the  subject,  and  burst 
into  tears  many  times.  The  pleasure  of  the  evening  was  quite 
spoiled  ;  and,  as  the  conversation  became  rapid  and  dull,  we 
shall  refrain  from  reporting  it.  Mr.  Brandon  speedil}'  took 
leave,  but  had  not  the  courage  to  face  the  ladies  at  tea  ;  to 
whom,  it  appears,  the  reconciled  Beckj'  had  brought  that  refresh- 
ing beverage. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

IN   WHICH   MR.    FITCH    PROCLAIMS    HIS    LOVE,    AND     MR.     BRANDON 

PREPARES    FOR    WAR. 

From  the  splendid  hall  in  which  Mrs.  Gann  was  dispensing 
her  hospitality,  the  celebrated  painter,  Andrea  Fitch,  rushed 
forth  in  a  state  of  mind  even  more  delirious  than  that  which  he 
usually  enjoyed.  He  looked  abi'oad  into  the  street :  all  there 
was  dusk  and  lonely  ;  the  rain  falling  heavily,  the  wind  playing 


A  SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  37 

Pandean  pipes  and  whistling  down  the  chimnej'-pots.  "  I  love 
the  storm,"  said  Fitch,  solemnly  ;  and  he  put  his  great  Spanish 
cloak  round  him  in  the  most  approved  manner  (it  was  of  so 
prodigious  a  size  that  the  tail  of  it,  as  it  twirled  over  his 
shoulder,  whisked  away  a  lodging-card  from  the  door  of  the 
house  opposite  Mr.  Gann's.)  ^'Ilove  the  storm  and  solitude," 
said  he,  lighting  a  large  pipe  filled  full  of  the  fragrant^  Oro- 
nooko  ;  and  thus  armed  he  passed  rapidly  down  the  street,  his 
hat  cocked  over  his  ringlets. 

Andrea  did  not  like  smoking,  but  he  used  a  pipe  as  a  part  of 
his  profession  as  an  artist,  and  as  one  of  the  picturesque  parts 
of  his  costume  ;  in  like  manner,  though  he  did  not  fence,  he 
always  travelled  about  with  a  pair  of  foils  ;  and  quite  unconscious 
of  music,  nevertheless  had  a  guitar  constantly  near  at  hand. 
Without  such  properties  a  painter's  spectacle  is  not  complete  ; 
and  now  he  determined  to  add  to  them  another  indispensable 
requisite  —  a  mistress.  "  What  great  artist  was  ever  without 
one?"  thought  he.  Long,  long  had  he  sighed  for  some  one 
whom  he  might  love,  some  one  to  whom  he  might  address  the 
poems  which  he  was  in  the  habit  of  making.  Hundreds  of 
such  fragments  had  he  composed,  addressed  to  Leila,  Ximena, 
Ada  —  imaginary  beauties,  whom  he  courted  in  dreamy  verse. 
With  what  joy  would  he  replace  all  those  b}-  a  real  charmer  of 
flesh  and  blood  !  Away  he  went,  then,  on  this  evening  —  the 
tyranny  of  Mrs.  Gann  towards  poor  Caroline  having  awakened 
all  his  sympathies  in  the  gentle  girl's  favor  —  determined  now 
and  for  ever  to  make  her  the  mistress  of  his  heart.  Monna- 
Lisa,  the  Fornarina,  Leonardo,  Raphael  —  he  thought  of  all 
these,  and  vowed  that  his  Caroline  should  be  made  famous  and 
live  for  ever  on  his  canvas.  While  Mrs.  Gann  was  preparing 
for  her  friends,  and  entertaining  them  at  tea  and  whist ;  while 
Caroline,  all  unconscious  of  the  love  she  inspired,  was  weeping 
up  stairs  in  her  Httle  garret ;  while  Mr.  Brandon  was  enjoying 
the  refined  conversation  of  Gann  and  Swagby,  over  their  glass 
and  pipe  in  the  office,  Andrea  walked  abroad  by  the  side  of  the 
ocean  ;  and,  before  he  was  wet  through,  walked  himself  into 
the  most  fervid  affection  for  poor  persecuted  Caroline.  The 
reader  might  have  observed  him  (had  not  the  night  been  very 
dark,  and  a  great  deal  too  wet  to  allow  a  sensible  reader  to  go 
abroad  on  sucii  an  errand)  at  the  sea-shore  standing  on  a  rock, 
and  drawing  from  his  bosom  a  locket  which  contained  a  curl 
of  hair  tied  up  in  riband.  Lie  looked  at  it  for  a  moment,  and 
then  flung  it  away  from  him  into  the  black  boiling  waters 
below  him. 


38  A   SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

"  No  other  'air  but  thine,  Caroline,  shall  ever  rest  near  this 
'art ! "  he  said,  and  kissed  the  locket  and  restored  it  to  its  place. 
Light-minded  youth,  whose  hair  was  it  that  he  thus  flung  away? 
How  many  times  had  Andrea  shown  that  very  ringlet  in  strictest 
confidence  to  several  brethren  of  the  brush,  and  declared  that 
it  was  the  hair  of  a  dear  girl  in  Spain  whom  he  loved  to  mad- 
ness ?  Alas  !  'twas  but  a  fiction  of  his  fevered  brain  ;  every  one 
of  his  friends  had  a  locket  of  hair,  and  Andrea,  who  had  no 
love  until  uow,  had  clipped  this  precious  token  from  the  wig  of 
a  lovely  lay-figure,  with  cast-iron  joints  and  a  card-board  head, 
that  had  stood  for  some  time  in  his  ateher.  I  don't  know  that 
he  felt  any  shame  about  the  proceeding,  for  he  was  of  such  a 
warm  imagination  that  he  had  grown  to  believe  that  the  hair  did 
actually  come  from  a  girl  in  Spain,  and  only  parted  with  it  on 
yielding  to  a  superior  attachment. 

This  attachment  being  fixed  on,  the  young  painter  came  home 
wet  through ;  passed  the  night  in  reading  Byron ;  making 
sketches,  and  burning  them  ;  writing  poems  to  Caroline,  and 
expunging  them  with  pitiless  india-rubber.  A  romantic  man 
makes  a  point  of  sitting  up  all  night,  and  pacing  his  chamber ; 
and  3'ou  may  see  inanj^  a  composition  of  Andrea's  dated  "  Mid- 
night, 10th  of  March,  A.  F.,"  with  his  peculiar  flourish  over 
the  initials.  He  was  not  sorry  to  be  told  in  the  morning,  by  the 
ladies  at  breakfast,  that  he  looked  dreadfully  pale  ;  and  answered, 
laying  his  hand  on  his  forehead  and  shaking  his  head  gloomily, 
that  he  could  get  no  sleep :  and  then  he  would  heave  a  huge 
sigh  ;  and  Miss  Bella  and  Miss  Linda  would  look  at  each  other, 
and  grin  according  to  their  wont.  He  was  glad,  I  say,  to  have 
his  woe  remarked,  and  continued  his  sleeplessness  for  two  or 
three  nights  ;  but  he  was  certainly  still  more  glad  when  he  heard 
Mr.  Brandon,  on  the  fourth  morning,  cr}-  out,  in  a  shrill,  angry 
voice  to  Becky  the  maid,  to  give  the  gentleman  up  stairs  his 
compliments  —  Mr.  Brandon's  compliments  —  and  tell  him  that 
he  could  not  get  a  wink  of  sleep  for  the  horrid  trampling  he  ' 
kept  up.  "I  am  hanged  if  I  stay  in  the  house  a  night  longer," 
added  the  first  floor  sharply,  "  if  that  Mr.  Fitch  kicks  up  such 
a  confounded  noise ! "  Mr.  Fitch's  point  was  gained,  and 
henceforth  he  was  as  quiet  as  a  mouse  ;  for  his  Avish  was  not  on\y 
to  be  in  love,  but  to  let  everybody  know  he  was  in  love,  or 
where  is  the  use  of  a  belle  passion  ? 

So,  whenever  he  saw  Carohne,  at  meals,  or  in  the  passage, 
he  used  to  stare  at  her  with  the  utmost  power  of  his  big  eyes, 
and  fall  to  groaning  most  pathetically.  He  used  to  leave"  his 
meals   untasted,  groan,  heave   sighs,   and   stare   incessantly. 


A  SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  39 

Mrs.  Gann  and  her  eldest  daughters  were  astonished  at  these 
manoeuvres ;  for  they  never  ^uspected  that  any  man  could 
possibly  be  such  a  fool  as  to  fall  in  love  with  Caroline.  At 
length  the  suspicion  came  upon  them,  created  immense  laughter 
and  delight ;  and  the  ladies  did  not  fail  to  rally  Caroline  in  their 
usual  elegant  wa_y.  Gann.  too,  loved  a  joke  (much  polite  wag- 
gery had  this  worthy  man  practised  in  select  inn-parlors  for 
twenty  years  past),  and  would  call  poor  Caroline  "  Mrs.  F.  ;  " 
and  say  that  instead  of  Fetch  and  Carry,  as  he  used  to  name  her, 
he  should  style  her  Fitch  and  Carry  for  the  future  ;  and  laugh 
at  this  great  pun,  and  make  many  others  of  a  similar  sort,  that 
set  Caroline  blushing. 

Indeed,  the  girl  suffered  a  great  deal  more  from  this  raillery 
than  at  first  may  be  imagined  ;  for  after  the  first  awe  inspired 
by  Fitch's  whiskers  had  passed  away,  and  he  had  drawn  the 
young  ladies'  pictures,  and  made  designs  in  their  albums,  and 
in  the  midst  of  their  jokes  and  conversation  had  remained  per- 
fectly silent,  the  Gann  family  had  determined  that  the  man  was 
an  idiot :  and,  indeed,  were  not  very  wide  of  the  mark.  In 
ever^'thing  except  his  own  peculiar  art  honest  Fitch  was  an 
idiot ;  and  as  upon  the  subject  of  painting,  the  Ganns,  lilvc  most 
people  of  their  class  in  England,  were  profoundly  ignorant,  it 
came  to  pass  that  he  would  breakfast  and  dine  for  many  days 
in  their  company,  and  not  utter  one  single  syllable.  So  they 
looked  upon  him  with  extreme  pit}'  and  contempt,  as  a  harm- 
less, good-natured,  crack-brained  creature,  quite  below  them  in 
the  scale  of  intellect,  and  only  to  be  endured  because  he  paid 
a  certain  number  of  shillings  weekly  to  the  Gann  exchequer. 
Mrs.  Gann  in  all  companies  was  accustomed  to  talk  about  her 
idiot.  Neighbors  and  children  used  to  peer  at  him  as  he  strutted 
down  the  street ;  and  though  every  young  lady,  including  my 
dear  Caroline,  is  flattered  by  having  a  lover,  at  least  they  don't 
like  such  a  lover  as  this.  The  Misses  Macarty  (after  having 
set  their  caps  at  him  very  fiercely,  and  quarrelled  concerning 
him  on  his  first  coming  to  lodge  at  their  house)  vowed  and  pro- 
tested now  that  he  was  no  better  than  a  chimpanzee  ;  and  Caro- 
line and  Beck}'  agreed  that  this  insult  was  as  great  as  any  that 
could  be  paid  to  the  painter.  "He's  a  good  creature,  too," 
said  Becky,  "  crack-brained  as  he  is.  Do  you  know,  miss,  he 
gave  me  half  a  sovereign  to  buy  a  new  collar,  after  that  business 
t'other  day?" 

' '  And  did  —  Mr.  ,  —  did  the  first  floor  say  anything  ?  " 

asked  Caroline. 

"Didn't  he!    he's  a  funny  gentleman,  that  Brandon,  sure 


40  A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY. 

enough;  and  when  I  took  him  up  breakfast  next  morning, 
asked  about  Sims  the  pilot,  and  what  I  gi'ed  Sims  for  the  collar 
and  brooch,  —  he,  he  !  " 

And  this  was  indeed  a  correct  report  of  Mr.  Brandon's  con- 
versation with  Becky  ;  he  had  been  infinitely  amused  with  the 
whole  transaction,  and  wrote  his  friend  the  viscount  a  capital 
facetious  account  of  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  native  in- 
habitants of  the  Isle  of  Thanet. 

And  now,  when  Mr.  Fitch's  passion  was  fully  developed  — 
as  far,  that  is,  as  sighs  and  ogles  could  give  it  utterance  —  a 
curious  instance  of  that  spirit  of  contradiction  for  which  our 
race  is  remarkable  was  seen  in  the  behavior  of  Mr.  Brandon. 
Although  Caroline,  in  the  depths  of  her  little  silly  heart,  had 
set  him  down  for  her  divinity,  her  wondrous  fairy  prince,  who 
was  to  deliver  her  from  her  present  miserabfe  durance,  she  had 
never  by  word  or  deed  acquainted  Brandon  with  her  inclination 
for  him,  but  had,  with  instinctive  modesty,  avoided  him  more 
sedulously  than  before.  He,  too,  had  never  bestowed  a  thought 
upon  her.  How  should  such  a  Jove  as  Mr.  Brandon,  from  the 
cloudy  summit  of  his  fashionable  Olympus,  look  down  and  per- 
ceive such  an  humble,  retiring  being  as  poor  little  Caroline 
Gann?  Thinking  her  at  first  not  disagreeable,  he  had  never, 
until  the  day  of  the  dinner,  bestowed  one  single  further  thought 
upon  her ;  and  only  when  exasperated  by  the  Miss  Macartys' 
behavior  towards  him,  did  he  begin  to  think  how  sweet  it  would 
be  to  make  them  jealous  and  unhappy. 

"The  uncouth  grinning  monsters,"  said  he,  "with  their 
horrible  court  of  Bob  Smiths  and  Jack  Joneses,  daring  to  look 
down  upon  me,  a  gentleman,  — me,  the  celebrated  mangenr  des 
cceurs —  a  man  of  genius,  fashion,  and  noble  famil}^ !  If  I  could 
but  revenge  myself  on  them !  What  injury  can  I  invent  to 
wound  them." 

It  is  curious  to  what  points  a  man  in  his  passion' will  go. 
Mr.  Brandon  had  long  since,  in  fact,  tried  to  do  the  greatest 
possible  injury  to  the  young  ladies  ;  for  it  had  been,  at  the  first 
dawn  of  his  acquaintance,  as  we  are  bound  with  much  sorrow 
to  confess,  his  fixed  intention  to  ruin  one  or  the  other  of  them. 
And  when  the  young  ladies  had,  by  their  coldness  and  indiffer- 
ence to  him,  frustrated  this  benevolent  intention,  he  straightway 
fancied  that  they  had  injured  him  severely,  and  cast  about  for 
means  to  revenge  himself  upon  them. 

This  point  is,  to  be  sure,  a  ver}'  delicate  one  to  treat,  —  for 
in  words,  at  least,  the  age  has  grown  to  be  wonderfully  moral, 
and  refuses  to  hear  discourses  upon  such  subjects.     But  human 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  41 

nature,  as  far  as  I  am  able  to  learn,  has  not  much  changed 
since  the  time  when  Richardson  wrote  and  Hogarth  painted,  a 
century  ago.  There  are  wicked  Lovelaces  abroad,  ladies,  now 
as  then,  when  it  was  considered  no  shame  to  expose  the  rogues  ; 
and  pardon  us,  therefore,  for  hinting  that  such  there  be.  Ele- 
gant acts  of  rouerie^  such  as  tliat  meditated  by  Mr.  Brandon, 
are  often  performed  still  by  dashing  young  men  of  the  world, 
who  think  no  sin  of  an  amourette^  but  glory  in  it,  especially  if 
the  victim  be  a  person  of  mean  condition.  Had  Brandon  suc- 
ceeded (such  is  the  high  moral  state  of  our  British  youth),  all 
his  friends  would  have  pronounced  him,  and  he  would  have  con- 
sidered himself,  to  be  a  very  lucky,  captivating  dog ;  nor,  as 
I  believe,  would  he  have  had  a  single  pang  of  conscience  for  the 
rascally  action  which  he  had  committed.  Tliis  supreme  act  of 
scoundrelism  has  man  permitted  to  himself —  to  deceive  women. 
When  we  consider  how  he  has  availed  himself  of  the  privilege 
so  created  by  him,  indeed  one  may  S3'mpathize  with  the  advo- 
cates of  woman's  rights  who  point  out  this  monstrous  wrong. 
We  have  read  of  that  wretched  woman  of  old  whom  the  pious 
Pharisees  were  for  stoning  incontinenth^ ;  but  we  don't  hear 
that  the}'  made  an}'  outcry  against  the  man  who  was  concerned 
in  the  crime.  Where  was  he?  Happy,  no  doubt,  and  easy  in 
mind,  and  regaling  some  choice  friends  over  a  bottle  with  the 
history  of  his  success. 

Being  thus  injured  then,  Mr.  Brandon  longed  for  revenge. 
How  should  he  repay  these  impertinent  young  women  for 
slighting  his  addresses?  '•'•  Pardi"  said  he;  "just  to  punish 
their  pride  and  insolence,  I  have  a  great  mind  to  make  love  to 
their  sister." 

He  did  not,  however,  for  some  time  condescend  to  perform 
this  threat.  Eagles  such  as  Brandon  do  not  sail  down  from  the 
clouds  in  order  to  pounce  upon  small  flies,  and  soar  airwards 
again,  contented  with  such  an  ignoble  booty.  In  a  word,  he 
never  gave  a  minute's  thought  to  Miss  Caroline,  until  furtlier 
circumstances  occurred  wliicli  caused  this  great  man  to  consider 
her  as  an  object  somewhat  worth}'  of  his  remark. 

The  violent  affection  suddenly  exhibited  by  Mr.  Fitch,  the 
painter,  towards  poor  little  Caroline  was  the  point  which  deter- 
mined Brandon  to  begin  to  act. 

"Mt  dear  Viscount"  (wrote  he  to  the  same  Lord  Cinqbars  whom 
he  formerly  addressed)  —  "  Give  me  joy  ;  for  in  a  week's  time  it  is  my  in- 
tention to  be  violently  in  love,  —  and  love  is  no  small  amusement  iu  a 
watering-place  in  winter. 

"I  told  you  about  the  fair  Juliana  Gann  and  her  family.     I  forgot 


42  A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY. 

whether  T  mentioned  how  the  Juliana  had  two  fair  danghers,  the  Rosalind 
and  the  Isabella  ;  and  another,  Caroline  by  name,  not  so  good-looking  as 
her  lialf-sisters,  but,  nevertheless,  a  pleasing  young  person. 

"  Well,  when  I  came  hither,  I  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  fall  in  love 
with  the  two  handsomest ;  and  did  so,  taking  many  walks  with  them,  talk- 
ing much  nonsense;  passing  long  dismal  evenings  over  horrid  tea  with 
them  and  their  mamma:  laying  regular  siege,  in  fact,  to  these  Margate 
beauties,  who,  according  to  the  common  rule  in  such  cases,  could  not,  I 
thought,  last  long. 

"Miserable  deception!  disgusting  aristocratic  blindness!  (Mr.  Bran- 
don always  assumed  tiiat  his  own  high  birth  and  eminent  position  were 
granted.)  "  Would  you  believe  it,  that  I,  who  have  seen,  fought,  and  con- 
quered in  so  many  places,  should  have  been  ignominiously  defeated  here  ■? 
Just  as  American  Jackson  defeated  our  Peninsular  veterans,  I,  an  old 
Continental  conqueror  too,  have  been  overcome  by  this  ignoble  enemy. 
These  women  have  entrenched  themselves  so  firmly  in  their  vulgarity,  that 
I  have  been  beaten  back  several  times  with  disgrace,  being  quite  unable  to 
make  an  impression.  The  monsters,  too,  keep  up  a  dreadful  fire  from 
behind  their  entrenchments;  and  besides  have  raised  the  whole  country 
against  me  :  in  a  word,  all  the  snobs  of  their  acquaintance  are  in  arms. 
There  is  Bob  Smitli,  the  linendraper ;  Harry  Jones,  who  keeps  the  fancy 
tea-shop;  young  Glauber,  the  apothecary;  and  sundry  other  persons,  vvho 
are  ready  to  eat  me  when  they  see  me  in  the  streets ;  and  are  all  at  the 
beck  of  the  victorious  Amazons. 

"  How  is  a  gentleman  to  make  head  against  such  a  canaille  as  this?  —a 
regular  jacquerie.  Once  or  twice  I  have  thought  of  retreating ;  but  a  re- 
treat, for  sundry  reasons  I  have,  is  inconvenient.  I  can't  go  to  London ; 
I  am  known  at  Dover ;  I  believe  there  is  a  bill  against  me  at  Canterbury  ; 
at  Chatham  there  are  sundry  quartered  regiments  whose  recognition  I 
should  be  unwilling  to  risk.  I  must  stay  here  —  and  be  hanged  to  the 
place  —  lentil  my  better  star  shall  rise. 

"  But  I  am  determined  that  my  stay  shall  be  to  some  purpose  ;  and  so 
to  show  how  persevering  I  am,  I  shall  make  one  more  trial  upon  tlie  third 
daughter,  —  yes,  upon  the  third  daughter,  a  family  Cinderella,  who  sliall, 
I  am  determined,  make  her  sisters  crever  with  envy.  I  merely  mean  fun, 
you  know  —  not  mischief,  —  for  Cinderella  is  but  a  little  child  :  and,  be- 
sides, I  am  the  most  harn'iloss  fellow  breathing,  but  must  have  my  joke. 
Now,  Cinderella  has  a  lover,  the  bearded  painter  of  whom  I  sjioke  to  you 
in  a  former  letter.  He  has  lately  plunged  into  the  most  extraordinary  fits 
of  passion  for  her,  and  is  more  mad  than  even  he  was  before.  Woe  betide 
you,  O  painter  !  I  have  nothing  to  do  :  a  month  to  do  that  nothing  in  ;  in 
that  time,  mark  my  words,  I  will  laugh  at  that  painter's  beard.  Should 
you  like  a  lock  of  "it,  or  a  sofa  stuffed  with  it  ?  there  is  beard  enough  :  or 
should  you  like  to  see  a  specimen  of  poor  little  Cinderella's  golden  ring-  ^ 
lets,?  Command  vour  slave.  I  wish  I  had  paper  enough  to  write  you  an 
account  of  a  grand  Gann  dinner  at  which  I  assisted,  and  of  a  scene  which 
there  took  place  ;  and  liow  Cinderella  was  dressed  out,  not  by  a  fairy,  but 
by  a  charitable  kitchen-maid,  and  was  turned  out  of  the  room  by  her  in- 
dignant mamma,  for  appearing  in  the  scullion's  finery.  But  mj forte  does 
not  lie  in  such  descriptions  of  polite  life.  We  drank  port,  and  toasts  after 
dinner :  here  is  the  menu,  and  the  names  and  order  of  the  eaters." 

The  bill  of  fare  has  been  given  alread}'  and  need  not,  there- 
fore, be  again  laid  before  the  public. 


A  SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  43 

"  "What  a  fellow  that  is  !  "  said  young  Lord  Cinqbars,  read- 
ing the  letter  to  his  friends,  and  in  a  profound  admiration  of 
his  tutor's  genius. 

"  And  to  think  that  he  was  a  reading  man  too,  and  took  a 
double  first,"  cried  another;  "why,  the  man's  an  Admirable 
Crichton." 

"  Upon  my  life,  though,  he's  a  little  too  bad,"  said  a  third, 
who  was  a  moralist.  And  with  this  a  fresh  bowl  of  milk-punch 
came  reeking  from  the  college  butteries,  and  the  jovial  party 
discussed  that. 


CHAPTER  V. 

CONTAINS    A   GREAT   DEAL    OF   COMPLICATED    LOYE-MAKING. 

The  Misses  Macarty  were  excessively  indignant  that  Mr. 
Fitch  should  have  had  the  audacit}'  to  fall  in  love  with  their 
sister ;  and  poor  Caroline's  life  was  not,  as  may  be  imagined, 
made  much  the  happier  b}'  the  envy  and  passion  thus  excited. 
Mr.  Fitch's  amour  was  the  source  of  a  great  deal  of  pain  to  her. 
Her  mother  would  tauntingly  saj',  that  as  both  were  beggars, 
they  could  not  do  better  than  marry  ;  and  declared,  in  the  same 
satirical  way,  that  she  should  like  nothing  better  than  to  see  a 
large  family  of  grandchildren  about  her,  to  be  plagues  and  bur- 
dens upon  her,  as  her  daughter  was.  The  short  way  would 
have  been,  when  the  j'oung  painter's  intentions  were  manifest, 
which  they  pretty  speedily  were,  to  have  requested  him  imme- 
diately to  quit  the  house  ;  or,  as  Mr.  Gann  said,  "  to  give  him 
the  sack  at  once  ;  "  to  which  measure  the  worthj^  man  indig- 
nantly avowed  that  he  would  have  resort.  But  his  lady  would 
not  allow  of  any  such  rudeness  ;  although,  for  her  part,  she 
professed  the  strongest  scorn  and  contempt  for  the  painter. 
For  the  painful  fact  must  be  stated  :  Fitch  had  a  short  time 
previousl}-  paid  no  less  a  sum  than  a  whole  quarter's  board  and 
lodging  in  advance,  at  Mrs.  Gann's  humble  request,  and  he 
possessed  his  landlady's  receipt  for  that  sum  ;  the  mention  of 
which  circumstance  silenced  Gann's  objections  at  once.  And 
indeed,  it  is  pretty  certain  that,  with  all  her  taunts  to  her 
daughter  and  just  abuse  of  Fitch's  poverty,  Mrs.  Gann  in  her 
heart  was  not  altogether  averse  to  the  match.  In  the  first 
place,  she  loved  match-making ;  next,  she  would  be  glad  to 


44  A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY. 

be  rid  of  her  daughter  at  any  rate  ;  and,  besides,  Fitch's  aunt, 
the  auctioneer's  wife,  was  rich,  and  had  no  children  ;  painters, 
as  she  had  heard,  make  often  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  Fitch 
might  be  a  clever  one,  for  aught  she  knew.  So  he  was  allowed 
to  remain  in  the  house,  an  undeclared  but  very  assiduous  lover  ; 
and  to  sigh,  and  to  moan,  and  make  verses  and  portraits  of  his 
beloved,  and  build  castles  in  the  air  as  best  he  might.  Indeed 
our  humble  Cinderella  was  in  a  very  curious  position.  She  felt  a 
tender  passion  for  the  first  floor,  and  was  adored  by  the  second 
floor,  and  had  to  wait  upon  both  at  the  summons  of  the  bell  of 
either ;  and  as  the  poor  little  thing  was  compelled  not  to  notice 
any  of  the  sighs  and  glances  which  the  painter  bestowed  upon 
her,  she  also  had  schooled  herself  to  maintain  a  quiet  demeanor 
towards  Mr.  Brandon,  and  not  allow  him  to  discover  the  secret 
which  was  laboring  in  her  little  breast. 

I  think  it  may  be  laid  down  as  a  pretty  general  rule,  that 
most  romantic  little  girls  of  Caroline's  age  have  such  a  budding 
sentiment  as  this  young  person  entertained  ;  quite  innocent  of 
course  ;  nourished  and  talked  of  in  delicious  secrecy  to  the  con- 
Jidante  of  the  hour.  Or  else  what  are  novels  made  for  ?  Had 
Caroline  read  of  Valancourt  and  Emily  for  nothing,  or  gathered 
no  good  example  from  those  five  tear-fraught  volumes  which 
describes  the  loves  of  Miss  Helen  Mar  and  Sir  William  Wal- 
lace ?  Many  a  time  had  she  depicted  Brandon  in  a  fancy  cos- 
tume, such  as  the  fascinating  Valancourt  wore  ;  or  painted 
herself  as  Helen,  ti-ying  a  sash  round  her  knight's  cuirass,  and 
watching  him  forth  to  battle.  Silly  fancies,  no  doubt ;  but 
consider,  madam,  the  poor  girl's  age  and  education;  the  only 
instruction  she  had  ever  received  was  from  these  tender,  kind- 
hearted,  silly  books :  the  only  happiness  which  Fate  had  al- 
lowed her  was  in  this  little  silent  world  of  fancy.  It  would  be 
hard  to  grudge  the  poor  thing  her  dreams  ;  and  many  such  did 
she  have,  and  impart  blushingly  to  honest  Becky,  as  they  sat 
by  the  humble  kitchen-fire. 

Although  it  cost  her  heart  a  great  pang,  she  had  once  ven- 
tured to  implore  her  mother  not  to  send  her  up  stairs  to  the 
lodgers'  rooms,  for  she  shrunk  at  the  notion  of  the  occurrence 
that  Brandon  should  discover  her  regard  for  him  ;  but  this  point 
had  never  entered  Mrs.  Gann's  sagacious  head.  She  thought 
her  daughter  wished  to  avoid  Fitch,  and  sternly  bade  her  to  do 
her  duty,  and  not  give  herself  such  impertinent  airs  ;  and,  in- 
deed, it  can't  be  said  that  poor  Caroline  was  very  sorry  at  being 
compelled  to  continue  to  see  Brandon.  To  do  both  gentlemen, 
justice,  neither  ever  said  a  word  unfit  for  Caroline  to  hear. 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  45 

Fitch  would  have  been  torn  to  pieces  b}^  a  thousand  wild  horses, 
rather  than  haA^e  breathed  a  single  syllable  to  hurt  her  feelings  ; 
and  Brandon,  though  b}'  no  mer.ns  so  squeamish  on  ordinary 
occasions,  was  innatel}^  a  gentleman,  and  from  taste  rather 
than  from  \4rtue,  was  carefully  respectful  in  his  behavior  to 
her. 

As  for  the  Misses  Macarty  themselves,  it  has  been  stated 
that  the}^  had  already  given  awaj-  their  hearts  several  times  ; 
Miss  Isabella  being  at  this  moment  attached  to  a  certain  young 
wine-merchant,  and  to  Lieutenant  or  Colonel  Swabber  of  the 
Spanish  serviq^  ;  and  Miss  Rosalind  having  a  decided  fondness 
for  a  foreign  nobleman,  with  black  mustachios,  who  had  paid  a 
visit  to  Margate.  Of  Miss  Bella's  lovers.  Swabber  had  disap- 
peai-ed  ;  but  she  still  met  the  wine-merchant  pretty  often,  and 
it  is  believed  had  gone  very  nigh  to  accept  him.  As  for  Miss 
Eosalind,  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  the  course  of  her  true  love  ran 
by  no  means  smoothly  ;  the  Frenchman  had  turned  out  to  be 
not  a  marquess,  but  a  billiard-marker ;  and  a  sad,  sore  subject 
the  disappointment  was  with  the  neglected  lad}-. 

We  should  have  spoken  of  it  long  since,  had  the  subject  been 
one  that  was  much  canvassed  in  the  Gann  family ;  but  once 
when  Gann  had  endeavored  to  rally  his  step-daughter  on  this 
unfortunate  attachment  (using  for  the  purpose  those  delicate 
terms  of  wit  for  which  the  honest  gentleman  was  always  fa- 
mous) ,  Miss  Linda  had  flown  into  such  a  violent  fury,  and  com- 
ported herself  in  a  way  so  dreadful,  that  James  Gann,  Esquire, 
was  fairly  frightened  out  of  his  wits  b3-  the  threats,  screams, 
and  imprecations  which  she  uttered.  Miss  Bella,  who  was 
disposed  to  be  jocose  likewise,  was  likewise  awed  into  silence  ; 
for  her  dear  sister  talked  of  tearing  her  eyes  out  that  minute, 
and  uttered  some  hints,  too,  regarding  love-matters  personal!}' 
affecting  Miss  Bella  herself,  which  caused  that  young  lady  to 
turn  pale-red,  to  mutter  something  about  "  wicked  lies,"  and 
to  leave  the  room  immediatel}'.  Nor  was  the  subject  ever 
again  broached  by  the  Ganns.  Even  when  Mrs.  Gann  once 
talked  about  that  odious  French  impostor,  she  was  stopped 
immediately,  not  by  the  lady  concerned,  but  by  Miss  Bella, 
who  cried,  sharply,  "  Mamma,  hold  your  tongue,  and  don't  vex 
our  dear  Linda  by  alluding  to  any  such  stuff."  It  is  most 
probable  that  the  young  ladies  had  had  a  private  conference, 
which,  beginning  a  little  fiercely  at  first,  had  ended  amicably : 
and  so  the  marquess  was  mentioned  no  more. 

Miss  Linda,  then,  was  comparatively  free  (for  Bob  Smith, 
the  linendraper,  and  young  Glauber,  the  apothecary,  went  for 


46  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

nothing)  ;   and,  very  luckily  for  her,   a  successor  was  found 
for  the  ftiithless  Frenchman,  ahnost  immediately. 

This  gentleman  was  a  commoner,  to  be  sure ;  but  had  a 
good  estate  of  five  hundred  a  year,  kept  his  horse  and  gig,  and 
was,  as  Mr.  Gann  remarked,  as  good  a  fellow  as  ever  lived. 
Let  us  say  at  once  that  the  new  lover  was  no  other  than  Mr. 
Swigby.  From  the  day  when  he  had  been  introduced  to  the 
family  he  appeared  to  be  very  much  attracted  by  the  two  sis- 
ters ;  sent  a  turkey  off  his  own  farm,  and  six  bottles  of  prime 
Hollands,  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gann,  in  presents  ;  and,  in  ten 
short  days  after  his  first  visit,  had  informed  his  friend  Gann 
that  he  was  violently  in  love  with  two  women  whose  names  he 
would  never  —  never  breathe.  The  worthy  Gann  knew  right 
well  how  the  matter  was  ;  for  he  had  not  failed  to  remark 
Swigby's  melancholy,  and  to  attribute  it  to  its  right  cause. 

Swigby  was  forty-eight  years  of  age,  stout,  hearty,  gay, 
much  given  to  drink,  and  had  never  been  a  lady's  man,  or, 
indeed,  passed  half  a  dozen  evenings  in  ladies'  society.  He 
thought  Gann  the  noblest  and  finest  fellow  in  the  world.  He 
never  heard  any  singing  like  James's,  nor  any  jokes  like  his  ; 
nor  liad  met  with  such  an  accompUshed  gentleman  or  man  of 
the  world.  "  Gann  has  his  faults,"  Swigby  would  say  at  the 
"  Bag  of  Nails  ;  "  "  which  of  us  has  not?  —  but  I  tell  you  what, 
he's  the  greatest  trump  I  ever  see."  Many  scores  of  scores  had 
he  paid  for  Gann,  many  guineas  and  crown-pieces  had  he  lent 
him,  since  he  came  into  his  propert}^  some  three  years  before. 
What  were  Swigby's  former  pursuits  I  can't  tell.  What  need 
we  care?  Hadn't  he  five  hundred  a  year  now,  and  a  horse  and 
gig?     Ay,  that  he  had. 

Since  his  accession  to  fortune,  this  ga}'  young  bachelor  haci 
taken  his  share  (what  he  called  "his  whack")  of  pleasure; 
had  been  at  one  —  nay,  perhaps,  at  two  —  pubhc-houses  every 
night ;  and  had  been  tipsy,  I  make  no  doubt,  nearly  a  thousand 
times  in  the  course  of  the  three  j-ears.  Many  people  had  tried 
to  cheat  him  ;  but,  no,  no  !  he  knew  what  was  what,  and  in  all 
matters  of  money  was  simple  and  shrewd.  Gann's  gentility 
won  him  ;  his  bragging,  his  ton,  and  the  stj'lish  tuft  on  his  chin. 
To  be  invited  to  his  house  was  a  proud  moment ;  and  when  he 
went  away,  after  the  banquet  described  in  the  last  chapter, 
he  was  in  a  perfect  ferment  of  love  and  liquor. 

"  What  a  stylish  woman  is  that  Mrs.  Gann  !  "  thought  he, 
as  he  tumbled  into  bed  at  his  inn  ;  "  fine  she  must  have  been  as 
a  gal !  fourteen  stone  now,  without  saddle  or  bridle,  and  no 
mistake.    And  them  Miss  Macartys.    Jupiter  !  what  spanking, 


A  SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  47 

handsome,  elegant  creatures  !  — real  elegance  in  both  on  'em  ! 
Such  hair  !  —  black's  the  word  —  as  black  as  my  mare  ;  such 
cheeks,  such  necks,  and  shoulders  ! "  At  noon  he  repeated 
these  observations  to  Gann  himself,  as  he  walked  up  and  down 
the  pier  with  that  gentleman,  smoking  Manilla  cheroots.  He 
was  in  raptures  with  his  evening.  Gann  received  his  praises 
with  much  majestic  good-humor. 

"Blood,  sir!  "said  he,  "blood's  everj'thing !  Them  gals 
have  l)een  brought  up  as  few  ever  have.  I  don't  speak  of 
myself;  but  their  mother — their  mother's  a  lady,  sir.  Show 
me  a  woman  in  England  as  is  better  bred  or  knows  the  world 
more  than  my  Juliana  !  " 

"  It's  impawssible,"  said  Swigby. 

"Think  of  the  company  we've  kep',  sir,  before  our  misfor- 
tunes—  the  fust  in  the  land.  Brandenburg  House,  sir, — 
England's  injured  queen.  Law  bless  you  1  Juliana  was  always 
there." 

"  I  make  no  doubt,  sir ;  you  can  see  it  in  her,"  said  Swigby, 
solemnly. 

"  And  as  for  those  gals,  why,  ain't  they  related  to  the  fust 
families  in  Ireland,  sir?  —  In  course  they  are.  As  I  said  be- 
fore, blood's  everything ;  and  those  young  woman  have  the  best 
of  it :  they  are  connected  with  the  reg'lar  old  noblesse." 

"  They  have  the  best  of  everythink,  I'm  sure,"  said  Swigby, 
"  and  deserve  it,  too,"  and  relapsed  into  his  morning  remarks. 
"  What  creatures  !  what  elegance  !  what  hair  and  eyes,  sir  !  — ■ 
black,  and  all's  black,  as  I  say.  What  complexion,  sir?  —  ay, 
and  what  makes,  too !  Such  a  neck  and  shoulders  I  never 
see  !  " 

Gann,  who  had  his  hands  in  his  pockets  (his  friend's  arm 
being  hooked  intoone  of  his),  here  suddenly  withdrew  his  hand 
from  its  hidiug-place,  clenched  his  fist,  assumed  a  horrible 
'  knowing  grin,  and  gave  Mr.  Swigby  such  a  blow  in  the  ribs 
as  wellnigh  sent  him  into  the  water.  "You  sly  dog!"  said 
Mr.  Gann,  with  inexpressible  emphasis;  "  ^-ou've  found  that 
out,  too,  have  you?  Have  a  care,  Joe,  my  bov,  —  have  a 
care." 

And  herewith  Gann  and  Joe  burst  into  tremendous  roars 
of  laughter,  fresh  explosions  taking  place  at  intervals  of  five 
minutes  during  the  rest  of  the  walk.  The  two  friends  parted 
exceedingly  happy  ;  and  when  they  met  that  evening  at  "  The 
Nails ''  Gann  drew  Swigby  mysteriously  into  the  bar,  and  thrust 
into  his  hand  a  triangular  piece  of  pink  paper,  which  the  latter 
read  :  — 


48  A   SHABBY   GENTEEL    STORY. 

"  Mrs.  Gann  and  the  Misses  Macarty  request  the  honor  and  pleasure 
of  Mr.  Swigby's  company  (if  you  have  no  better  engagement)  to  tea  to- 
morrow evening,  at  half-past  five. 

"  Makgaretta  Cottage,  Salamanca  Road  North, 
Thursday  evening." 

The  faces  of  the  two  gentlemen  were  wonderfully  expressive 
of  satisfaction  as  this  'communication  passed  between  them. 
And  I  am  led  to  believe  that  Mrs.  Gann  had  been  unusually 
pleased  with  her  husband's  conduct  on  that  day,  for  honest 
James  had  no  less  than  thirteen  and  sixpence  in  his  pocket,  and 
insisted,  as  usual,  upon  standing  glasses  all  round.  Joe  Swigby, 
left  alone  in  the  little  parlor  behind  the  bar,  called  for  a  sheet 
of  paper,  a  new  pen  and  a  wafer,  and  in  the  space  of  half  an 
hour  concocted  a  very  spirited  and  satisfactory  answer  to  this 
note;  which  was  carried  off  by  Gann,  and  duly  delivered. 
Punctually  at  half-past  five  Mr"  Joseph  Swigby  knocked  at 
Margaretta  Cottage  door,  in  his  new  coat  with  glistering  brass 
buttons,  his  face  clean-shaved,  and  his  great  ears  shining  over 
his  great  shirt-collar  delightfully  bright  and  red. 

What  happened  at  this  tea-party  it  is  needless  here  to  say ; 
but  Swigby  came  away  from  it  quite  as  much  enchanted  as 
before,  and  declared  that  the  duets  sung  by  the  ladies  in 
hideous  discord,  were  the  sweetest  music  he.  had  ever  heard. 
He  sent  the  gin  and  the  turkey  the  next  day  ;  and,  of  course, 
was  invited  to  dine. 

The  dinner  was  followed  up  on  his  part  by  an  offer  to  drive 
all  the  .young  ladies  and  their  mamma  into  the  country  ;  and  he 
hired  a  verj^  smart  barouche  to  conduct  them.  The  invitation 
was  not  declined  ;  and  Fitch,  too,  was  asked  by  Mr.  Swigby, 
in  the  height  of  his  good-humor,  and  accepted  with  the  utmost 
delight.  "  Me  and  Joe  will  go  on  the  box,"  said  Gann.  "You 
four  ladies  and  Mr.  Fitch  shall  go  inside.  Carry  must  go 
bodkin  ;  but  she  ain't  ver}^  big." 

"Carry,  indeed,  will  stop  at  home,"  said  her  mamma; 
"  she's  not  fit  to  go  out." 

At  which  poor  Fitch's  jaw  fell ;  it  was  in  order  to  ride  with 
her  that  he  had  agreed  to  accompan}^  the  party ;  nor  could  he 
escape  now,  liaving  just  promised  so  eagerl}'. 

"  Oh,  don't  let's  have  that  proud  Brandon,"  said  the  j'oung 
ladies,  when  the  good-natui-ed  Mr.  Swigby  proposed  to  ask 
that  gentleman  ;  and  therefore  he  was  not  invited  to  join  them 
in  their  excursion :  but  he  stayed  at  home  very  unconcern- 
edly, and  saw  the  barouche  and  its  load  drive  oif.  Some- 
body else  looked  at  it  from  the  parlor-window  with  rather  a 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY.         49 

heavy  heart,  and  that  some  one  was  poor  Caroline.  The  day 
was  bright  and  sunshiny  ;  the  spring  was  beginning  early  ;  it 
would  have  been  pleasant  to  have  been  a  lady  for  once,  and  to 
have  driven  along  in  a  carriage  with  prancing  horses.  Mr. 
Fitch  looked  after  her  in  a  very  sheepish,  melancholy  way  ;  and 
was  so  dismal  and  sill}'  during  the  first  part  of  the  journe}- ,  that 
Miss  Linda,  who  was  next  to  him,  said  to  her  papa  that  she 
would  change  places  with  him ;  and  actuallj^  mounted  the  box 
•  by  the  side  of  the  happy,  trembling  Mr.  Swigby.  How  proud 
he  was,  to  be  sure  !  How  knowingly  did  he  spank  the  horses 
along,  and  fling  out  the  shilUngs  at  the  turnpikes  ! 

"  Bless  3-ou,  he  don't  care  for  change  !  "  said  Gann,  as  one 
of  the  toll-takers  offered  to  render  some  coppers  ;  and  Joe  felt 
infinitely  obliged  to  his  friend  for  setting  off  his  amiable  quali- 
ties in  such  a  way. 

O  mighty  Fate,  that  over  us  miserable  mortals  rulest  su- 
preme, with  what  small  means  are  th}' ends  effected! — with 
what  scornful  ease  and  mean  instruments  does  it  please  thee  tO' 
govern  mankind !  Let  each  man  think  of  the  circumstances  of 
his  life,  and  how  its  lot  has  been  determined.  The  getting  up 
a  little  earlier  or  later,  the  turning  down  this  street  or  that,  the 
eating  of  this  dish  or  the  other,  may  influence  all  the  years  and 
actions  of  a  future  life.  Mankind  walks  down  the  left-hand, 
side  of  Regent  Street  instead  of  the  right,  and  meets  a  friend 
who  asks  him  to  dinner,  and  goes,  and  finds  the  turtle  remark- 
ably good,  and  the  iced  punch  ver^-  cool  and  pleasant ;  and, 
being  in  a  merry,  jovial,  idle  mood,  has  no  objection  to  a  social 
rubber  of  whist  —  nay,  to  a  few  more  glasses  of  that  cool 
punch.  In  the  most  careless,  good-humored  way,  he  loses 
a  few  points  ;  and  still  feels  thirsty,  and  loses  a  few  more 
points ;  and,  like  a  man  of  spirit,  increases  his  stakes,  to 
be  sure,  and  just  l)y  that  walk  down  Regent  Street  is  ruined 
for  hfe.  Or  he  walks  down  the  right-hand  side  of  Regent 
Street  instead  of  the  left,  and,  good  heavens!  who  is  that 
charming  young  creature  who  has  just  stepped  into  her  carriage 
from  Mr.  Fraser's  shop,  and  to  whom  and  her  mamma  Mr. 
Fraser  has  made  the  most  elegant  bow  in  the  world  ?  It  is  the 
loveh-  Miss  Moidorc,  with  a  hundred  thousand  pounds,  who  has 
remarked  3'our  elegant  figure,  and  regularly-  drives  to  town  on 
the  first  of  the  month,  to  purchase  her  darling  Magazine.  You 
drive  after  her  as  fast  as  the  hack-cab  will  carry  yon.  She 
reads  the  Magazine  the  whole  way.  She  stops  at  her  papa's 
elegant  villa  at  Hampstead,  with  a  conservatory,  a  double 
coach-house,    and  a   park-like   paddock.      As   the   lodge-gate 

4 


50  A  SHABBY   GENTEEL  STORY. 

separates  5^ou  from  that  dear  girl,  she  looks  back  just  once, 
and  blushes.  Eruhuit,  salva  est  res.  She  has  blushed,  and  3'ou 
are  all  right.  In  a  week  you  are  introduced  to  the  famil}',  and 
pronounced  a  charming  young  fellow  of  high  principles.  In 
three  weeks  you  have  danced  twent3'-ninc  quadrilles  with  her, 
and  whisked  her  through  several  miles  of  waltzes.  In  a  month 
Mrs.  O'Flaherty  has  flung  herself  into  the  arms  of  her  mother, 
just  having  come  from  a  visit  to  the  village  of  Gretna,  near 
Carlisle  ;  and  }ou  have  an  account  at  your  banker's  ever  after.  • 
What  is  the  cause  of  all  this  good  fortune  ?  —  a  walk  on  a  par- 
ticular side  of  Regent  Sti'eet.  And  so  true  and  indisputable  is 
this  fact,  that  there's  a  young  north-country  gentleman  with 
whom  I  am  acquainted,  that  daily  paces  up  and  down  the 
above-named  street  for  many  hours,  fully  expecting  that  such 
an  adventure  will  happen  to  him  ;  for  which  end  he  keeps  a  cab 
in  readiness  at  the  corner  of  Vigo  Lane. 

Now,  after  a  dissertation  in  this  history,  the  reader  is  pretty 
sure  to  know  that  a  moral  is  coming ;  and  the  facts  connected 
with  our  tale,  which  are  to  be  drawn  from  the  above  little  essay 
on  fate,  are  simply  these:  —  1.  If  Mr.  Pitch  had  not  heard 
Mr.  Swigby  invite  all  the  ladies,  he  would  have  refused_Swig- 
by's  invitation,  and  stayed  at  home,  2.  If  he  had  not  been  in 
the  carriage,  it  is  quite  certain  that  Miss  Rosalind  Macarty 
would  not  have  been  seated  by  him  on  the  back  seat.  3.  If  he 
had  not  been  sulky,  she  never  would  have  asked  her  papa  to  let 
her  take  his  place  on  the  box.  4.  If  she  had  not  taken  her 
papa's  place  on  the  box,  not  one  of  the  circumstances  would 
have  happened  which  did  happen  ;  and  which  were  as  fol- 
lows :  — 

1.  Miss  Bella 'remained  inside. 

2.  Mr.  Swigby,  who  was  wavering  between  the  two,  like  a 
certain  animal  between  two  bundles  of  hay,  was  determined  by 
this  circumstance,  and  made  proposals  to  Miss  Linda,  whisper- 
ing to  Miss  Linda:  "  Miss,  I  ain't  equal  to  the  like  of  you; 
but  I'm  hearty,  healthy,  and  have  five  hundred  a  year.  Will 
3-0U  marry  me?"  In  fact,  this  very  speech  had  been  taught 
him  by  cunning  Gann,  who  saw  well  enough  that  Swigby  would 
speak  to  one  or  other  of  his  daughters.  And  to  it  the  young 
lady  replied,  also  in  a  whispering,  agitated  tone,  "  Law,  Mr. 
S.  !  What  an  odd  man  !  How  can  you  ?  "  And,  after  a  little 
pause,  added,   "  Speak  to  mamma." 

3.  (And  this  is  the  main  point  of  my  story.)  If  little 
Caroline  had  been  allowed  to  go  out,  she  never  would  have 
been  left  alone  with  Brandon  at  Margate.     When  Fate  wills 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  51 

that  something  should  come  to  pass,  she  sends  forth  a  million 
of  little  circumstances  to  clear  and  prepare  the  wa}-. 

In  the  month  of  April  (as  indeed  in  half  a  score  of  other 
months  of  the  yeai-)  the  reader  may  have  remarked  that  the 
cold  north-east  wind  is  prevalent ;  and  that  when,  tempted  by 
a  glimpse  of  sunshine,  he  issues  forth  to  take  the  air,  he  re- 
ceives not  only  it,  but  such  a  quantity  of  it  as  is  enough  to  keep 
him  shivering  through  the  rest  of  the  miserable  month.  On 
one  of  these  happy  da^s  of  English  weather  (it  was  the  very 
day  before  the  pleasure-part}'  described  in  the  last  chapter) 
Mr.  Brandon  cursing  heartily  his  country',  and  thinking  how 
infinitely  more  congenial  to  him  were  the  winds  and  habits 
prevalent  in  other  nations,  was  marching  over  the  clilfs  near 
Margate,  in  the  midst  of  a  storm  of  shrill  east  wind  which  no 
ordinar}'  mortal  could  bear,  when  he  found  perched  on  the  cliff, 
his  fingers  blue  with  cold,  the  celebrated  Andrea  Fitch,  em- 
ploj'ed  in  sketching  a  land  or  a  sea  scape  on  a  sheet  of  gray 
paper. 

"You  have  chosen  a  fine  da}'  for  sketching,"  said  Mr. 
Brandon,  bitterly,  his  thin  aquiline  nose  peering  out  livid  from 
the  fur  collar  of  his  coat. 

Mr.  Fitch  smiled,  understanding  the  allusion. 

"An  hartist,  sir,"  said  he,  "doesn't  mind  the  coldness  of 
the  weather.  There  was  a  chap  in  the  Academy  who  took 
sketches  twent}'  degrees  below  zero  in  Hiceland  —  Mount  'Ecla, 
sir  !  E  was  the  man  that  gave  the  first  hidea  of  Mount  'Ecla  for 
the  Surrey  Zoological  Gardens." 

"He  must  have  been  a  wonderful  enthusiast!"  said  Mr. 
Brandon  ;  "1  fancy  that  most  would  prefer  to  sit  at  home,  and 
not  numb  tlieir  fingers  in  such  a  freezing  storm  as  this  !  " 

"Storm,  sir!"  replied  Fitch,  majestically;  "I  five  in  a 
storm,  sir !  A  true  hartist  is  never  so  'appy  as  when  he  can 
have  the  advantage  to  gaze  upon  yonder  tempestuous  hocean 
in  one  of  its  hangr}'  moods." 

"Ay,  there  comes  the  steamer,"  answered  ]\Ir.  Brandon; 
"  I  can  fancy  that  there  are  a  score  of  unhappy  people  on  board 
who  are  not  artists,  and  would  wish  to  behold  your  ocean  quiet." 

"The}'  are  not  poets,  sir:  the  glorious  hever-changing  ex- 
pression of  the  great  countenance  of  Nature  is  not  seen  by 
them.  I  should  consider  myself  unworthy  of  my  hart,  if  I  could 
not  bear  a  little  privation  of  cold  or  'eat  for  its  sake.  And 
besides,  sir,  whatever  their  hardships  may  be,  such  a  sight 
haraply  repays  me  ;  for,  although  my  private  sorrows  may  be 
(has  they  are)  tremendous,  I  never  can  look  abroad  upon  the 


52  A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY. 

green  liearth  and  hawful  sea,  without  in  a  measure  forgetting 
my  personal  woes  and  wrongs ;  for  what  right  has  a  poor 
creature  hke  me  to  thinli  of  his  affairs  in  the  presence  of  such 
a  spectacle  as  this  ?  I  can't,  sir ;  I  feel  ashamed  of  m^'self ; 
I  bow  my  'ead  and  am  quiet.  When  I  set  myself  to  examining 
hart,  sir  (by  which  I  mean  nature),  I  don't  dare  to  think  of 
anything  else." 

"You  worship  a  very  charming  and  consoling  mistress," 
answered  Mr.  Brandon,  with  a  supercilious  air,  lighting  and  be- 
ginning to  smoke  a  cigar;  "  your  enthusiasm  does  3'ou  credit." 

"If  you  have  another,"  said  Andrea  Fitch,  "I  should  like 
to  smoke  one,  for  you  seem  to  have  a  real  feeling  about  hart, 
and  I  was  a-getting  so  deucedly  cold  here,  that  really  there  was 
scarcely  any  bearing  of  it." 

"The  cold  is  very  severe,"  replied  Mr.  Brandon. 

"  No,  no,  it's  not  the  weather,  sir  !  "  said  Mr.  Fitch  ;  "  it's 
here,  sir,  here"  (pointing  to  the  left  side  of  his  waistcoat). 

"  What !  you,  too,  have  had  sorrows?  " 

"Sorrows,  sir!  hagonies  —  hagonies,  which  I  have  never 
unfolded  to  any  mortal !  I  have  hendured  halmost  heverything. 
Poverty,  sir,  'unger,  hobloqu}',  'opeless  love  !  but  for  my  hart, 
sir,  I  should  be  the  most  miserable  wretch  in  the  world  !  " 

And  herewith  Mr.  Fitch  began  to  pour  forth  into  Mr. 
Brandon's  ears  the  histor}'  of  some  of  those  sorrows  under 
which  he  labored,  and  which  he  communicated  to  every  single 
person  who  would  listen  to  him. 

Mr.  Brandon  was  greatlj'  amused  by  Fitch's  prattle,  and  the 
latter  told  him  under  what  privations  he  had  studied  his  art  : 
how  he  had  starved  for  three  years  in  Paris  and  Rome,  Avhile 
laboring  at  his  profession ;  how  meanly  jealous  the  Royal 
Academy-  was  which  would  never  exhibit  a  single  one  of  his 
pictures  ;  how  he  had  been  driven  from  the  Heternal  City  by 
the  attentions  of  an  immense  fat  Mrs.  Carrickfer2:us,  who 
absolutely  proposed  marriage  to  him  ;  and  how  he  was  at  this 
moment  (a  fact  of  which  Mr.  Brandon  was  already  quite  aware) 
madly  and  desperately  in  love  with  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
maidens  in  this  world.  For  Fitch,  having  a  mistress  to  his 
heart's  desire,  was  boiling  with  impatience  to  have  a  confidant ; 
what,  indeed,  would  be  the  joy  of  love,  if  one  were  not  allowed 
to  speak  of  one's  feelings  to  a  friend  who  could  know  how  to 
S3'mpathize  with  them?  Fitch  was  sure  Brandon  did,  because 
Brandon  was  the  very  first  person  with  whom  the  painter  had 
talked  since  he  had  come  to  the  resolution  recorded  in  the  last 
chapter. 


A   SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY,  53 

"  I  hope  she  is  as  rich  as  that  unlucky  Mrs.  Carrickfergus, 
whom  you  treated  so  cruelly?"  said  the  confidant,  affecting 
entire  ignorance. 

"  Rich,  sir?  no,  I  thank  heaven,  she  has  not  a  penn}^ !  "  said 
Fitch. 

"  I  presume,  then,  you  are  yourself  independent,''  said 
Brandon,  smiUng ;  "  for  in  the  marriage  state,  one  or  the  other 
of  the  parties  concerned  should  bring  a  portion  of  the  filthy 
lucre." 

"  Plaven't  I  my  profession,  sir?"  said  Fitch,  majestically, 
having  declared  five  minutes  before  that  he  starved  in  his  pro- 
fession. "Do  you  suppose  a  painter  gets  nothing?  Haven't 
I  borders  from  the  first  people  in  Europe?  —  commissions, 
sir,  to  hexecute  'istory-pieces,  battle-pieces,  haltar-pieces  ?  " 

"  Masterpieces,  I  am  sure,"  said  Brandon,  bowing  politely; 
"  for  a  gentleman  of  3'our  astonishing  genius  can  do  no  other." 

The  delighted  artist  received  this  compliment  with  many 
blushes,  and  vowed  and  protested  that  his  performances  were 
not  really  worthy  of  such  liigh  praise  ;  but  he  fancied  Mr. 
Brandon  a  great  connoisseur,  nevertheless,  and  unburdened  his 
mind  to  him  in  a  manner  still  more  open.  Fitch's  sketch  was 
by  this  time  finished ;  and,  putting  his  drawing  implements 
together,  he  rose,  and  the  gentlemen  walked  awa3\  The  sketch 
was  hugely  admired  by  Mr.  Brandon,  and  when  they  came 
home.  Fitch,  culling  it  dexterously  out  of  his  book,  presented 
it  in  a  neat  speech  to  his  friend,  ''  the  gifted  hamateur." 

"The  gifted  hamateur"  received  the  drawing  with  a  pro- 
fusion of  thanks,  and  so  much  did  he  value  it,  that  he  had 
actually  torn  off  a  piece  to  light  a  cigar  with,  when  he  saw 
that  words  were  written  on  the  other  side  of  the  paper,  and 
deciphered  the  following  :  — 

"SONG    OF    THE    VIOLET. 

"A  humble  flower  long  time  I  pined, 

Upon  tlie  solitary  plain. 
And  trembled  at  the  angry  wind, 

And  shrunk  before  the  bitter  rain. 
And,  oh !  'twas  in  a  blessed  hour, 

A  passing  wanderer  chanced  to  see 
And,  pitying  the  lonely  flower, 

To  stoop  and  gather  me. 

"  I  fear  no  more  the  tempest  rude,  ' 

On  dreary  heath  no  more  I  pine, 
But  left  my  cheerless  solitude, 
To  deck  the  breast  of  Caroline. 


54  A  SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY. 

Alas !  our  days  are  brief  at  best, 

Nor  long  I  fear  will  mine  endure, 
Though  shelter'd  here  upon  a  breast 

So  gentle  and  so  pure. 

"  It  draws  the  fragrance  from  my  leaves, 
It  robs  me  of  my  sweetest  breath ; 
And  every  time  it  falls  and  heaves. 
It  warns  me  of  my  coming  death. 
But  one  I  know  would  glad  forego 

All  joys  of  life  to  be  as  I ; 
An  hour  to  rest  on  that  sweet  breast, 
And  then,  contented,  die. 

"  Andrea." 

When  Mr.  Brandon  had  finished  the  perusal  of  these  verses, 
he  laid  them  down  with  an  air  of  considerable  vexation. 
"  Egad !  "  said  he,  "  tliis  fellow,  fool  as  he  is,  is  not  so  great 
a  fool  as  he  seems  ;  and  if  he  goes  on  this  way,  may  finish  by 
turning  the  girl's  head.  They  can't  resist  a  man  if  he  but 
presses  hard  enough  —  I  know  they  can't !  "  And  here  Mr. 
Brandon  mused  over  his  various  experience,  which  confirmed 
his  observation,  that  be  a  man  ever  so  silly,  a  gentlewoman 
will  yield  to  him  out  of  sheer  weariness.  And  he  thought  of 
several  cases  in  wdiich,  by  the  persevering  application  of  copies 
of  verses,'  young  ladies  had  been  brought  from  dislike  to  suf- 
ferance of  a  man,  from  sufferance  to  partiality,  and  from 
partiality  to  St.  George's,  Hanover  Square.  "  A  ruffian  who 
murders  his  h's  to  carr}^  off  such  a  delicate  little  creature  as 
that !  "  cried  he  in  a  transport :  "it  shall  never  be  if  I  can  pre- 
vent it !  "  He  thought  Caroline  more  and  more  beautiful  every 
instant,  and  was  himself  by  this  time  almost  as  much  in  love 
with  her  as  Fitch  himself. 

Mr.  Brandon,  then,  saw  Fitch  depart  in  Swigby's  carriage 
with  no  ordinary  feelings  of  pleasure.  Miss  Caroline  was  not 
with  them.  "  Now  is  my  time  !  "  thought  Brandon  ;  and  ring- 
ing the  bell,  he  inquired  with  some  anxietj',  from  Becky,  w^here 
Miss  Caroline  was?  It  must  be  confessed  that  mistress  and 
maid  were  at  their  usual  occupation,  working  and  reading 
novels  in  the  back -parlor.  Poor  Cany !  what  other  pleasure 
had  she  ? 

She  had  not  gone  through  many  pages,  or  Becky  advanced 
many  stitches  in  the  darning  of  that  tablecloth  which  the  good 
housewife,  Mrs.  Gann,  had  confided  to  her  charge,  when  an 
humble  knock  was  heard  at  the  door  of  the  sitting-room,  that 
caused  the  blushing  Caroline  to  tremble  and  drop  her  book,  as 
Miss  Lydia  Languish  does  in  the  play. 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  55 

Mr.  George  Brandon  entered  with  a  very  demure  air.  He 
held  in  his  hand  a  blaCk  satin  neck-searf,  of  which  a  part  had 
come  to  be  broken.  He  coukl  not  wear  it  in  its  present  con- 
dition, that  was  evident ;  but  Miss  Caroline  was  blushing  and 
trembling  a  great  deal  too  much  to  suspect  that  this  wicked 
Brandon  had  himself  torn  his  own  scarf  with  his  ovvn  hands  one 
moment  before  he  entered  the  room.  I  don't  know  whether 
Becky  had  an}'  suspicions  of  this  fact,  or  whether  it  is  only 
the  ordinary  roguish  look  which  she  had  when  an}  thing  pleased 
her,  that  now  lighted  up  her  eyes  and  caused  her  mouth  to 
expand  smilingly,  and  her  fat  red  cheeks  to  gather  up  into 
wrinkles. 

"1  have  had  a  sad  misfortune,"  said  he,  "  and  should  be 
very  much  obliged  indeed  to  Miss  Caroline  to  repair  it."  (Caro- 
line was  said  with  a  kind  of  tender  hesitation  that  caused  the 
young  woman,  so  named,  to  blush  more  than  ever.)  "It  is 
the  onl}'  stock  I  have  in  the  world,  and  I  can't  go  barenecked 
into  the  streets  ;  can  I,  Mrs.  Becky?" 

"  No,  sure,"  said  Becky. 

"  Not  unless  I  was  a  celebrated  painter,  like  Mr.  Fitch," 
added  Mr.  Brandon,  with  a  smile,  which  was  reflected  speedily 
upon  tlie  face  of  the  lad}'  whom  he  wished  to  interest.  ^  Those 
great  geniuses,"  he  added,  "  may  do  anything." 

"For,"  says  Becky,  "  hee's  got  enough  beard  on  hees  faze 
to  keep  hees  neck  warm ! "  At  which  remark,  though  Miss 
Caroline  very  properly  said,  "  For  shame,  Becky  !  "  Mr.  Brandon 
was  so  convulsed  with  laughter,  that  he  fairly  fell  down  upon 
the  sofa  on  which  Miss  Caroline  was  seated.  How  she  startled 
and  trembled,  as  he  flung  his  arm  upon  the  back  of  the  couch  I 
Mr.  Brandon  did  not  attempt  to  apologize  for  what  was  an  act 
of  considerable  impertinence,  but  continued  mercilessly  to  make 
man}'  more  jokes  concerning  poor  Fitch,  which  were  so  cleverly 
suited  to  the  com[)rehension  of  the  maid  and  the  young  mistress, 
as  to  elicit  a  great  number  of  roars  of  laughter  from  the  one, 
and  to  cause  the  other  to  smile  in  spite  of  herself.  Indeed. 
Brandon  had  gained  a  vast  reputation  with  Becky  in  his  morn- 
ing colloquies  with  her,  and  she  was  ready  to  laugh  at  au}'  single 
word  which  it  pleased  him  to  utter.  How  many  of  his  good 
things  had  this  honest  scullion  carried  down  stairs  to  Caroline? 
and  how  pitilessly  had  she  contrived  to  estropier  them  in  their 
passage  from  the  drawing-room  to  the  kitchen? 

Well,  then,  while  Mr.  Brandon  "  was  a-going  on,"  as  Becky 
said,  Caroline  had  taken  his  stock,  and  her  little  fingers  were 
occupied  in  repairing  the  damage  he  had  done  to  it.     Was  it 


56  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

clumsiness  on  her  part?  Certain  it  is  that  the  rent  took  several 
minutes  to  repair  :  of  them  the  mangeur  de  cceurs  did  not  fail  to 
profit,  conversing  in  an  easy,  kindlj^,  confidential  way,  which 
set  our  fluttering  heroine  speedil}'  at  rest,  and  enabled  her  to 
repl}'  to  his  continual  queries,  addressed  with  much  adroitness 
and  an  air  of  fraternal  interest,  by  a  number  of  those  pretty 
little  timid  whispering  yeses  and  noes,  and  those  gentle,  quick 
looks  of  the  ejes,  wherewith  young  and  modest  maidens  are 
wont  to  reply  to  the  questions  of  seducing  joung  bachelors. 
Dear  yeses  and  noes,  how  beautiful  you  are  when  gently  whis- 
pered by  pretty  lips! — glances  of  quick  innocent  ejes,  how 
charming  are  you  !  —  and  how  charming  the  soft  blush  that 
steals  over  the  cheek,  towards  which  the  dark  lashes  are  draw- 
ing the  blue-veined  eyelids  down.  And  here  let  the  writer  of 
this  solemnly  declare,  upon  his  veracity,  that  he  means  nothing 
but  what  is  right  and  moral.  But  look,  I  pray  you,  at  an  inno- 
cent, bashful  girl  of  sixteen  :  if  she  be  but  good,  she  must  be 
pretty.  She  is  a  woman  now,  but  a  girl  still.  How  delightful 
all  her  ways  are  !  How  exquisite  her  instinctive  grace  !  All 
the  arts  of  all  the  Cleopatras  are  not  so  captivating  as  her  nature. 
Who  can  resist  her  confiding  simplicity,  or  fail  to  be  touched 
and  conquered  by  her  gentle  appeal  to  protection? 

All  this  Mr.  Brandon  saw  and  felt,  as  many  a  gentleman 
educated  in  this  school  will.  It  is  not  because  a  man  is  a  rascal 
himself,  that  he  cannot  appreciate  virtue  and  purit}'  very  keenly  ; 
and  our  hero  did  feel  for  this  simple,  gentle,  tender,  artless 
creature,  a  real  respect  and  sympathy  —  a  sympathy  so  fresh 
and  delicious,  that  he  was  but  too  glad  to  3'ield  to  it  and  indulge 
in  it,  and  which  he  mistook,  probably  for  a  real  love  of  virtue, 
and  a  return  to  the  days  of  his  innocence. 

Indeed,  Mr.  Brandon,  it  was  no  such  thing.  It  was  only 
because  vice  and  debauch  were  stale  for  the  moment,  and  this 
pretty  virtue  new.  It  was  onlj'  because  3-our  closed  appetite 
was  long  unused  to  this  simple  meat  that  30U  felt  so  keen  a 
relish  for  it ;  and  I  thought  of  3'ou  only  the  last  blessed  Satur- 
day, at  Mr.  Lovegrove's,  "  West  India  Tavern,"  Blackwall, 
Tyhere  a  company  of  fifteen  epicures,  who  had  scorned ^the  turtle, 
pooh-poohed  the  punch,  and  sent  away  the  whitebaitj  did  sud- 
denl}'  and  simultaneously  make  a  rush  \\\)0\\  —  a  dish  of  beans 
and  bacon.  And  if  the  assiduous  reader  of  novels  will  think 
upon  some  of  the  most  celebrated  works  of  that  species,  which 
have  lately  appeared  in  this  and  other  countries,  he  will  find, 
amidst  much  debauch  of  sentiment  and  enervating  dissipation 
of  intellect,  that  the  writers  have  from  time  to  time  a  returning 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  57 

appetite  for  innocence  and  freshness,  and  indulge  us  with  occa- 
sional repasts  of  beans  and  bacon.  How  long  Mr.  Brandon 
remained  by  Miss  Caroline's  side  I  have  no  means  of  judging ; 
it  is  probable,  however,  that  he  sta3'ed  a  much  longer  time  than 
was  necessarj^  for  the  mending  of  his  black-satin  stock.  I  be- 
lieve, indeed,  that  he  read  to  the  ladies  a  great  part  of  the 
"  M3'steries  of  Udolpho,"  over  which  thej  were  engaged  ;  and 
interspersed  his  reading  with  many  remarks  of  his  own,  both 
tender  and  satirical.  Whether  he  was  in  her  compau}'  half  an 
hour  or  four  hours,  this  is  certain,  that  the  time  slipped  away 
very  swiftly  with  poor  Caroline  ;  and  when  a  carriage  drove  up 
to  the  door,  and  shrill  voices  were  heard  crying,  "  Beck3' !  " 
"  Carr}^  "  and  Rebecca  the  maid  starting  np,  cried,  "Lor', 
here's  missus  !  "  and  Brandon  jumped  rather  suddenly'  oft"  the 
sofa,  and  fled  up  the  stairs  —  when  all  these  events  took  place, 
I  know  Caroline  felt  very  sad  indeed,  and  opened  the  door  for 
her  parents  with  a  very  heavy  heart. 

Swigby  helped  Miss  Linda  off  the  box  with  excessive  ten- 
derness. Papa  was  bustling  and  roaring  in  high  good-humor, 
and  called  for  "  hot  water  and  tumblers  immediatel}'."  Mrs. 
Gann  was  gracious  ;  and  Miss  Bell  sulky,  as  she  had  good 
reason  to  be,  for  she  insisted  upon  taking  the  front  seat  in  the 
carriage  before  her  sister,  and  had  lost  a  husband  by  that  very 
piece  of  obstinacy. 

Mr.  Fitch,  as  he  entered,  bestowed  upon  Caroline  a  heavy 
sigh  and  a  deep  stare,  and  silently  ascended  to  his  own  apart- 
ment. He  was  lost  in  thought.  The  fact  is,  he  was  trying  to 
remember  some  verses  regarding  a  violet,  which  he  had  made 
five  years  before,  and  which  he  had  somehow  lost  from  among 
his  papers.     So  he  went  up  stairs,  muttering, 

"A  humble  flower  long  since  I  pined 
Upon  a  solitary  plain  — " 


58  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

DESCRIBES   A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   MARRIAGE,  AND   MORE 
LOVE-MAKING. 

It  will  not  be  necessary  to  describe  the  particulars  of  the 
festivities  which  took  place  on  the  occasion  of  Mr.  Swigby's 
marriage  to  Miss  Macarty.  The  happy  pair  went  off  in  a  post- 
chaise  and  four  to  the  bridegroom's  country-seat,  accompanied 
by  the  bride's  blushing  sister ;  and  when  the  first  week  of  their " 
matrimonial  bliss  was  ended,  that  worthy  woman,  Mrs.  Gann, 
with  her  excellent  husband,  went  to  visit  the  young  couple. 
Miss  Caroline  was  left,  therefore,  sole  mistress  of  the  house, 
and  received  especial  cautions  from  her  mamma  as  to  prudence, 
econom3%  the  proper  management  of  the  lodgers'  bills,  and  the 
necessity  of  staying  at  home. 

Considering  that  one  of  the  gentlemen  remaining  in  the  house 
was  a  declared  lover  of  Miss  Caroline,  I  think  it  is  a  little  sur- 
prising that  her  mother  should  leave  her  unprotected  ;  but  in 
this  matter  the  poor  are  not  so  particular  as  the  rich ;  and  so 
this  young  lady  was  consigned  to  the  guardianship  of  her  owa 
innocence,  and  the  lodgers'  loyalty :  nor  was  there  any  reason 
why  Mrs.  Gann  should  doubt  the  latter.  As  for  Mr.  Fitch,  he 
would  have  far  preferred  to  be  torn  to  pieces  by  ten  thousand 
wild  horses,  rather  than  to  offer  to  tlie  young  woman  any  un- 
kindness  or  insult ;  and  how  was  Mrs.  Gann  to  suppose  that 
her  other  lodger  was  a  whit  less  loj'al?  that  he  had  any  par- 
tiality for  a  person  of  whom  he  alwa^ys  spoke  as  a  mean,  insig- 
nificant little  baby?  So,  without  any  misgivings,  and  in  a  one- 
horse  fly  with  Mr.  Gann  by  her  side,  with  a  bran-new  green 
coat  and  gilt  buttons,  Juliana  Gann  went  forth  to  visit  her 
beloved  child,  and  console  her  in  her  married  state. 

And  here,  were  I  allowed  to  occupy  the  reader  with  extra- 
neous matters,  I  could  give  a  very  curious  and  touching  picture 
of  the  Swigbj'  menage.  Mrs.  S.,  I  am  very  sorry  to  say,  quar- 
relled with  her  husband  on  the  third  da}'  after  tlieir  marriage,  — 
and  for  what,  pr'thee?  Wliy,  liecause  he  would  smoke,  and 
no  gentleman  ought  to  smoke.  Swigby,  therefore,  patiently  re- 
signed his  pipe,  and  with  it  one  of  the  quietest,  happiest,  kind- 
est companions  of  his  solitude.  He  was  a  different  man  after 
this  ;  his  pipe  was  as  a  limb  of  his  bodj'.     Having  on  Tuesday 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  59 

conquered  the  pipe,  Mrs.  Swigby  on  Thursday  did  battle  with 
her  husband's  rum-and-water,  a  drink  of  an  odious  smell,  as  she 
ver}^  properly  observed  ;  and  the  smell  was  doubl^^  odious,  now 
that  the  tobacco-smoke  no  longer  i)erfumed  the  parlor-breeze, 
and  counteracted  the  odors  of  the  juice  of  West  India  sugar- 
canes.  On  Thursday,  then,  Mr.  8wigby  and  rum  held  out 
prett}'  bravely.  Mrs.  S.  attacked  the  punch  with  some  sharp- 
shooting,  and  fierce  charges  of  vulgarity;  to  which  S.  replied, 
by  opening  tlie  battei-y  of  oaths  (chiefly  directed  to  his  own 
eyes,  however),  and  loud  protestations  that  he  would  never 
surrender.  In  three  dajs  more,  however,  the  rum-and-water 
was  gone.  Mr.  Swigby,  defeated  and  prostrate,  had  given  up 
that  stronghold ;  his  young  wife  and  sister  were  triumphant ; 
and  his  poor  mother,  who  occupied  her  son's  house,  and  had 
till  now  taken  her  place  at  the  head  of  his  table,  saw  that 
her  empire  was  for  ever  lost,  and  was  preparing  suddenly 
to  succumb  to  the  imperious  claims  of  the  mistress  of  the 
mansion. 

All  this,  I  say,  I  wish  I  had  the  liberty  to  describe  at  large, 
as  also  to  narrate  the  arrival  of  majestic  Mrs.  Gann  ;  and  a 
battle-royal  which  speedily  took  place  between  the  two  worthy 
mothers-in-law.  Noble  is  the  hatred  of  ladies  who  stand  iu 
this  relation  to  each  other ;  each  sees  what  injur^^  the  other  is 
inflicting  upon  her  darling  child ;  each  mistrusts,  detests,  and 
to  her  offspring  privil}'  abuses  the  arts  and  crimes  of  the  other. 
A  house  with  a  wife  is  often  warm  enough  ;  a  house  with  a  wife 
and  her  mother  is  rather  warmer  than  any  spot  on  the  known 
globe  ;  a  house  with  two  mothers-in-law  is  so  excessively  hot, 
that  it  can  be  likened  to  no  place  on  earth  at  all,  but  one  must 
go  lower  for  a  simile.  Think  of  a  wife  who  despises  her  hus^ 
band,  and  teaches  him  manners  ;  of  an  elegant  sister,  who  joins 
in  rallying  him  (this  was  almost  the  only  point  of  union  be- 
tween Bella  and  Linda  now, — for  since  the  marriage,  Linda 
hated  her  sister  consumedly).  Think,  I  say,  of  two  mothers- 
in-law, —  one,  large,  pompous,  and  atrociously  genteel,  —  an- 
other coarse  and  shrill,  determined  not  to  have  her  son  \n\t 
upon,  — and  3'ou  may  see  what  a  happy  fellow  Joe  Swigby  was, 
and  into  what  a  piece  of  good  luck  he  liad  fallen. 

What  would  have  become  of  him  without  his  father-in-law  ? 
Indeed  one  shudders  to  think  ;  but  the  consequence  of  that 
gentleman's  arrival  and  intervention  was  speedily  this :  — ■ 
About  four  o'clock,  when  the  dinner  was  removed,  and  the 
quarrelling  used  commonly  to  set  in,  the  two  gents  took  their 
hats,  and  sallied  out ;   and  as  one  has  found  when  the  body  is 


60  A   SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

inflamed  that  the  application  of  a  stringent  medicine  may  cause 
the  ill  to  disappear  for  a  while,  only  to  return  elsewhere  with 
greater  force  ;  in  like  manner,  Mrs.  Swigby's  sudden  victory 
over  the  pipe  and  rum-and-water,  although  it  had  caused  a 
temporary  cessation  of  the  evil  of  which  she  complained,  was 
quite  unable  to  stop  it  altogether  ;  it  disappeared  from  one  spot 
only  to  rage  with  more  violence  elsewhere.  In  Swigby's  parlor, 
rum  and  tobacco  odors  rose  no  more  (except,  indeed,  when  Mrs. 
Gann  would  partake  of  the  former  as  a  restorative)  ;  but  if  3'ou 
could  have  seen  the  "  Half-Moon  and  Snuffers"  down  the  vil- 
lage ;  if  3-0U  could  have  seen  the  good  dry  skittle-ground  which 
stretched  at  the  back  of  that  inn,  and  the  window  of  the  back 
parlor  which  superintended  that  skittle-ground  ;  if  the  hour  at 
which  3'ou  beheld  these  objects  was  evening,  what  time  the  rus- 
tics from  their  toils  released,  trolled  the  stout  ball  amidst  the 
rattling  pins  (the  oaken  pins  that  standing  in  the  sun  did  cast 
long  shadows  on  the  golden  sward)  ;  if  j^ou  had  remarked  all 
this,  I  sa}',  you  would  have  also  seen  in  the  back-parlor  a  tallow 
candle  twinkling  in  the  shade,  and  standing  on  a  little  greasy 
table.  Upon  the  greasy  table  was  a  pewter  porter-pot,  and  to 
the  left  a  teaspoon  glittering  in  a  glass  of  gin ;  close  to  each  of 
these  two  delicacies  was  a  pipe  of  tobacco  ;  and  behind  the 
pipes  sat  Mr.  Gann  and  Mr.  Swigb^-,  who  now  made  the 
"Half-Moon  and  Snuffers"  their  usual  place  of  resoi't,  and 
forgot  their  married  cares. 

In  spite  of  all  our  promises  of  brevit}',  these  things  have 
taken  some  space  to  describe  ;  and  the  reader  must  also  know 
that  some  short  interval  elapsed  ere  they  occurred.  A  mouth 
at  least  passed  awa}-  before  Mr.  Swigb^-  had  decidedly  taken  up 
his  position  at  the  little  inn  :  all  this  time,  Gann  was  sta3ing 
with  his  son-in-law,  at  the  latter's  most  earnest  request ;  and 
Mrs.  Gann  remained  under  the  same  roof  at  her  own  desire. 
Not  the  hints  of  her  daughter,  nor  the  broad  questions  of  the 
dowager  Mrs.  Swigb3-,  could  induce  honest  Mrs.  Gann  to  stir 
from  her  quarters.  She  had  had  her  lodgers'  mone3'^  in  ad- 
vance, as  was  the  worth3'  woman's  custom  ;  she  knew  Margate 
in  April  was  dreadfulh'  dull,  and  she  determined  to  enjo3'  the  ' 
country  until  the  jovial  town  season  arrived.  The  Canterbury 
coachman,  whom  Gann  knew,  and  who  passed  through  the  vil- 
lage, used  to  take  her  cargo  of  novels  to  and  fro ;  and  the  old 
lad3'^  made  herself  as  happy  as  circumstances  would  allow. 
Should  anything  of  importance  occur  during  her  mamma's  ab- 
sence, Caroline  was  to  make  use  of  the  same  conve3'ance,  and 
inform  Mrs.  Gann  in  a  letter. 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY.         61 

Miss  Caroline  looked  at  her  papa  and  mamma,  as  the  vehicle 
which  was  to  bear  them  to  the  newly  married  couple  moved  up 
the  street ;  but,  strange  to  say,  she  did  r.ot  feel  that  heaviness 
of  heart  which  she  before  had  experienced  when  forbidden  to 
share  the  festivities  of  her  family,  but  was  on  this  occasion 
more  happy  than  any  one  of  them,  —  so  happy,  that  the  young 
woman  felt  quite  ashamed  of  herself;  and  Becky  was  fain  to 
remark  how  her  mistress's  cheek  flushed,  and  her  eyes  sparkled 
(and  turned  perpetually  to  the  door) ,  and  her  whole  little  frame 
was  in  a  flutter. 

"  I  wonder  if  he  will  come,"  said  the  little  heart;  and  the 
eyes  turned  and  looked  at  that  well-known  sofa-corner,  where 
he  had  been  placed  a  fortnight  before.  He  looked  exactly  like 
Lord  Byron,  that  lie  did,  with  his  pale  brow,  and  his  slim  bare 
neck ;  only  not  half  so  wicked  —  no,  no.     She  was  sure  that 

her  —  her  Mr.  B ,  her  Bran ,  her  George,  was  as  good 

as  he  was  beautiful.  Don't  let  us  be  angry  with  her  for  calhng 
him  George  ;  the  girl  was  bred  in  an  humble  sentimental  school ; 
she  did  not  know  enough  of  society  to  be  squeamish  ;  she  never 
thought  that  she  could  be  his  really,  and  gave  way  in  the  silence 
of  her  fancy  to  the  full  extent  of  her  affection  for  him. 

She  had  not  looked  at  the  door  above  twenty-five  times  — 
that  is  to  say,  her  parents  had  not  quitted  the  house  ten  minutes 
—  when,  sure  enough,  the  latch  did  rattle,  the  door  opened, 
and,  with  a  faint  blush  on  his  cheek,  divine  George  entered. 
lie  was  going  to  make  some  excuse,  as  on  the  former  occasion  ; 
but  he  looked  first  into  Caroline's  face,  which  was  beaming  with 
joy  and  smiles;  and  the  little  thing,  in  return,  regarded  him, 
and  —  made  room  for  him  on  the  sofa.  O  sweet  instinct  of 
love  !  Brandon  had  no  need  of  excuses,  but  sat  down,  and 
talked  away  as  easily,  happily,  and  confidentially,  and  neither 
took  any  note  of  time.  Andrea  Fitch  (the  sly  dog  !)  witnessed 
the  Gaun  departure  with  feelings  of  exultation,  and  had  laid  some 
deep  plans  of  his  own  with  regard  to  Miss  Caroline.  So  strong 
was  his  confidence  in  his  friend  on  the  first  floor,  that  Andrea 
actuall}^  descended  to  those  apartments,  on  his  way  to  Mrs. 
Gann's  parlor,  in  order  to  consult  Mr.  Brandon,  and  make 
known  to  him  his  plan  of  operations. 

It  would  have  made  your  heart  break,  or,  at  the  very  least, 
your  sides  ache,  to  beliold  the  couutv^nance  of  poor  Mr.  Fitch, 
as  he  thrust  his  bearded  head  in  at  the  door  of  the  parlor. 
There  was  Brandon  lolling  on  the  sofa,  at  his  ease  ;  Becky  in 
full  good-humor ;  and  Caroline,  always  absurdly  inclined  to 
blush,  blushing  at  Fitch's  appearance  more  than  ever!     She 


62  A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY. 

could  not  help  looking  from  him  slyly  and  gently  into  the  face 
of  Mr.  Brandon.  Tliat  gentleman  saw  the  look,  and  did  not 
fail  to  interpret  it.  It  was  a  confession  of  love  —  an  appeal 
for  protection.  A  thrill  of  delightful  vanity  shot  through  Bran- 
don's frame,  and  made  his  heart  throb,  as  he  noticed  this  look 
of  poor  Caroline.  He  answered  it  with  one  of  his  own  that 
was  cruelly  wrong,  cruelly  triumphant,  and  sarcastic ;  and  he 
shouted  out  to  Mr.  Fitch,  with  a  loud,  disconcerted  tone,  which 
only  made  that  young  painter  feel  more  awkward  than  ever  he 
had  been.  Fitch  made  some  clumsy  speech  regarding  his  din- 
ner, —  whether  that  meal  was  to  be  held,  in  the  absence  of 
the  parents,  at  the  usual  hour,  and  then  took  his  leave. 

Tlie  poor  fellow  had  been  pleasing  himself  with  the  notion 
of  taking  tliis  daily  meal  tete-a-iete  with  Caroline.  What  prog- 
ress would  he  make  in  her  heart  during  the  absence  of  her 
parents  !  Did  it  not  seem  as  if  tlie  first  marriage  had  been  ar- 
ranged on  purpose  to  facilitate  his  own?  He  determined  thus 
his  plan  of  campaign.  He  would  make,  in  the  first  place,  the 
most  beautiful  drawing  of  Caroline  that  ever  was  seen.  "  The 
conversations  I'll  'ave  with  her  during  the  sittings,"  says  he, 
"  will  carry  me  a  prett}-  long  way  ;  the  drawing  itself  will  be 
so  beautiful,  that  she  can't  resist  that.  FU  write  her  verses  in 
her  halbuni,  and  make  designs  hallusive  of  m}'  passion  for  her." 
And  so  our  pictorial  Alnaschar  dreamed  and  dreamed.  He  had, 
ere  long,  established  himself  in  a  house  in  Newman  Street, 
with  a  footman  to  open  the  door.  Caroline  was  up  stairs,  his 
wife,  and  her  picture  the  crack  portrait  of  the  Exhibition. 
With  her  b}-  his  side,  Andrea  Fitch  felt  he  could  do  anything. 
Half  a  dozen  carriages  at  his  door,  —  a  hundred  guineas  for  a 
Kit-Cat  portrait.  Lady  Fitch,  Sir  Andrew  Fitch,  the  Presi- 
dent's chain,  —  all  sorts  of  bright  visions  floated  before  his 
imagination  ;  and  as  Caroline  was  the  first  precious  condition 
of  his  preferment,  he  determined  forthwith  to  begin,  and  realize 
that. 

But  O  disappointment !  on  coming  down  to  dinner  at  three 
o'clock  to  that  charming  tete-a-tete^  he  found  no  less  than  four 
covers  laid  on  tlie  table.  Miss  Caroline  blushing  (according  to 
custom)  at  the  head  of  it ;  Becky,  the  maid,  grinning  at  the 
foot ;  and  Mr.  Brandon  sitting  quietly  on  one  side,  as  much  at 
home,  forsooth,  as  if  he  had  held  that  position  for  a  year. 

Tlie  fact  is,  that  the  moment  after  F'itch  retired,  Brandon,  in- 
spired by  jealousy,  had  made  the  same  request  which  had  been 
"brought  forward  by  the  painter ;  nor  must  the  ladies  be  too 
angry  with  Caroline,  if,  after  some  scruples  and  struggles,  she 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL    STORY.  63 

yielded  to  the  proposal.  Remember  that  the  girl  was  the 
daughter  of  a  boarding-house,  accustomed  to  continual  dealings 
with  her  mamma's  lodgers,  and  up  to  the  prese':t  moment  think- 
ing herself  as  safe  among  them  as  the  young  person  who  walked 
through  Ireland  with  a  bright  gold  wand,  in  the  song  of  Mr. 
Tliomas  Moore.  On  the  point,  however,  of  Brandon's  admis- 
sion, it  must  be  confessed,  for  Caroline's  honor,  that  she  did 
hesitate.  8he  felt  that  she.  entertained  verj' different  feelings 
towards  him  to  those  with  which  an}'  other  lodger  or  man  had 
inspired  her,  and  made  a  little  movement  of  resistance  at  first. 
But  the  poor  girl's  modesty  overcame  this,  as  well  as  her  wish. 
Ought  she  to  avoid  him?  Ought  she  not  to  stifle  any  prefer- 
ence which  she  might  feel  towards  him,  and  act  towards  him 
with  the  same  indifference  which  she  would  show  to  any  other 
person  in  a  like  situation  ?  Was  not  Mr.  Fitch  to  dine  at  table 
as  usual,  and  had  she  I'efused  him?  So  reasoned  she  in  her 
heart.  Silly  little  cunning  heart !  it  knew  that  all  these  reasons 
were  lies,  and  that  she  sJiould  avoid  the  man  ;  but  she  was  will- 
ing to  accept  of  an}-  pretext  for  meeting,  and  so  made  a  kind 
of  compromise  with  her  conscience.  Dine  he  should ;  but 
Beck}'  should  dine  too,  and  be  a  protector  to  her.  Becky 
laughed  loudl}'  at  the  idea  of  this,  and  took  her  place  with 
huge  delight. 

It  is  needless  to  sa}^  a  word  about  this  dinner,  as  we  have 
already  described  a  former  meal ;  suffice  it  to  say,  that  the 
presence  of  Brandon  caused  the  painter  to  be  excessively  sulky 
and  uncomfortable  ;  and  so  gave  his  rival,  who  was  gay,  trium- 
phant, and  at  his  ease,  a  decided  advantage  over  him.  Nor  did 
Brandon  neglect  to  use  this  to  the  utmost.  When  Fitch  re- 
tired to  his  own  apartments  —  not  jealous  as  3-et,  for  the  simple 
fellow  believed  every  word  of  Brandon's  morning  conversation 
with  him — but  vaguely  annoyed  and  disappointed,  Brandon 
assailed  him  with  all  the  force  of  ridicule  ;  at  all  his  manners, 
words,  looks,  he  joked  mercilessly ;  laughed  at  his  low  birth, 
(Miss  Gann,  be  it  remembered,  had  been  taught  to  pique  herself 
upon  her  owai  family,)  and  invented  a  series  of  stoi-ies  concern- 
ing his  past  Ufe  which  made  the  ladies  —  for  Becky,  being  in  the 
parlor,  must  be  considered  as  such  —  conceive  the  greatest  con- 
tempt and  pity  for  the  poor  painter. 

After  this,  Mr.  Brandon  would  expatiate  with  much  elo- 
quence upon  his  own  superior  attractions  and  qualities.  He 
talked  of  his  cousin,  Lord  So-and-so,  with  the  easiest  air  imagi- 
nable ;  told  Caroline  what  princesses  he  had  danced  with  at 
foreign  courts ;  frightened  her  with  accounts  of  dreadful  duels 


64  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

he  had  fought ;  in  a  word,  "  posed  "  before  her  as  a  hero  of  the 
most  sublhne  kind.  How  the  poor  little  thing  drank  in  all  his 
tales  ;  and  how  she  and  Becky  (for  they  now  occupied  the  same 
bedroom)  talked  over  them  at  night ! 

Miss  Caroline,  as  Mr.  Fitch  has  already  stated,  had  in  her 
possession,  like  almost  ever}-  young  lady  in  England,  a  little 
square  book  called  an  album,  containing  prints  from  annuals  ; 
hideous  designs  of  flowers  ;  old  pictures  of  faded  fashions,  cut 
out  and  pasted  into  the  leaves  ;  and  small  scraps  of  verses 
selected  from  Byron,  Landon,  or  Mrs.  Hemans  ;  and  written 
out  in  the  girlish  hand  of  the  owner  of  the  book.  Brandon 
looked  over  this  work  with  a  good  deal  of  curiosity  —  for  he 
contended,  always,  that  a  girl's  disposition  inight  be  learned 
from  the  character  of  this  museum  of  hers  —  and  found  here 
several  sketches  by  Mr.  Fitch,  for  which,  before  that  gentleman 
had  declared  his  passion  for  her,  Caroline  had  begged.  These 
sketches  the  sentimental  painter  had  illustrated  with  poetry, 
which,  I  must  confess,  Caroline  thought  charming,  until  now, 
when  Mr.  Brandon'took  occasion  to  point  out  how  wretchedly 
poor  the  verses  were  (as  indeed  was  the  fact),  and  to  parody 
them  all.  He  was  not  unskilful  at  this  kind  of  exercise,  and  at 
the  drawing  of  caricatures,  and  had  soon  made  a  dozen  of  both 
parodies  and  drawings,  which  reflected  cruelly  upon  the  person 
and  the  talents  of  the  painter. 

What  now  did  this  wicked  Mr.  Brandon  do?  He,  in  the  first 
place,  drew  a  caricature  of  Fitch  ;  and,  secondly,  having  gone 
to  a  gardener's  near  the  town,  and  purchased  there  a  bunch  of 
violets,  he  presented  them  to  Miss  Caroline,  and  wrote  Mr. 
Fitch's  own  verses  before  given  into  her  album.  He  signed 
them  with  his  own  initials,  and  thus  declared  open  war  with  the 
painter. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

WHICH    BRINGS    A    GREAT    NUMBER     OF     PEOPLE     TO     MARGATE     BY 

THE    STEAMBOAT. 

The  events  which  this  history  records  began  in  the  month 
of  February.  Time  had  now  passed,  and  April  had  arrived, 
and  with  it  that  festive  season  so  loved  by  schoolboys,  and 
called  the  Easter  hohdays.  Not  only  schoolboys,  but  men, 
profit  by  this  period  of  leisure,  —  such  men,  especially,  as  have 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  65 

just  come  into  enjo3-ment  of  their  own  cups  and  saucers,  and 
are  in  daily  expectation  of  tlieir  wliiskers  —  college  men,  I 
mean,  —  who  are  persons  more  anxious  than  any  others  to 
designate  themselves  and  each  other  by  the  manly  title. 

Among  other  men,  then,  my  Lord  Viscount  Cinqbars,  of 
Christ  Church,  Oxon,  received  a  sum  of  money  to  pay  his 
quarter's  bill,  and  having  written  to  his  papa  that  be  was  busil}^ 
engaged  in  reading  for  the  "  little-go,"  and  must,  therefore,  de- 
cline the  delight  he  had  promised  himself  of  passing  the  vaca- 
tion at  Cinqbars  Hall,  —  and  having,  the  day  after  his  letter 
was  despatched,  driven  to  town  tandem  with  young  Tom  Tuft- 
hunt,  of  the  same  universit}',  —  and  having  exhausted  the 
pleasures  of  the  metropolis  —  the  theatres,  the  Cider-cellars, 
the  Finish,  the  station-houses,  and  other  places  which  need  by 
no  means  be  here  particularized,  —  Lord  Cinqbars,  I  say,  grow- 
ing tired  of  London  at  the  end  of  ten  days,  quitted  the  me- 
tropolis somewhat  suddenl}' ;  nor  did  he  pay  his  hotel  bill  at 
Long's  before  his  departure ;  but  he  left  that  document  in 
possession  of  the  landlord,  as  a  token  of  his  (my  Lord  Cinq- 
bars')  confidence  in  his  host. 

Tom  Tufthunt  went  with  m}-  lord,  of  course  (although  of  an 
aristocratic  turn  in  politics,  Tom  loved  and  respected  a  lord  as 
much  as  an}-  democrat  in  England) .  And  whither  do  you  think 
this  worth}'  pair  of  young  gentlemen  were  bound  ?  To  no  less 
a  place  than  Margate  ;  for  Cinqbars  was  filled  with  a  longing  to 
go  and  see  his  old  friend  Brandon,  and  determined,  to  use  his 
own  elegant  words,  "  to  knock  the  old  buck  up." 

There  was  no  adventure  of  consequence  on  board  the  steamer 
which  brought  Lord  Cinqbars  and  his  friend  from  London  to 
Margate,  and  very  few  passengers  besides.  A  wandering  Jew 
or  two  were  set  down  at  Gravesend  ;  the  Rev.  Mr.  Wackerbart, 
and  six  unhappy  little  pupils  whom  the  reverend  gentleman  had 
pounced  upon  in  London,  and  was  carrying  back  to  his  academ}' 
near  Heme  Bay  ;  some  of  those  inevitable  persons  of  dubious 
rank  who  seem  to  have  free  tickets,  and  alwa3'S  eat  and  drink 
hugely  with  the  captain  ;  and  a  lady  and  her  party,  formed  the 
whole  list  of  passengers. 

The  lad}'  —  a  very  fat  lady  —  had  evidently  just  returned  from 
abroad.  Her  great  green  travelling- chariot  was  on  the  deck, 
and  on  all  her  imperials  were  pasted  fresh  large  bills,  with  the 
words  Ince's  British  Hotel,  Boulogne-sur-Mer  ;  for  it  is 
the  custom  of  that  worthy  gentleman  to  seize  upon  and  plaster 
all  the  luggage  of  his  guests  with  tickets,  on  which  his  name 
and  residence  are  inscribed,  —  by  which  simple  means  he  keeps 

5 


66         A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

himself  perpetually  in  their  recollection,  and  brings  himself  to 
the  notice  of  all  otlier  persons  who  are  in  the  habit  of  peering  at 
their  fellow-passengers'  trunks,  to  find  out  their  names.  I  need 
not  say  what  a  large  class  this  is. 

Well  ;  this  fat  lady  had  a  courier,  a  tall  whiskered  man, 
who  spoke  all  languages,  looked  like  a  field-marshal,  went  by 
the  name  of  Donnerwetter,  and  rode  on  the  box ;  a  French 
maid.  Mademoiselle  Augustine  ;  and  a  little  black  page,  called 
Saladin,  who  rode  in  the  rumble.  Saladin's  whole  business  was 
to  attend  a  wheezy,  fat,  white  poodle,  who  usually  travelled  in- 
side with  his  mistress  and  her  fair  compaynon  de  voyage^  whose 
name  was  Miss  Runt.  This  fat  lady  was  evidently  a  person  of 
distinction.  During  the  first  part  of  the  voyage,  on  a  windy, 
sunshiny  April  day,  she  paced  the  deck  stoutly,  leaning  on  the 
arm  of  poor  little  Miss  Runt ;  and  after  they  had  passed  Gi-aves- 
end,  when  the  vessel  began  to  pitch  a  good  deal,  retired  to 
her  citadel,  the  travelling-chariot,  to  and  from  which  the 
steward,  the  stewardess,  and  the  whiskered  courier  were  con- 
tinually running  with  supplies  —  of  sandwiches  first,  and  after- 
wards of  very  hot  brandy-and-water :  for  the  truth  must  be 
told,  it  was  rather  a  rough  afternoon,  and  the  poodle  was  sick ; 
Saladin  was  as  bad  ;  the  French  maid,  like  all  French  maids, 
was  outrageously-  ill ;  the  lady  herself  was  very  unwell  indeed  ; 
and  poor  dear  sympathizing  Runt  was  qualmish. 

'^  Ah,  Runt !  "  would  the  fat  lady  say  in  the  intervals,  "  what 
a  thing  this  malady  de  mare  is  !    Oh,  mong  jew  !    Oh  —  oh  !  " 

''  It  is,  indeed,  dear  madam,"  said  Runt,  and  went  ''Oh  — 
oh  !  "  in  chorus. 

"Ask  the  steward  if  we  are  near  Margate,  Runt."  And 
Runt  did,  and  asked  this  question  every  five  minutes,  as  people 
do  on  these  occasions. 

"  Iss}'  Monsieur  Donnerwetter:  ally  dimandj- ung  pew  d'o 
sho  poor  mwaw." 

"  Et  de  I'eau  de  fie  afec,  n'est-ce-bas,  Matame?"  said  Mr. 
Donnerwetter. 

"Wee,  wee,  comme  vous  voulj'." 

And  Donnerwetter  knew  very  well  what  "  comme  vous  vouly  " 
meant,  and  brought  the  liquor  exactly  in  the  wished-for  state. 

"Ah,  Runt,  Runt!  there's  something  even  worse  than  sea- 
sickness.    Heigh-ho  !  " 

"Dear,  dear  Marianne,  don't  flutter  yourself,"  cries  Runt, 
squeezing  a  fat  paw  of  her  friend  and  patroness  between  her 
own  bony  fingers.     "  Don't  agitate  your  nerves,  dear.     I  know 


A  SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  67 

5'on're  miserable  ;  but  haven't  you  got  a  friend  in  j'onr  faithful 
Runty?" 

'^  You're  a  good  creater,  that  you  are,"  said  the  fat  lady,  who 
seemed  herself  to  be  a  good-humored  old  soul;  "  and  I  don't 
know  what  I  should  have  done  without  3-ou.     Heigh-ho  !  " 

"Cheer  up,  dear!  you'll  be  happier  when  you  get  to  Mar- 
gate :  you  know  you  will,"  cried  Runt,  very  knowingly. 

'•  What  do  you  mean,  Elizabeth?" 

"You  know  very  well,  dear  Marianne.  I  mean  that 
there's  some  one  there  will  make  you  happy  ;  though  he's  a 
nasty  wretch,  that  he  is,  to  have  treated  my  darling,  beautiful 
Marianne  so." 

"Rimt,  Runt,  don't  abuse  that  best  of  men.  Don't  call  me 
beautiful  —  I'm  not.  Runt;  I  have  been,  but  I  ain't  now;  ahd 
oh !  no  woman  in  the  world  is  assy  bong  poor  lui." 

"But  an  angel  is;  and  you  are,  as  you  always  was,  an 
angel,  —  as  good  as  an  angel,  as  kind  as  an  angel,  as  beautiful 
as  one." 

"Ally  dong,"  said  her  companion,  giving  her  a  push  ;  "  you 
flatter  me.  Runt,  you  know  you  do." 

"  May  I  be  struck  down  dead  if  I  don't  say  the  truth  ;  and 
if  he  refuses  you,  as  he  did  at  Rome,  —  that  is,  after  all  his 
attentions  and  vows,  he's  faithless  to  you,  —  I  say  he's  a  wretch, 
that  he  is  ;  and  I  loill  say  he's  a  wretch,  and  he  is  a  wretch  —  a 
nasty,  wicked  wretch!" 

"  Elizabeth,  if  you  saj'  that,  you'll  break  my  heart,  3'OU  will ! 
Vous  casserez  mong  pover  cure."  But  Elizabeth  swore,  on  the 
contrary,  that  she  would  die  for  her  Marianne,  which  consoled 
the  fat  lady  a  little. 

A  great  deal  more  of  this  kind  of  conversation  took  place 
during  the  voyage  ;  but  as  it  occurred  inside  a  carriage,  so  that 
to  hear  it  was  ver}-  difficult,  and  as  possibh'  it  was  not  of  that 
edifying  nature  which  would  induce  the  reader  to  relish  many 
chapters  of  it,  we  shall  give  no  further  account  of  the  ladies' 
talk :  suffice  it  to  say,  that  about  half-past  four  o'clock  the 
journey  ended,  by  the  vessel  bringing  up  at  Margate  Pier.  The 
passengers  poured  forth,  and  hied  to  their  respective  homes  or 
inns.  My  Lord  Cinqbars  and  his  companion  (of  whom  we  have 
said  nothing,  as  they  on  their  sides  had  scarcely  spoken  a  word 
the  whole  way,  except  "deuce-ace,"  "  quarter- tray,"  "sizes," 
and  so  on,  —  being  occupied  ceaselessly  in  drinking  bottled 
stout  "and  playing  backgammon,) ,  ordered  their  luggage  to  be 
conveyed  to  "  Wright' s^Hotel,"  whither  the  fat  lady  aud  suite 
followed  them.     The  house  was  vacant,  and  the  best  rooms  in 


\ 

68  A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY. 

it  were  placed,  of  course,  at  the  service  of  the  new  comers- 
The  fat  lady  sailed  out  of  her  bedroom  towards  her  saloon, " 
just  as  Lord  Cinqbars,  cigar  in  month,  was  swaggering  out  of 
his  parlor.  They  met  in  the  passage  ;  when,  to  the  young 
lord's  surprise,  the  fat  lady  dropped  him  a  low  curtsy,  ar\d 
said,  — 

"  Munseer  le  Vecomte  de  Cinqbars,  sharmy  de  vous  voir. 
"V^ous  vous  rappelez  de  mwaw,  n'est-ce  pas?  Je  vous  ai  vew  a 
Rome  —  shay  1  ambassadure,  vous  savy." 

Lord  Cinqbars  stared  her  in  the  face,  .and  pushed  by  her 
without  a  word,  leaving  the  fat  lady  rather  disconcerted. 

"  Well,  Runt,  I'm  sure,"  said  she,  "  he  need  not  be  so  proud  ; 
I've  met  him  twent}'  times  at  Rome,  when  he  was  a  young  chap 
with  his  tutor." 

"Who  the  devil  can  that  fat  foreigner  be?"  mused  Lord 
Cinqbars.  "  Hang  her,  I've  seen  her  somewhere  ;  but  I'm 
cursed  if  I  understand  a  word  of  her  jabber."  And  so,  dis- 
missing the  subject,  he  walked  on  to  Brandon's. 

"Dang  it,  it's  a  strange  thing!"  said  the  landlord  of  the 
hotel;  "but  both  my  lord  and  the  fat  woman  in  number  nine 
have  asked  their  way  to  Mother  Gann's  lodging," — for  so  did 
he  dare  to  call  that  respectable  woman  ! 

It  was  true  :  as  soon  as  number  nine  had  eaten  her  dinner, 
she  asked  the  question  mentioned  by  the  landlord  ;  and,  as  this" 
meal  occupied  a  considerable  time,  the  shades  of  evening  had 
by  this  time  fallen  upon  the  quiet  city  ;  the  silver  moon  lighted 
up  the  bay,  and,  supported  by  a  numerous  and  well-appointed 
train  of  gas-lamps,  illuminated  the  streets  of  a  town, — of  au- 
tumn eves  so  crowded  and  so  gay  ;  of  gusty  April  nights,  so 
desolate.  At  this  still  hour  (it  might  be  half-past  seven),  two 
ladies  passed  the  gates  of  "Wright's  Hotel,"  "in  shrouding 
mantle  wrapped,  and  velvet  cai)."  Up  the  deserted  High  Street 
toiled  they,  b}^  gaping  rows  of  empty  bathing-houses,  by  melan- 
choly Jolly's  French  bazaar,  b}'  mouldy  pastiy-cooks,  blank 
reading-rooms,  1\y  fishmongers  who  never  sold  a  fish,  mercers 
who  vended  not  a  yard  of  riband  —  because,  as  yet,  the  season 
was  not  come,  —  and  Jews  and  Cockneys  still  remained  in 
town.  At  High  Street's"  corner,  near  Hawley  Square,  the}' 
passed  the  house  of  Mr.  Fincham,  chemist,  who  doth  not  only 
healthful  drugs 'supply,  but  likewise  sells  cigars  —  the  worst 
cigars  that  ever  mortal  man  gave  threepence  for. 

Up  to  this  point,  I  say,  J  have  had  a  right  to  accompany 
the  fat  lad}'  and  Miss  Runt ;  but  whether,  on  arriving  at  Mr. 
Fincham's,   they  turned  to  the  left,  in  the   direction   of  the 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  69 

*'  Roj'al  Hotel,"  or  to  the  right,  b}^  the  beach,  the  bathing-ma- 
chines, and  queer  rickety  old  row  of  houses,  called  "•Bueitos 
Ayres,"  no  power  on  earth  shall  induce  me  to  saj' ;  suffice  it, 
they  went  to  Mrs.  Gann's.  Wliy  should  we  set  all  the  world 
gadding  to  a  particular  street,  to  know  where  that  lady  lives? 
They  arrived  before  that  lad3''s  house  at  about  eight  o'clock. 
Every  house  in  the  street  had  bills  on  it  except  hers  (bitter 
mockery,  as  if  anybody  came  down  at  Easter!)  and  at  Mrs. 
Gann's  house  there  was  a  light  in  the  garret,  and  another  in  the 
two-pair  front.  I  believe  I  have  not  mentioned  before,  that  all 
the  front  windows  were  bow  or  ba3'-windows  ;  but  so  much  the 
reader  maj'  know. 

The  two  ladies,  who  had  walked  so  far,  examined  wistfully 
the  plate  on  the  door,  stood  on  the  steps  for  a  short  time,  re- 
treated, and  conversed  with  one  another. 

"  Oh,  Runty  !  "  said  the  stouter  of  the  two,  "  he's  here  —  I 
know  he's  here,  mong  cure  le  dee  —  m}'  heart  tells  me  so." 
And  she  put  a  large  hand  upon  a  place  on  her  left  side,  where 
there  once  had  been  a  waist. 

"  Do  you  think  he  looks  front  or  back,  dear?  "  asked  Runt. 
"  P'raps  he's  not  at  home." 

"  That  —  that's  his  croisy,"  said  the  stout  person  ;  "  I  know 
it  is  ; "  and  she  pointed  with  instinctive  justice  to  the  two- 
pair.  "  Ecouty ! "  she  added,  "he's  coming;  there's  some 
one  at  that  window.  Oh,  mong  jew,  mong  jew  !  c'est  Andre, 
e'est  lui ! " 

The  moon  was  shining  full  on  the  face  of  the  bow-windows 
of  Mrs.  Gann's  house ;  and  the  two  fair  spies,  who  were 
watching  on  the  other  side,  were,  in  consequence,  completely 
in  shadow.  As  the  lady  said,  a  dark  form  was  seen  in  the  two- 
pair  front ;  it  paced  the  room  for  a  while,  for  no  blinds  were 
drawn.  It  then  flung  itself  on  a  chair;  its  head  on  its  hands; 
it  then  began  to  beat  its  brows  wildly,  and  paced  the  room 
again.  Ah  !  how  the  fat  lady's  heart  throbbed  as  she  looked  at 
ail  this  ! 

She  gave  a  piercing  shriek  —  almost  fainted!  and  little 
Runt's  knees  trembled  under  her,  as  with  all  her  might  she 
supported,  or  rather  pushed  up,  the  ftilling  figure  of  her  stout 
patroness,  —  who  saw  at  that  instant  Fitch  come  to  the  candle 
with  an  immense  pistol  in  his  hand,  and  give  a  most  horrible 
grin  as  he  looked  at  it,  and  clasped  it  to  his  breast. 

"Unhand  me,  Runt;  he's  going  to  kill  himself!  It's  for 
me  !  I  know  it  is  —  I  will  go  to  him  !  Andrea,  my  Andrea  !  " 
And  the  fat  lady  was  pushing  for  the  opposite  side  of  the  way, 


70  .   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY. 

when  suddenly  the  second-floor  window  went  clattering  up,  and 
Fitch's  pale  head  was  thrust  out. 

He  had  heard  a  scream,  and  had  possibly  been  induced 
to  open  the  window  in  consequence  ;  but  bj'  the  time  he  had 
opened  it  he  had  forgotten  everything,  and  put  his  head 
vacantly  out  of  the  window,  and  gazed,  the  moon  shining  cold 
on  his  pale  features. 

"  Pallid  horb  !  "  said  Fitch,  "  shall  I  ever  see  th}'  light  again  ? 
Will  another  night  see  me  on  this  hearth,  or  view  me,  stark  and 
cold,  a  lifeless  corpse?"  He  took  his  pistol  up,  and  slowly 
aimed  it  at  a  chimne3'-pot  opposite.  Fancy  the  fat  lady's  sensa- 
tions as  she  beheld  her  lover  standing  in  the  moonlight,  and 
exercising  this  dead!}'  weapon. 

"Make  ready — present — fire!"  shouted  Fitch,  and  did 
instantaneously-,  not  Are  off,  but  lower  his  weapon.  "  The  bolt 
of  death  is  sped  !  "  continued  he,  clapping  his  hand  on  his  side. 
"  The  poor  painter's  life  is  over  !  Caroline,  Caroline,  I  die  for 
thee  !  " 

"  Runt,  Runt,  I  told  you  so  !  "  shrieked  the  fat  lady.  "  He 
is  dying  for  me,  and  Caroline's  m^^  second  name." 

What  the  fat  lady  would  have  done  more,  I  can't  sa}?^ ;  for 
Fitch,  disturbed  out  of  his  reverie  by  her  talking  below,  looked 
out,  frowning  vacantly,  and  saying  "  Ulloh  !  we've  hinterlopers 
'ere  !  "  suddenly  banged  down  the  window,  and  pulled  down  the 
blinds. 

This  gave  a  check  to  the  fat  lady's  projected  rush,  and  dis- 
concerted her  a  little.  But  she  was  consoled  by  Miss  Runt, 
promised  to  return  on  the  morrow,  and  went  home  happy  in 
the  idea  that  her  Andrea  was  faithful  to  her. 

Alas,  poor  fat  lady  !  little  did  you  know  the  truth.  It  was 
Caroline  Gann  Fitch  was  raving  about ;  and  it  was  a  part  of 
his  last  letter  to  her,  to  be  delivered  after  his  death,  that  he 
was  spouting  out  of  the  window. 

Was  the  crazy  painter  going  to  fight  a  duel,  or  was  he  going 
to  kill  himself?    This  will  be  explained  in  the  next  chapter. 


A   SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  71 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

WHICH    TREATS     OF    WAR    AND    LOVE,    AND     MANY    THINGS    THAT 
ARE    NOT   TO    BE    UNDERSTOOD    IN    CHAP.    VII. 

Fitch's  verses,  inserted  in  a  previous  chapter  of  tliis  story, 
(and  of  whicli  lines,  by  the  way,  the  printer  managed  to  make 
still  greater  nonsense  than  the  ingenious  bard  ever  designed,) 
had  been  composed  many  years  before  ;  and  it  was  with  no 
small  trouble  and  thought  that  the  young  painter  called  the 
greater  part  of  them  to  memory  again,  and  furbished  up  a  copy 
for  Caroline's  album.  Unlike  the  love  of  most  men,  Andrea's 
passion  was  not  characterized  by  jealousy  and  watchfulness, 
otherwise  he  would  not  have  failed  to  perceive  certain  tokens 
of  intelligence  passing  from  time  to  time  between  Caroline  and 
Brandon,  and  the  lady's  evident  coldness  to  himself.  The  fact 
is,  the  paintek"  was  in  love  with  being  in  love,  —  entirely'  ab- 
sorbed in  the  consideration  of  the  fact  that  he,  Andrea  Fitch, 
was  at  last  enamored  ;  and  he  did  not  mind  his  mistress  much 
more  than  Don  Quixote  did  Dulcinea  del  Toboso. 

Having  rubbed  up  his  verses,  then,  and  designed  a  pretty 
emblematical  outline  which  was  to  surround  them,  representing 
an  arabesque  of  violets,  dewdrops,  fairies,  and  other  objects, 
he  came  down  one  morning,  drawing  in  hand  ;  and  having  in- 
formed Caroline,  who  was  sitting  very  melanchoh'  in  the  parlor, 
pre-occupied,  with  a  pale  face  and  red  eyes,  and  not  caring 
twopence  for  the  finest  drawing  in  the  world,  —  having  informed 
her  that  he  w^as  going  to  make  in  her  halbum  a  humble  hoffering 
of  his  hart,  poor  Fitch  was  just  on  the  point  of  sticking  in  the 
drawing  with  gum,  as  painters  know  ver}'  well  how  to  do,  when 
his  eye  lighted  upon  a  page  of  the  album,  in  which  nestled  a 
few  dried  violets  and  —  his  own  verses,  signed  with  the  name 
of  George  Brandon. 

"  Miss  Caroline  —  Miss  Gann,  mam  I  "  shrieked  Fitch,  in  a 
tone  of  voice  which  made  the  young  lady  start  out  of  a  pro- 
found reverie,  and  crj',  uervouslj',  —  "  What  in  heaven  is  the 
matter  ?  " 

"■  These  verses,  madam  —  a  faded  violet  —  word  for  word, 
gracious  'eavens !  every  word !  "  roared  Fitch,  advancing  with 
the  book. 

She  looked  at  him  rather  vacantly-,  and  as  the  violets  caught 


72         A  ^HABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

her  eye,  put  out  her  hand,  and  took  them.  "  Do  you  know  the 
hawthor,  Miss  Gann,  of  '  The  faded  Violets? '  " 

"Author?  O  yes;  they  are  —  thej'  are  George's!"  She 
burst  into  tears  as  she  said  that  word ;  and,  pulling  the  little 
faded  flowers  to  pieces,  went  sobbing  out  of  the  room. 

Dear,  dear  little  Caroline  !  she  has  only  been  in  love  two 
months,  and  is  already  beginning  to  feel  the  woes  of  it ! 

It  cannot  be  from  want  of  experience  —  for  I  have  felt  the 
noble  passion  of  love  many  times  these  fort}-  3-ears,  since  I  was 
a  boy  of  twelve  (by  which  the  reader  may  form  a  pretty  good 
guess  of  m}'  age),  — it  cannot  be,  I  say,  from  want  of  expe- 
rience that  I  am  unable  to  describe,  step  b}'  step,  the  pi'ogress 
of  a  love-aftair ;  nay,  I  am  perfectly  certain  that  I  could,  if  I 
chose,  make  a  most  astonishing  and  heart-rending  liber  amoris  ; 
but,  nevertheless,  I  always  feel  a  vast  i-epugnance  to  the  follow- 
ing out  of  a  subject  of  this  kind,  which  I  attribute  to  a  natural 
diffidence  and  sense  of  shame  that  prevent  me  from  enlarging 
on  a  theme  that  has  in  it  something  sacred  —  certain  arcana 
which  an  honest  man,  although  initiated  into  them,  should  not 
divulge. 

If  such  coy  scruples  and  blushing  dehcac}'  prevent  one  from 
passing  the  threshold  even  of  an  honorable  \o\e,  and  setting 
down,  at  so  many  guineas  or  shillings  per  page,  the  pious  emo- 
tions and  tendernesses  of  two  persons  chastely  and  legally 
engaged  in  sighing,  ogling,  hand-squeezing,  kissing,  and  so 
forth  (for  with  such  outward  signs  I  believe  that  the  passion 
of  love  is  expressed),  —  if  a  man  feel,  I  say,  squeamish  about 
describing  an  innocent  love,  he  is  doubl}'  disinclined  to  describe 
a  guilty  one  ;  and  I  have  always  felt  a  kind  of  loathing  for  the 
skill  of  such  geniuses  as  Rousseau  or  Richardson,  who  could 
paint  with  such  painful  accuracy  all  the  struggles  and  woes  of 
Eloise  and  Clarissa,  —  all  the  wicked  arts  and  triumphs  of  such 
scoundrels  as  Lovelace. 

We  have  in  this  histor}'  a  scoundrell}'  Lovelace  in  the  person 
going  b}'^  the  name  of  George  Brandon,  and  a  dear,  tender, 
innocent,  yieldhig  creature  on  whom  he  is  practising  his  infernal 
skill ;  and  whether  the  public  feel  any  sympathy  for  her  or  not, 
the  writer  can  only  sa}-,  for  his  part,  that  he  heartil}'  loves  and 
respects  poor  little  Caroline,  and  is  quite  unwilling  to  enter  into 
any  of  the  slow,  painful,  wicked  details  of  the  courtship  which 
passed  between  her  and  her  lover. 

Not  that  there  was  any  wickedness  on  her  side,  poor  girl ! 
or  that  she  did  an3'thing  but  follow  the  natural  and  beautiful 
impulses  of  an  honest  little  female  heart,  that  leads  it  to  trust 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  73 

and  love,  and  worship  a  being  of  the  other  sex,  whom  the  eager 
fanc}^  invests  with  all  sorts  of  attributes  of  superiorit^y.  There 
was  no  wild,  conceited  tale  that  Brandon  told  Caroline  which 
she  did  not  believe,  —  no  virtue  which  she  could  conceive  or 
had  read  of  in  novels  with  which  she  did  not  endow  him.  Many 
long  talks  had  they,  and  many  sweet,  stolen  interviews,  during 
the  periods  in  which  Caroline's  father  and  mother  were  away 
making  merry  at  the  house  of  tlieir  son-in-law  ;  and  while  she 
was  left  under  the  care  of  her  virtue  and  of  Becky  the  maid. 
Indeed,  it  was  a  blessing  that  the  latter  was  left  in  the  joint 
guardianship.  For  Beck^',  who  had  such  an  absurd  opinion  of 
her  3'oung  lady's  merits  as  to  fancy  that  she  was  a  fit  wife  for 
any  gentleman  of  the  land,  and  that  any  gentleman  might  be 
charmed  and  fall  in  love  with  her,  had  some  instinct,  or  possibly 
some  experience,  as  to  the  passions  and  errors  of  youth,  and 
warned  Caroline  accordingly.  "If  he's  really  in  love.  Miss, 
and  I  think  he  be,  he'll  marry  you  ;-if  he  won't  marry  you,  he's 
a  rascal,  and  you're  too  good  for  him,  and  must  have  nothing 
to  do  with  him."  To  which  Caroline  replied,  that  she  was  sure 
Mr.  Brandon  was  the  most  angelic,  high-principled  of  human 
beings,  and  that  she  was  sure  his  intentions  were  of  the  most 
honorable  description. 

We  have  before  described  what  Mr.  Brandon's  character 
was.  He  was  not  a  man  of  honorable  intentions  at  all.  But 
he  was  a  gentleman  of  so  excessively  eager  a  temperament, 
that  if  properly  resisted  by  a  practised  coquette,  or  b}'  a  woman 
of  strong  principles,  he  would  sacrifice  anything  to  obtain  his 
ends,  —  nay,  marry  to  obtain  them  ;  and,  considering  his  dis- 
position, it  is  only  a  wonder  that  he  had  not  been  married  a 
great  number  of  times  already  ;  for  he  had  been  in  love  per- 
petuall}'  since  his  seventeenth  year.  B}-  which  the  reader  may 
pretty  well  appreciate  the  virtue  or  the  prudence  of  the  ladies 
with  whom  hitherto  our  inflammable  young  gentleman  had  had 
to  do. 

The  fruit,  then,  of  all  his  stolen  interviews,  of  all  his  praj'ers, 
vows,  and  pi'otestations  to  Caroline,  had  been  only  this,  —  that 
she  loved  him  ;  but  loved  him  as  an  honest  girl  should,  and 
was  ready  to  go  to  the  altar  with  him  when  he  chose.  He 
talked  about  his  famil}',  his  peculiar  circumstances,  his  proud 
father's  curse.  Little  Caroline  only  sighed,  and  said  her  dearest 
George  must  wait  until  he  could  obtain  his  parent's  consent. 
When  pressed  harder,  she  would  burst  into  tears,  and  wonder 
how  one  so  good  and  affectionate  as  he  could  propose  to  her 
anything  unworth}-  of  them  both.     It  is  clear  to  see  that  the 


74  A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY. 

young  lady  had  read  a  vast  number  of  novels,  and  knew  some- 
thing of  the  nature  of  love  ;  and  that  she  had  a  good  principle 
and  honesty  of  her  own,  which  set  her  lover's  schemes  at 
naught :  indeed,  she  had  both  these  advantages,  —  her  educa- 
tion, such  as  it  was.  having  given  her  the  one,  and  her  honest 
nature  having  endo\Yed  her  with  the  other. 

On  the  day  when  Fitch  came  down  to  Caroline  with  his 
verses,  Brandon  had  pressed  these  unworthy  propositions  upon 
her. '  She  liad  torn  herself  violentl}'  away  from  him,  and  rushed 
to  the  door  ;  but  tlie  poor  little  thing  fell  before  she  could  reach 
it,  screaming  in  a  fit  of  hysterics,  which  brought  Becky  to  her 
aid,  and  caused  Brandon  to  leave  her,  abashed.  He  went  out; 
she  watched  him  go,  and  stole  up  into  his  room,  and  laid  on 
his  table  the  first  letter  she  had  ever  written  to  him.  It  was 
written  in  pencil,  in  a  trembling,  school-girl  hand,  and  con- 
tained simply  the  following  words  :  — 

"  George,  you  have  almost  broken  my  heart.  Leave  me  if  you  will, 
and  if  3'ou  dare  not  act  like  an  lionest  man.  If  you  ever  speak  to  me  so 
again  as  you  did  this  morning,  1  declare  solemnly  before  heaven,  I  will 
take  poison.  -  C." 

Indeed,  the  poor  thing  had  read  romances  to  some  purpose  ; 
without  them,  it  is  probable,  she  never  would  have  thought  of 
such  a  means  of  escape  from  a  lover's  persecutions  ;  and  there 
was  something  in  the  girl's  character  that  made  Brandon  feel 
sure  that  she  would  keep  her  promise.  How  the  words  agitated 
him  !  He  felt  a  violent  mixture  of  raging  disappointment  and 
admiration,  and  loved  the  girl  ten  thousand  times  more  than 
ever. 

Mr.  Brandon  had  scarcely  finished  the  reading  of  this  docu- 
ment, and  was  jet  agitated  b}^  the  various  passions  which  the 
perusal  of  it  created,  when  the  door  of  his  apartment  was  vio- 
lently flung  open,  and  some  one  came  in.  Brandon  started, 
and  turned  round,  with  a  kind  of  dread  that  Caroline  had 
already  executed  her  threat,  and  that  a  messenger  was  come 
to  inform  him  of  her  death.  Mr.  Andrea  Fitch  was  the  in- 
truder. His  hat  was  on  —  his  eyes  were  glaring  ;  and  if  the 
beards  of  men  did  stand  on  end  anywhere  but  in  poems  and 
romances,  his,  no  doubt,  would  have  formed  round  his  counte- 
nance a  bristling  auburn  halo.  As  it  was.  Fitch  only  looked 
astonish! nglj'  fierce,  as  he  stalked  up  to  the  table,  his  hands 
behind  his  back.  When  he  had  arrived  at  this  barrier  between 
himself  and  Mr.  Brandon,  he  stopped,  and,  speechless,  stared 
that  gentleman  in  the  face. 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY.         75 

"  May  I  beg,  Mr.  Fitch,  to  know  what  has  procured  me 
the  honor  of  this  visit?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Brandon,  after  a  brief 
pause  of  wonder. 

"Honor!  —  ha,  ha,  ha!"  growled  Mr.  Fitch,  in  a  most 
sardonic,  discordant  way  —  '•'■honor  !  " 

"  Well,  sir,  honor  or  no  honor,  I  can  tell  you,  my  good  man, 
it  certainl_y  is  no  pleasure  !  "  said  Brandon,  testily.  "  In  plain 
English,  then,  what  the  de\dl  has  brought  you  here?" 

Fitch  plumped  the  album  down  on  the  table  close  to  Mr. 
Brandon's  nose,  and  said,  "  That  has  brought  me,  sir  —  that 
halbum,  sir;  or,  I  ask  your  pardon,  that  a — album  —  ha, 
ha,  ha!" 

"Oh,  I  see!"  said  Mr.  Brandon,  who  could  not  refrain 
from  a  smile.  "  It  was  a  cruel  trick  of  mine.  Fitch,  to  rob 
you  of  your  verses  ;  but  all's  fair  in  love." 

"Fitch,  sir!  don't  Fitch  me,  sir!  I  wish  to  be  hintimate 
honly  with  men  of  h-honor,  not  with  forgers,  sir ;  not  with 
'artless  miscreants  !  Miscreants,  sir,  I  repeat ;  vipers,  sir ; 
b — b — b — blackguards,  sir  !  " 

"Blackguards,  sir!"  roared  Mr.  Brandon,  bouncing  up; 
"  blackguards,  you  dirty  cockney  mountebank !  Quit  the 
room,  sir,  or  I'll  fling  you  out  of  the  window  !  " 

"  Will  you,  sir?  try,  sir  ;  I  wish  you  may  get  it,  sir.  I'm  a 
hartist,  sir,  and  as  good  a  man  as  you.  '^ Miscreant,  forger, 
traitor,  come  on  !  " 

And  Mr.  Brandon  would  have  come  on,  but  for  a  circum- 
stance that  deterred  him  ;  and  this  was,  that  INIr.  Fitcli  drew 
from  his  bosom  a  long,  sharp,  shining,  waving  poniard  of  the 
middle  ages,  that  formed  a  part  of  his  artistical  properties,  and 
with  whicli  he  had  armed  himself  for  this  encounter. 

"Come  on,  sir!"  shrieked  Fitch,  brandishing  this  fearful 
weapon.  "  Lay  a  finger  on  me,  and  I  bury  this  blade  in  jour 
treacherous  'art.     Ha  !  do  you  tremble  ?  " 

Indeed,  the  aristocratic  Mr.  Brandon  turned  somewhat  pale. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  he,  "  what  do  you  want?  Do  you  sup- 
pose I  am  to  be  bnllied  by  your  absurd  melodramatic  jiiirs  !  It 
was,  after  all,  but  a  joke,  sir,  and  I  am  sorry  that  it  has  offended 
you.     Can  I  say  more?  — what  shall  I  do?" 

"You  shall  hapologlze;  not  only  to  me,  sir,  but  you  shall 
tell  Miss  Caroline,  in  my  presence,  that  you  stole  those  verses 
from  me,  and  used  them  quite  unauthorized  by  me." 

"Look  you,  Mr.  Fitch,  I  will  make  you  another  set  of 
verses  quite  as  good,  if  you  like;  but  what  you  ask  is  im- 
possible." 


76  A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY. 

"  I  will  'asten  myself,  then,  to  Miss  Caroline,  and  acquaint 
her  with  your  dastardly  forgerj^,  sir.  I  will  hopen  her  heyes, 
sk ! " 

"  You  maj'  hopen  her  heyes,  as  you  call  them,  if  _you  please  : 
but  I  tell  you  fairl}-,  that  the  young  lady  will  credit  me  rather 
than  you  ;  and  if  you  swear  ever  so  much  that  the  A^erses  are 
3'ours,  I  must  say  that  — " 

"  Sa}'  what,  sir?" 

"  Sa}' that  you  lie,  sir!"  said  Mr.  Brandon,  stamping  on 
the  ground.  "I'll  make  you  other  verses,  I  repeat;  but  this 
is  all  I  can  do,  and  now  go  about  your  business  !  " 

"Curse  your  verses,  sir!  liar  and  forger  yourself!  Hare 
you  a  coward  as  well,  sir?  A  coward  !  j-es,  I  believe  j'ou  are  ; 
or  will  you  meet  me  to-morrow  morning  like  a  man,  and  give 
me  satisfaction  for  this  hinfamoiis  hinsult?" 

"Sir,"  said  Mr.  Brandon,  with  the  utmost  stateliuess  and 
scorn,  "  if  3'ou  wish  to  murder  me  as  you  do  the  king's  Eng- 
lish, I  won't  balk  3'ou.  Although  a  man  of  my  rank  is  not 
called  upon  to  meet  a  blackguard  of  3'our  condition,  I  will, 
nevertheless,  grant  3'ou  j'our  will.  But  have  a  care ;  by 
heavens,  I  won't  spare  3'ou,  and  1  can  hit  an  ace  of  hearts  at 
twenty  paces  ! " 

"Two  can  plaj^  at  that,"  said  Mr.  Fitch,  calmly;  "and  if 
I  can't  hit  a  hace  of  'arts  at  twent}'  paces,  I  can  hit  a  man  at 
twelve,  and  to-morrow  I'll  try."  With  which,  giving  Mr. 
Brandon  a  look  of  the  highest  contempt,  the  3"oung  painter 
left  the  room. 

What  were  Mr.  Brandon's  thoughts  as  his  antagonist  left 
him?  Strange  to  say,  rather  agreeable.  He  had  much  too 
great  a  contempt  for  Fitch  to  suppose  that  so  low  a  fellow 
would  ever  think  seriously  of  fighting  him,  and  reasoned  with 
himself  thus  :  — 

"This  Fitch,  I  know,  will  go  off  to  Caroline,  tell  her  the 
whole  transaction,  frighten  her  with  the  tale  of  a  duel,  and 
then  she  and  I  shall  have  a  scene.  I  will  tell  her  the  truth 
about  those  infernal  verses,  menace  death,  blood,  and  danger, 
and  then  —  " 

Here  he  fell  back  into  a  charming  reverie  ;  the  wily  fellow 
knew  what  power  such  a  circumstance  would  give  him  over  a 
poor  weak  girl,  who  would  do  anything  rather  than  that  her 
beloved  should  risk  his  life.  And  with  this  dastardl}^  specula- 
tion as  to  the  price  he  should  ask  for  refraining  from  meeting 
Fitch,  he  was  entertaining  himself;  when,  much  to  his  annoy- 
ance, that  gentleman  again  came  into  the  room. 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  77 

"Mr.  Brandon,"  said  he,  "you  have  insulted  me  in  the 
grossest  and  cruellest  wa^'." 

"Well,  sir,  are  3'ou  come  to  apologize?"  said  Brandon 
sneeringly. 

"No,  I'm  not  come  to  apologize,  Mr.  Aristocrat:  it's  past 
that.  I'm  come  to  say  this,  sir,  that  I  take  you  for  a  coward  ; 
and  that,  unless  you  will  give  me  your  solemn  word  of  honor 
not  to  mention  a  word  of  this  quarrel  to  Miss  Ganu,  which 
might  prevent  our  meeting,  I  will  never  leave  3'ou  till  we  do 
fight ! " 

"  This  is  outrageous,  sir  !  Leave  the  room,  or  by  heavens 
I'll  not  meet  3-ou  at  all !  " 

"  Heas}-,  sir;  easy,  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  can  force  you  to 
that !  " 

"And  how,  pray,  sir?" 

"Why,  in  the  tlrst  place,  here's  a  stick,  and  I'll  'orsewhip 
3'^ou  ;  and  here  are  a  pair  of  pistols,  and  we  can  fight  now  !  " 

"Well,  sir,  I  give  3'ou  my  honor,"  said  Mr.  Brandon,  in  a 
diabohcal  rage;  and  added,  "I'll  meet  you  to-morrow,  not 
now  ;  and  you  need  not  be  afraid  that  I'll  miss  3'ou  !  " 

"  Hadew,  sir,"  said  the  chivalrous  little  Fitch  ;  "  bon  giorno, 
sir,  as  we  used  to  sa\'  at  Rome."  And  so,  for  the  second  time, 
he  left  Mr.  Brandon,  who  did  not  like  yery  well  the  extraor- 
dinar}'  courage  he  had  displayed. 

"  What  the  deuce  has  exasperated  the  fellow  so?"  thought 
Brandon. 

Why,  in  the  first  place,  he  had  crossed  Fitch  in  love  ;  and, 
in  the  second,  he  had  sneered  at  his  pronunciation  and  his  gen- 
tility, and  Fitch's  little  soul  was  in  a  iiwy  which  nothing  but 
blood  would  allay  :  he  was  determined,  for  the  sake  of  his  hart 
and  his  lady,  to  bring  this  proud  champion  down. 

So  Brandon  was  at  last  left  to  his  cogitations  ;  when,  con- 
fusion !  about  five  o'clock  came  another  knock  at  his  door. 

"  Come  in  !  "  growled  the  owner  of  the  lodgings. 

A  sallow,  blear-eyed,  rickct}',  undersized  creature,  tottering 
upon  a  pair  of  high-heeled  lacquered  boots,  and  supporting 
himself  upon  an  immense  gold-knobbed  cane,  entered  the  room 
with  his  hat  on  one  side  and  a  jaunty  air.  It  was  a  white  hat 
with  a  broad  brim,  and  under  it  fell  a  great  deal  of  greasy  lank 
hair,  that  shrouded  the  cheek-bones  of  the  wearer.  The  little 
man  had  no  beard  to  his  chin,  appeared  about  twenty  jears  of 
age,  and  might  weigh,  stick  and  all,  some  seven  stone.  If 
you  wish  to  know  how  this  exquisite  was  dressed,  I  have  the 
l)leasure  to  inform  you  that  he  wore  a  great  sky-blue  embroid- 


78  A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY. 

ered  satin  stock,  in  which  figured  a  carbuncle  that  looked  like 
.  a  lambent  gooseberry.  He  had  a  shawl-waistcoat  of  many 
colors  ;  a  pair  of  loose  blue  trousers,  neatly  strajjped  to  show 
his  little  feet :  a  brown  cut-away  coat  with  brass  buttons,  that 
fitted  tight  round  a  spider  waist ;  and  over  all  a  white  or  drab 
surtout,  with  a  sable  collar  and  cuffs,  from  which  latter  on  each 
hand  peeped  five  little  fingers  covered  with  lemon-colored  kid 
gloves.  One  of  these  hands  he  held  constantly  to  his  little 
chest:  and,  with  a  hoarse  thin  voice,  he  piped  out, 

"•  George  my  buck  !  how  goes  it?" 

We  have  been  thus  particular  in  our  description  of  the  cos- 
tume of  this  individual  (whose  inward  man  stronglj^  corre- 
sponded with  his  manl}-  and  agreeable  exterior),  because  he 
was  the  person  whom  Mr.  Brandon  most  respected  in  the 
world . 

"  CiNQBARS  !  "  exclaimed  our  hero :  "  why,  what  the  deuce 
has  brought  you  to  Margate  ?  " 

"  Fwendship,  my  old  cock!"  said  the  Honorable  Augustus 
Frederick  Ringwood,  commonl}'  called  Viscount  Cinqbars,  for 
indeed  it  was  he.  "Fwendship  and  the  City  of  Canterbuwy 
steamer !  "  and  herewith  his  lordship  held  out  liis  right-hand 
forefinger  to  Brandon,  who  enclosed  it  most  cordiallv  in  all  his. 
"  Wathn't  it  good  of  me,  now,  George,  to  come  down  and  con- 
thole  you  in  tliith  curthed,  thtupid  place  —  hay  now?"  said  my 
lord,  after  these  salutations. 

Brandon  swore  he  was  ver}'  glad  to  see  him,  which  was  very 
true,  for  he  had  no  sooner  set  his  eyes  upon  his  lordship,  than 
he  had  determined  to  borrow  as  much  money  from  him  as  ever 
he  could  induce  the  young  nobleman  to  part  with.  . 

"  I'll  tell  you  how  it  wath,  m}^  bo^' :  you  thee  I  wath  thtop- 
ping  at  Long'th,  when  I  found,  b^-  Jove,  that  the  governor  wath 
come  to  town  !  Cuth  me  if  I  didn't  meet  the  infarnal  old 
family  dwag,  with  m}^  mother,  thithterth,  and  all,  ath  I  wath 
dwiving  a  hack-cab  with  P0II3'  Tomkinth  in  the  Pawk  !  Tho 
when  I  got  home,  '  Hang  it ! '  thayth  I  to  Tufthunt,  '  Tom  my 
boy,'  thaith  I,  '  I've  just  theen  the  governor,  and  must  be  off ! ' 
'  What,  back  to  Ockthford  ? '  thaith^Tom.  '  No,'  thaith  I,  '  that 
won't  do.  Abroad  —  to  Jewicho  —  anywhere.  Egad,  I  have  it ! 
I'll  go  down  to  Margate  and  thee  old  George,  that  I  will.' 
And  tho  off  I  came  the  very  next  day;  and  here  I  am,  and 
thereth  dinner  waiting  for  nth  at  the  hotel,  and  thixth  bottleth 
of  champagne  in  ithe,  and  thum  thalmon :  tho  you  mutht 
come." 

To  this  proposition  Mr.  Brandon  readil}^  agreed,  being  glad 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  79 

enough  of  the  prospect  of  a  good  dinner  and  some  jovial  so- 
ciety, for  he  was  low  and  disturbed  in  spirits,  and  so  promised 
to  dine  with  liis  friend  at  the  "  Sun." 

The  two  gentlemen  conversed  for  some  time  longer.  Mr. 
Brandon  was  a  shrewd  fellow,  and  knew  perfectly  well  a  fact  of 
which,  no  doubt,  the  reader  has  a  notion  —  namel}',  that  Lord 
Cinqbars  was  a  ninny  ;  but,  nevertheless,  Brandon  esteemed 
him  highly  as  a  lord.  "We  pardon  stupid  it}'  in  lords  ;  nature 
or  instinct,  however  sarcastic  a  man  may  be  among  ordinary 
persons,  renders  him  towards  men  of  quality  benevolently 
blind  :  a  divinity  hedges  not  only  the  king,  but  the  whole  peer- 
age. 

"That's  the  girl,  I  suppose,"  said  my  lord,  knowingly  wink- 
ing at  Brandon  :  "  that  little  pale  girl,  who  let  me  in,  I  mean. 
A  nice  little  filly,  upon  my  honor,  Georgy  my  buck !  " 

"  Oh  —  that  —  yes  —  I  wrote,  I  think,  souiething  about  her," 
said  Brandon,  blushing  slightly;  for,  indeed,  he  now  began  to 
wish  that  his  friend  should  make  no  comments  upon  a  young 
lady  with  whom  he  was  so  much  in  love. 

"I  suppose  it's  all  up  now?"  continued  my  lord,  looking 
still  more  knowing.  "All  over  with  her,  hav?  I  saw  it  was 
by  her  looks,  in  a  minute." 

"  Indeed  you  do  me  a  great  deal  too  much  honor.  Miss  — 
ah, — Miss  Gann  is  a  very  respectable  young  person,  and  I 
would  not  for  the  world  have  you  to  suppose  that  I  would  do 
anything  that  should  the  least  injure  her  character." 

At  this  speech,  Lord  Cinqbars  was  at  first  much  puzzled ; 
but,  in  considering  it,  was  fully  convinced  that  Brandon  was  a 
deeper  dog  than  ever.  Boiling  with  impatience  to  know  the 
particulars  of  this  delicate  intrigue,  this  cunning  diplomatist 
determined  he  would  pump  the  whole  story  out  of  Brandon  by 
degrees  ;  and  so,  in  the  course  of  half  an  hour's  conversation 
that  the  young  men  had  together,  Cinqbars  did  not  make  less 
than  fort}'  allusions  to  the  subject  that  interested  him.  At 
last  Brandon  cut  him  short  rather  haughtily,  l>v  begging  that 
lie  would  make  no  further  allusions  to  tlie  subject,  as  it  was 
one  that  was  excessively  disagreeable  to  him. 

In  fact,  there  was  no  mistake  about  it  now.  George  Bran- 
don was  in  love  with  Caroline.  He  felt  that  he  was  while  he 
blushed  at  his  friend's  alluding  to  her,  while  he  grew  indignant 
at  the  young  lord's  coarse  banter  about  her. 

Turning  the  conversation  to  another  point,  he  asked  Cinq- 
bars about  his  voyage,  and  whether  he  had  brought  ixuy  com- 
panion with  him  to  Margate  ;  whereupon  my  lord  related  all 


80  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

his  feats  in  London,  how  he  had  been  to  the  watch-house,  how 
many  bottles  of  champagne  he  had  drunk,  how  he  had  "'  milled  " 
a  policeman,  &c.  &c.  ;  and  he  concluded  by  saying  that  he  had 
come  down  with  Tom  Tufthiint,  who  was  at  the  inn  at  that 
very  moment  smoking  a  cigar. 

This  did  not  increase  Brandon's  good-humor ;  and  when 
Cinqbars  mentioned  his  friend's  name,  Brandon  saluted  it  men- 
tall}'  with  a  hearty  curse.  These  two  gentlemen  hated  each 
other  of  old.  Tufthunt  was  a  small  college  man  of  no  family, 
with  a  foundation  fellowship  ;  and  it  used  to  be  considered 
that  a  sporting  fellow  of  a  small  college  was  a  sad,  raffish, 
disreputable  character.  Tufthunt,  then,  was  a  vulgar  fellow, 
and  Brandon  a  gentleman,  so  they  hated  each  other.  They 
were  both  toadies  of  the  same  nobleman,  so  the}'  hated  each 
other.  They  had  had  some  quarrel  at  college  about  a  disputed 
bet,  which  Brandon  knew  he  owed,  and  so  they  hated  each 
other ;  and  in  their  words  about  it  Brandon  had  threatened 
to  horsewhip  Tufthunt,  and  called  him  a  "•  sneaking,  swindling, 
small  college  snob  ; "  and  so  httle  Tufthunt,  who  had  not  re- 
sented the  words,  hated  Brandon  far  more  than  Brandon  hated 
him.  The  latter  only  had  a  contempt  for  his  rival,  and  voted 
him  a  profound  bore  and  vulgarian. 

So,  although  Mr.  Tufthunt  did  not  choose  to  frequent  Mr. 
Brandon's  rooms,  he  was  very  anxious  that  his  friend,  the 
young  lord,  should  not  fall  into  his  old  bear-leader's  hands 
again,  and  came  down  to  Margate  to  counteract  au}^  influence 
which  the  arts  of  Brandon  might  acquire. 

"Curse  the  fellow!"  thought  Tufthunt  in  his  heart  (there 
was  a  fine  reciprocity  of  curses  between  the  two  men)  ;  "he 
has  drawn  Cinqbars  already  for  fifty  pounds  this  3-ear,  and  will 
have  some  half  of  his  last  remittance,  if  I  don't  keep  a  look- 
out, the  swindling  thief!  " 

And  so  frightened  was  Tufthunt  at  the  notion  of  Brandon's 
return  to  power  and  dishonest  use  of  it,  that  he  was  at  the 
time  on  the  point  of  writing  to  Lord  Ringwood  to  tell  him  of 
his  son's  doings,  only  he  wanted  some  money  deucedl}*  himself. 
Of  Mr.  Tufthunt's  physique  and  history  it  is  necessary  merely 
to  sa}',  that  he  was  the  son  of  a  country  attorney  who  was 
agent  to  a  lord  ;  he  had  been  sent  to  a  foundation-school,  where 
he  distinguished  himself  for  ten  years,  by  fighting  and  being 
flogged  more  than  any  boy  of  the  five  hundred.  From  the 
foundation-school  he  went  to  college  with  an  exhibition,  which 
was  succeeded  by  a  fellowship,  which  was  to  end  in  a  living. 
In  his  person  Mr.   Tufthunt  was  short  and  bow-legged  ;    he 


A  SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  81 

wore  a  sort  of  clerico-sporting  costume,  consisting  of  a  black 
straight-cut  coat  and  light  drab  breeches,  with  a  vast  number 
of  buttons  at  the  ankles  ;  a  sort  of  dress  much  affectioned  by 
sporting  gentlemen  of  the  university  in  the  author's  time. 

Well,  Brandon  said  he  had  some  letters  to  write,  and  prom- 
ised to  follow  his  friend,  which  he  did  ;  but,  if  the  truth  must 
be  told,  so  infatuated  was  the  young  man  become  with  his  pas- 
sion, with  the  resistance  he  had  met  with,  and  so  nervous  from 
the  various  occurrences  of  the  morning,  that  he  passed  the  half- 
hour  during  which  he  was  free  from  Cinqbars's  society  in  kneel- 
ing, imploring,  weeping  at  Caroline's  little  garret-door,  which 
had  remained  pitilesslj'  closed  to  him.  lie  was  wild  with  dis- 
appointment, mortification  —  mad,  longing  to  see  her.  The 
cleverest  coquette  in  Europe  could  not  have  so  inflamed  him. 
His  first  act  on  entering  the  dinner-room,  was  to  drink  off  a 
large  tumbler  of  champagne;  and  when  Cinqbars,  in* his  ele- 
gant way,  began  to  rally  him  upon  his  wildness,  Mr.  Brandon 
only  growled  and  cursed  with  frightful  vehemency,  and  applied 
again  to  the  bottle.  His  face,  which  had  been  quite  white,  grew 
a  bright  red  ;  his  tongue,  which  had  been  tied,  began  to  chatter 
vehemently  ;  before  the  fish  was  off  the  table,  Mr.  Brandon 
showed  strong  symptoms  of  intoxication  ;  before  the  dessert  ap- 
peared, Mr.  'Piifthunt,  winking  knowingly  to  Lord  Cinqbars, 
had  begun  to  draw  him  out;  and  Brandon,  with  a  number  of 
shrieks  and  oaths,  was  narrating  the  history  of  his  attach- 
ment. 

"Look  3-ou,  Tufthunt,"  said  he  wildl}^ ;  "hang  you,  I  hate 
you,  but  I  mnst  talk  !  I've  been,  for  two  months  now,  in  this 
cursed  hole  ;  in  a  rickety  lodging,  with  a  vulgar  familj^ ;  as 
vulgar,  by  Jove,  as  3'ou  are  j'ourself !  " 

Mr.  Tufthunt  did  not  like  this  style  of  address  half  so  much 
as  Lord  Cinqbars,  who  was  laughing  immoderately,  and  to 
whom  Tufthunt  whispered  rather  sheepishly,  "Pooh,  pooh, 
he's  drunk ! " 

"  Drunk!  no,  sir,"  yelled  out  Brandon  ;  "  I'm  mad,  though, 
with  the  pruder}-  of  a  little  devil  of  fifteen,  who  has  cost  me 
more  trouble  than  it  would  take  me  to  seduce  ever}'  one  of  3'our 
sisters — ha,  ha!  everyone  of  the  Miss  Tufthunts,  by  Jove! 
Miss  Suky  Tufthunt,  Miss  Dolly  Tufthunt,  Miss  Aniia-Maria 
Tufthunt,  and  the  whole  bunch.  Come,  sir,  don't  sit  scowling 
at  me,  or  I'll  brain  you  with  the  decanter."  (Tufthunt  was 
down  again  on  the  sofa.)  "  I've  borne  with  the  girl's  mother, 
and  her  father,  and  her  sisters,  and  a  cook  in  the  house,  and  a 
scoundrel  of  a  painter,  that  I'm  o-oing  to  fight  about  her  ;  and  for 

6 


82  A   SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

what?  —  wh}^  for  a  letter,  which  saj^s,  '  George,  I'll  kill  mj'self ! 
George,  I'll  kill  mj^self ! ' — ha,  ha  !  a  little  devil  like  that  killing 
herself —  ha,  ha  !  and  I  —  I  who  —  who  adore  her,  who  am  mad 
for  —  " 

"  Mad,  T  believe  he  is,"  said  Tuithunt ;  and  at  this  moment 
Mr.  Brandon  was  giving  the  most  unequivocal  signs  of  mad- 
ness ;  he  plunged  his  head  into  the  corner  of  the  sofa,  and  was 
kicking  his  feet  violently  into  the  cushions. 

"You  don't  understand  him,  Tufty  my  boy,"  said  Lord 
Cinqbars,  with  a  very  superior  air,  "You  ain't  up  to  these 
things,  I  tell  you  ;  and  I  suspect,  b}'  Jove,  that  3'ou  never  were 
in  love  in  your  life,  /know  what  it  is,  sir.  And  as  for  Bran- 
don, heaven  bless  you  !  I've  often  seen  him  in  that  way  when 
we  were  abroad.  When  he  has  an  intrigue,  he's  mad  about  it. 
Let  me  see,  there  was  the  Countess  Fritzch,  at  Baden-Baden ; 
there  was  the  woman  at  Pau  ;  and  that  girl  —  at  Paris,  was  it? 
—  no,  at  Vienna.  He  went  on  just  so  about  them  all ;  but  I'll 
tell  you  what,  when  we  do  the  thing,  we  do  it  easier,  mv  boy, 
hay?" 

And  so  sapng,  my  lord  cocked  up  his  little  sallow,  beard- 
less face  into  a  grin,  and  then  fell  to  eying  a  glass  of  execra- 
ble claret  across  a  candle.  An  intrigue^  as  he  called  it,  was 
the  little  creature's  delight ;  and  until  the  time'  should  arrive 
when  he  could  have  one  himself,  he  loved  to  talk  of  those  of 
his  friends. 

As  for  Tufthunt,  we  may  fancy  how  that  gentleman's  pre- 
vious affection  for  Brandon  was  increased  by  the  latter's  brutal 
addresses  to  him.  Brandon  continued  to  drink  and  to  talk, 
though  not  always  in  the  sentimental  way  in  which  he  ho,d 
spoken  about  his  loves  and  injuries.  Growing  presently  madly 
jocose  as  he  had  before  been  madlj^  melancholy,  he  narrated  to 
the  two  gentlemen  the  particulars  of  his  quarrel  with  Fitch, 
mimicking  the  little  painter's  manner  in  an  excessively  comic 
way,  and  giving  the  most  ludicrous  account  of  his  person,  kept 
his  companions  in  a  roar  of  laughter.  Cinqbars  swore  that  he 
would  see  the  fun  in  the  morning,  and  agreed  that  if  the  painter 
wanted  a  second,  either  he  or  Tufthunt  would  act  for  him. 

Now  my  Lord  Cinqbars  had  an  excessivel}^  clever  servant, 
a  merry  rogue,  whom  he  had  discovered  in  the  humble  capacity 
of  scout's  assistant  at  Christchurch,  and  raised  to  be  his  valet. 
The  chief  duties  of  the  valet  were  to  black  his  lord's  beautiful 
boots,  that  we  have  admired  so  much,  and  put  his  lordship  to 
bed  when  overtaken  with  liquor.  He  heard  every  word  of  the 
young  men's  talk  (it  being  liis  habit,  much  encouraged  b^'  his 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  83 

master,  to  join  occasionally  in  the  conversation) ;  and  in  the 
course  of  the  night,  when  at  supper  with  Monsieur  Donner- 
wetter  and  Mdlle.  Augustine,  he  related  every  word  of  the  talk 
above  stairs,  mimicking  Brandon  quite  as  cleverly  as  the  latter 
had  mimicked  Fitch.  Wlien  then,  after  making  his  company 
laugh  by  describing  Brandon's  love-agonies,  Mr.  Tom  informed 
them  how  that  gentleman  had  a  rival,  with  whom  he  was  going 
to  fight  a  duel  the  next  morning  —  an  artist-fellow  with  an 
immense  beard,  whose  name  was  Fitch,  to  his  surprise  Mdlle. 
Augustine  burst  into  a  scream  of  laughter,  and  exclaimed, 
"■  Feesh,  Feeshf  c'est  notre  homme  ;  —  it  is  our  man,  sare  !  Sa- 
ladin,  remember  you  Mr.  Fish?" 

Saladin  said  gravely,  "  Missa  Fis,  Missa  Fis  !  know  'urn 
quite  well,  Missa  Fis  1  Painter-man,  big  beard,  gib  Saladin 
bit  injyrubby.  Missis  lub  Missa  Fis  !  " 

It  was  too  true,  the  fat  lady  was  the  famous  Mrs.  Carrick- 
FERGus,  and  she  had  come  all  the  way  from  Rome  in  pursuit  of 
her  adored  painter. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

VeHICH    THREATENS    DEATH,   BUT    CONTAINS    A    GREAT    DEAL    OF 

MARRYING. 

As  the  morrow  was  to  be  an  eventful  da}^  in  the  lives  of  all 
the  heroes  and  heroines  of  this  history,  it  will  be  as  well  to 
state  how  they  passed  the  night  previous.  Brandon,  like  the 
Enghsh  liefore  the  battle  of  Hastings,  spent  the  evening  in 
feasting  and  carousing ;  and  Lord  Cinqbars,  at  twelve  o'clock, 
his  usual  time  after  his  usual  quantity  of  drink,  was  carried  up  to 
bed  by  the  servant  kept  by  his  lordship  for  that  purpose.  Mr. 
Tufthunt  took  this  as  a  hint  to  wish  Brandon  good-night,  at 
the  same  time  promising  that  he  and  Cinqbars  would  not  fail 
him  in  tliC  morning  about  the  duel. 

Shall  we  confess  that  Mr.  Brandon,  whose  excitement  now 
began  to  wear  off,  and  who  had  a  dreadful  headache,  did  not 
at  all  relish  the  idea  of  the  morrow's  combat? 

"If,"  said  he,  "I  shoot  this  crack-brained  painter,  all  the 
world  will  ci-y  out  '  Murder  \ '  If  he  shoot  me,  all  the  world 
will  laugh  at  me  !  And  yet,  confound  him  !  he  seems  so  bent 
upon  blood,  that  there  is  no  escaping  a  meeting." 


84  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

"  At  any  rate,"  Brandon  thought,  "  there  will  be  no  harm 
in  a  letter  to  Caroline."  So,  on  arriving  at  home,  he  sat  down 
and  wrote  a  very  pathetic  one  ;  saying  that  he  fought  in  her 
cause,  and  if  he  died,  his  last  breath  should  be  for  her.  So 
having  written,  he  jumped  into  bed,  and  did  not  sleep  one  sin- 
gle wink  all  night. 

As  Brandon  passed  his  night  like  the  English,  Fitch  went 
through  his  like  the  Normans,  in  fasting,  and  mortification,  and 
meditation.  The  poor  fellow  likewise  indited  a  letter  to  Caro- 
line :  a  very  long  and  strong  one,  interspersed  with  pieces  of 
poetry,  and  containing  the  words  we  have  just  heard  him  utter 
out  of  the  window.  Then  he  thought  about  making  his  will : 
but  he  recollected,  and,  indeed,  it  was  a  bitter  thought  to  the 
young  man,  that  there  was  not  one  single  soul  in  the  wide  world 
who  cared  for  him  —  except,  indeed,  thought  he,  after  a  pause, 
that  poor  Mrs.  Carrickfergus  at  Rome,  who  did  like  me,  and 
was  the  only  person  who  ever  bought  my  drawings.  So  he 
made  over  all  his  sketches  to  her,  regulated  his  little  propert}^ 
found  that  he  had  money  enough  to  pay  his  washer-woman ; 
and  so,  having  disposed  of  his  worldl}'  concerns,  Mr.  Fitch 
also  jumped  into  bed,  and  speedily  fell  into  a  deep  sleep. 
Brandon  could  hear  him  snoring  all  night,  and  did  not  feel  a 
bit  the  more  comfortable  because  his  antagonist  took  matters 
so  unconcernedl3\ 

Indeed,  our  poor  painter  had  no  guilty  thoughts  in  his 
breast,  nor  any  particular  revenge  against  Brandon,  now  that 
the  first  pangs  of  mortified  vanity  were  over.  But,  with  all  his 
vagaries,  he  was  a  man  of  spirit ;  and  after  what  had  passed 
in  the  morning,  the  treason  that  had  been  done  him,  and 
the  insults  heaped  upon  him,  he  felt  that  the  duel  was  irrevo- 
cable. He  had  a  misty  notion,  imbibed  somewhere,  that  it  was 
the  part  of  a  gentleman's  duty  to  fight  duels,  and  had  long 
been  seeking  for  an  opportunity.  "  Suppose  I  do  die,"  said 
he,  "what's  the  odds?  Caroline  doesn't  care  for  me.  Dr. 
Wackerbart's  boys  won't  have  their  drawing-lesson  next 
Wednesday  ;  and  no  more  will  be  said  of  poor  Andrea." 

And  now  for  the  garret.  Caroline  was  wrapped  up  in  her 
own  woes,  poor  little  soul !  and  in  the  arms  of  the  faithful 
Becky  cried  herself  to  sleep.  But  the  slow  hours  passed  on ; 
and  the  tide,  which  had  been  out,  now  came  in  ;  and  the  lamps 
waxed  fainter  and  fainter  ;  and  the  watchman  cried  six  o'clock  ; 
and  the  sun  arose  and  gilded  the  minarets  of  Margate  ;  and 
Beck}'  got  up  and  scoured  the  steps,  and  the  kitchen,  and 
made  ready  the  lodgers'  breakfasts  ;  and  at  half-past  eight  there 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  85 

came  a  thundering  rap  at  the  door,  and  two  gentlemen,  one 
with  a  mahogan}'  case  under  his  arm,  asked  for  Mr.  Brandon, 
and  were  sliown  up  to  his  room  b}'  tlie  astonislied  Becky,  who 
was  bidden  b}'  Mr.  Brandon  to  get  breakfast  for  three. 

The  thundering  rap  awakened  Mr.  Fitch,  who  rose  and 
dressed  himself  in  his  best  clothes,  gave  a  twist  of  the  curling- 
tongs  to  his  beard,  and  conducted  himself  throughout  with  per- 
fect coolness.  Nine  o'clock  struck,  and  he  wrapped  his  cloak 
round  him,  and  put  under  his  cloak  that  pair  of  foils  which  we 
have  said  he  possessed,  and  did  not  know  in  the  least  how  to 
use.  However,  he  had  heard  his  camarades  d'atelie?-,  at  Paris 
and  Rome,  sa}'  that  the}'  were  the  best  weapons  for  duelling ; 
and  so  forth  he  issued. 

Becky  was  in  the  passage  as  he  passed  down  ;  she  was 
always  scrubbing  there.  "Becky,"  said  Fitch,  in  a  hollow 
voice,  "  here  is  a  letter  ;  if  I  should  not  return  in  half  an  hour, 
give  it  to  Miss  Gann,  and  promise  on  your  honor  that  she  shall 
not  have  it  sooner."  Becky  promised.  She  thought  the 
painter  was  at  some  of  his  mad  tricks.  He  went  out  of  the 
door  saluting  her  gravely. 

But  he  went  only  a  few  steps  and  came  back  again. 
"Becky,"  said  he,  "you — you've  always  been  a  good  girl  to 
me,  and  here's  something  for  you  ;  per'aps  we  shan't  —  we  shan't 
see  each  other  for  some  time."  The  tears  were  in  his  eyes  as  he 
spoke,  and  he  handed  her  over  seven  shillings  and  fourpence 
halfpenny,  being  every  farthing  he  possessed  in  the  world. 

"  Well,  I'm  sure  1 "  said  Becky ;  and  that  was  all  she  said, 
for  she  pocketed  the  monej^,  and  fell  to  scrubbing  again. 

Presenth'  the  three  gentlemen  up  stairs  came  clattering 
down.  "  Lock  bless  you,  don't  be  in  such  a  'urry  !  "  exclaimed 
Becky  ;  "  it's  full  herly  j-et,  and  the  water's  not  biling." 

"  We'll  come  back  to  breakfast,  my  dear,"  said  one,  a  little 
gentleman  in  high-heeled  boots  ;  "  and.  I  thay,  mind  and  have 
thum  tlioda-water."  And  he  walked  out,  twirling  his  cane. 
His  friend  with  the  case  followed  him.  Mr.  Brandon  came 
last. 

He  too  turned  back  after  he  had  gone  a  few  paces.  ' '  Beck}'," 
said  he,  in  a  grave  voice,  "  if  I  am  not  back  in  half  an  hour, 
give  that  to  Miss  Gann." 

Beck}'  was  fairly  flustei'ed  by  this  ;  and  after  turning  the 
letters  round  and  round,  and  peeping  into  the  sides,  and  look- 
ing at  the  seals  very  hard,  she  like  a  fool  determined  that  she 
would  not  wait  half  an  hour,  but  carry  them  up  to  INIiss  Caro- 
line ;  and  so  up  she  mounted,  finding  pretty  Caroline  in  the  act 


86  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

of  lacing  her  stag's.  And  the  consequences  of  Beck3''s  conduct 
was  that  httle  Carr}'  left  off  lacing  her  staj^s  (a  sweet  little 
figure  tlie  poor  thing  loolved  in  them  ;  but  that  is  neither  here 
nor  there),  took  the  letters,  looked  at  one  which  she  threw 
down  directly ;  at  the  other,  which  she  eagerly  opened,  and 
having  read  a  line  or  two,  gave  a  loud  scream,  and  fell  down 
dead  in  a  fainting  tit ! 

Waft  us,  O  Muse  !  to  Mr.  Wright's  hotel,  and  quick  narrate 
what  chances  there  befell.  Ver}-  early  in  the  morning  Mdlle. 
Augustine  made  her  appearance  in  the  apartment  of  Miss 
Runt,  and  with  great  glee  informed  that  lady  of  the  event 
which  was  about  to  take  place.  "  Figurez-vous,  mademoiselle, 
que  notre  homme  va  se  battre  —  oh,  but  it  will  be  droll  to  see 
him  sword  in  hand  !  " 

"  Don't  plague  me  with  j^our  ojous  servants'  quarrels, 
Augustine ;  that  horrid  courier  is  always  quarrelling  and 
tipsy." 

"  Mon  Dien,  qu'elle  est  bete  !  "  exclaimed  Augustine  :  "  but 
I  tell  you  it  is  not  the  courier ;  it  is  he,  I'objet,  le  peintre  dont 
madame  s'est  amourachee,  Monsieur  Feesh." 

"Mr.  Fitch!"  cried  Runt,  jumping  up  in  bed.  "Mr. 
Fitch  going  to  fight !  Augustine,  my  stockings  —  quick,  my 
rohe-de-chamhre — tell  me  when,  how,  whei'e?" 

And  so  Augustine  told  her  that  the  combat  was  to  take 
place  at  nine  that  morning,  beliind  the  Windmill,  and  that  the 
gentleman  with  whom  Mr.  Fitch  was  to  go  out  had  been  dining 
at  the  hotel  the  night  previous,  in  company  with  the  little  milor, 
who  was  to  be  his  second. 

Quick  as  lightning  flew  Runt  to  the  chamber  of  her  patron- 
ess. That  lady  was  in  a  profound  sleep ;  and  I  leave  ^'ou  to 
imagine  what  were  her  sensations  on  awaking  and  hearing 
this  dreadful  tale. 

Such  is  the  force  of  love,  that  although,  for  many  years, 
Mrs.  Carriclifergus  had  never  left  her  bed  before  noon,  al- 
though in  all  her  wild  wanderings  after  the  painter  she,  never- 
theless, would  have  her  tea  and  cutlet  in  bed,  and  her  doze 
likewise,  before  she  set  forth  on  a  journey — she  now  started 
up  in  an  instant,  forgetting  her  nap,  mutton-chops,  everything, 
and  began  dressing  with  a  promptitude  which  can  onlj-^  be 
equalled  b}'  Harlequin  when  disguising  himself  in  a  pantomime. 
She  would  have  had  an  attack  of  nerves,  only  she  knew  there 
was  no  time  for  it ;  and  I  do  believe  that  twenty  minutes  were 
scarcely-  over  her  head,  as  the  saying  is,  when  her  bonnet  and 


A   SHABBY   GEXTEEL   STOEY.  87 

cloak  were  on,  and  with  her  whole  suite,  and  an  inn- waiter  or 
two  whom  she  pressed  into  her  service,  she  was  on  full  trot  to 
the  field  of  action.  For  twenty  3'ears  before,  and  from  that 
daj'  to  this,  Marianne  Carrickfergus  never  had  or  has  walked 
so  quickly. 

"  Hullo,  here'th  a  go  !  "  exclaimed  Lord  Viscount  Cinqbars, 
as  they  arrived  on  the  ground  behind  the  Windmill ;  ' '  cuth 
me  there'th  onl}"  one  man  !  " 

This  was  indeed  the  case  ;  Mr.  Fitch,  in  his  great  cloak, 
was  pacing  slowly  up  and  down  the  grass,  his  shadow  stretch- 
ing far  in  the  sunshine.  Mr.  Fitch  was  alone  too  ;  for  the  fact 
is,  he  had  never  thought  about  a  second.  This  he  admitted 
frankly,  bowing  with  much  majesty  to  the  conipau}-  as  they 
came  up.  "But  that,  gents,"  said  he,  "will  make  no  differ- 
ence, I  hope,  nor  prevent  fair  pla}'  from  being  done."  And, 
flinging  off"  his  cloak,  he  produced  the  foils,  from  which  the  but- 
tons had  been  taken  off.  He  went  up  to  Brandon,  and  was  for 
offering  him  one  of  the  weapons,  just  as  they  do  at  the  theatre. 
Brandon  stepped  back,  rather  abashed  :  Cinqbars  looked  posed  ; 
Tufthunt  delighted.  "  Ecod,"  said  he,  "I  hope  the  bearded 
fellow  will  give  it  him." 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Brandon  ;  "as  the  challenged 
party,  I  demand  pistols." 

Mr.  Fitch,  witli  great  presence  of  mind  and  gracefulness, 
stuck  the  swords  into  the  grass. 

"Oh,  pithtolth  of  courth,"  lisped  m}'  lord;  and  presently 
called  aside  Tufthunt,  to  whom  he  whispered  something  in 
great  glee;  to  which  Tufthunt  oV)jected  at  first,  saving,  "No, 
d — him,  let  him  fight."  "And  your  fellowship  and  living. 
Tuft}'  my  boj- ;  ".  interposed  my  lord  ;  and  then  tliey  walked 
on.  After  a  couple  of  minutes,  during  which  Mr.  Fitch  was 
emplo3'ed  in  examining  Mr.  Brandon  from  the  toe  upwards  to 
the  crown  of  his  head  or  hat,  just  as  Mr.  Widdicombe  does 
Mr.  Cartlich,  before  those  two  gentlemen  proceed  to  join  in 
combat  on  the  boards  of  Astley's  Amphitheatre  (indeed  poor 
Fitch  had  no  other  standard  of  chivahy)  —  when  Fitch  had 
concluded  this  examination,  of  which  Brandon  did  not  know 
what  the  deuce  to  make.  Lord  Cinqbars  came  back  to  the 
painter,  and  gave  him  a  nod. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  "  as  j-ou  have  come  unprovided  with  a  sec- 
ond, I,  with  3'our  leave,  will  act  as  one.  My  name  is  Cinqbars 
—  Lord  Cinqbars  ;  and  though  I  had  come  to  the  ground  to  act 
as  the  friend  of  my  friend  here,  Mr.  Tufthunt  will  take  that 


88  A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY. 

duty  upon  him  ;  and  as  it  appears  to  me  there  can  be  no  other 
end  to  this  unhapp}-  affair,  we  will  proceed  at  once." 

It  is  a  marvel  how  Lord  Cinqbars  ever  made  such  a  gentle- 
manly speech.  When  Fitch  heard  that  he  was  to  have  a  lord 
for  a  second,  he  laid  his  hand  on  his  chest,  and  vowed  it  was 
the  greatest  h-honor  of  his  life  ;  and  was  turning  round  to  walk 
towards  his  ground,  when  my  lord,  gracefully  thrusting  his 
tongue  into  his  cheek,  and  bringing  his  thumb  up  to  his  nose, 
twiddled  about  his  fingers  for  a  moment,  and  said  to  Brandon, 
"  Gammon !  " 

Mr.  Brandon  smiled,  and  heaved  a  great,  deep,  refreshing 
sigh.  The  truth  was,  a  load  was  taken  off  his  mind,  of  which 
he  was  very  glad  to  be  rid  ;  for  there  was  something  in  the 
coolness  of  that  craz}^  painter  that  our  fashionable  gentleman 
did  not  at  all  approve  of. 

"  I  think,  Mr.  Tufthunt,"  said  Lord  Cinqbars,  very  loud, 
"  that  considering  the  gravity  of  the  case  — threatening  horse- 
whipping, you  know,  lie  on  both  sides,  and  lady  in  the  case  — 
I  think  we  must  have  the  barrier-duel." 

"  What's  that?  "  asked  Fitch. 

"  The  simplest  thing  in  the  world  ;  and,"  in  a  whisper,  "  let 
me  add,  the  best  for  you.  Look  here.  We  shall  put  you  at 
twenty  paces,  and  a  hat  between  you.  You  walk  forward  and 
fire  when  you  like.  When  you  fire,  you  stop  ;  and  you  both 
have  the  liberty  of  walking  up  to  the  hat.  Nothing  can  be 
more  fair  than  that." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Fitch  ;  and,  with  a  great  deal  of  prepara- 
tion, the  pistols  were  loaded. 

"  I  tell  3'ou  what,"  whispered  Cinqbars  to  Fitch,  "  if  I  hadn't 
chosen  this  way  you  were  a  dead  man.  If  he  fires  he  hits 
you  dead.  You  must  not  let  him  fire,  but  have  him  down 
first." 

"  I'll  try,"  said  Fitch,  who  was  a  little  pale,  and  thanked 
his  noble  friend  for  his  counsel.  The  hat  was  placed  and  the 
men  took  their  places.  ' 

' '  Are  you  all  ready  ?  " 

"  Ready,"  said  Brandon. 

"  Advance  when  I  drop  my  handkerchief."  And  presently 
down  it  fell.  Lord  Cinqbars  cr^dng,  "  Now  !  " 

The  combatants  both  advanced,  each  covering  his  man. 
Wlien  he  had  gone  about  six  paces,  Fitch  stopped,  fired,  and 
—  missed.  He  grasped  his  pistol  tightly,  for  he  was  very  near 
dropping  it ;  and  then  stood  biting  his  lips,  and  looking  at 
Brandon,  who  grinned  savagely' ,  and  walked  up  to  the  hat. 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  89 

"  Will  you  retract  what  you  said  of  me  yesterday,  you  vil- 
lain? "  said  Brandon. 

"I  can't." 

"Will  you  beg  for  life?" 

"No." 

"Then  take  a  minute,  and  make  3'our  peace  with  God,  for 
you  are  a  dead  man." 

Fitch  dropped  his  pistol  to  the  ground,  shut  his  eyes  for 
a  moment,  and  flinging  up  his  chest  and  clenching  his  fists, 
said,  "  Now  Tm  ready" 

Brandon  fired — and  strange  to  say,  Andrea  Fitch,  as  he 
gasped  and  staggered  backwards,  saw,  or  thought  he  saw, 
Mr.  Brandon's  pistol  flying  up  in  the  air,  where  it  went  off, 
and  heai'd  that  gentleman  yell  out  an  immense  oath  in  a  very 
audible  voice.  When  he  came  to  himself,  a  thick  stick  was 
lying  at  Brandon's  feet ;  Mr.  Brandon  was  capering  about  the 
ground,  and  cursing  and  shaking  a  maimed  elbow,  and  a  whole 
posse  of  people  were  rushing  upon  them.  The  first  was  the 
great  German  courier,  who  rushed  upon  Brandon,  and  shook 
that  gentleman,  and  shouting,  "  Schelm  !  spitzbube  !  blagard  ! 
goward  !  "  in  his  ear.  "If  I  had  not  drown  mj'  stick  and 
brogen  his  damt  arm,  he  wod  have  murdered  dat  boor  young 
man." 

The  German's  speech  contained  two  unfounded  assertions  ; 
in  the  first  place  Brandon  would  not  have  murdered  Fitch  ;  and, 
secondly,  his  arm  was  not  broken  —  he  had  merely  received 
a  blow  on  that  part  which  .  anatomists  call  the  funnj'-bone  :  a 
severe  blow,  which  sent  the  pistol  spinning  into  the  air,  and 
caused  the  gentleman  to  scream  with  pain.  Two  waiters 
seized  upon  the  murderer,  too  ;  a  baker,  who  had  been  brought 
from  his  rounds,  a  bellman,  several  boys,  —  were  j'elliug  round 
him,  and  shouting  out,  "  Pole-e-eace  !  " 

Next  to  these  came,  panting  and  blowing,  some  women. 
Could  Fitch  believe  his  eyes?  —  that  fat  woman  in  red  satin! 
—  yes  —  no  —  yes  —  he  was,  he  was  in  the  arms  of  Mrs.  Car- 
rickfergus  ! 

The  particulars  of  this  meeting  are  too  delicate  to  rcl.ite. 
Suffice  it  that  somehow  matters  wore  explained,  Mr.  Brandon 
was  let  loose,  and  a  fly  was  presently  seen  to  drive  up,  into 
which  Mr.  Fitch  consented  to  enter  with  his  new-found 
friend. 

Brandon  had  some  good  movements  in  him.  As  Fitch  was 
getting  into  the  carriage,  he  walked  up  to  him  and  held  out  his 


90  A  SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY. 

left  hand:  "I  can't  offer  j^ou  my  right  hand,  Mr.  Fitch,  for 
that  cursed  courier's  stick  has  maimed  it ;  but  I  hope  you  will 
allow  me  to  apologize  for  mj'  shameful  conduct  to  you,  and  to 
say  that  I  never  in  my  hfe  met  a  more  gallant  fellow  than  your- 
self.'' 

"  That  he  is,  by  Jove  !  "  said  my  Lord  Cinqbars. 

Fitch  blushed  as  red  as  a  peony,  and  trembled  very  much, 
"  And  yet,"  said  he,  "  3'ou  would  have  murdered  me  just  now, 
Mr.  Brandon.     I  can't  take  3'our  'and,  sir." 

"Why,  you  great  flat,"  said  my  lord,  wisely,  "he  couldn't 
have  hurt  you,  nor  you  him.  There  wath  no  ballth  in  the 
pithtolth." 

"  What,"  said  Fitch,  starting  back,  "  do  you  gents  call  that 
a  joke  ?  Oh,  my  lord,  my  lord  !  "  And  here  poor  Fitch  actually 
burst  into  tears  on  the  red  satin  bosom  of  Mrs.  Carrickfergus : 
she  and  Miss  Runt  were  crying  as  hard  as  they  could.  And  so, 
amidst  much  shouting  and  huzzaing,  the  fly  drove  away. 

"  What  a  blubbering,  abthurd  donkey  ! '"'  said  Cinqbars,  with 
his  usual  judgment ;   "  ain't  he,  Tufthunt?  " 

Tufthunt,  of  course,  said  yes  ;  but  Brandon  was  in  a  virtuous 
mood.  "By  heavens!  I  think  his  tears  do  the  man  honor. 
When  I  came  out  with  him  this  morning,  I  intended  to  act  fairly 
by  him.  And  as  for  Mr.  Tufthunt,  who  calls  a  man  a  coward 
because  he  cries  —  Mr.  Tufthunt  knows  well  what  a  pistol  is, 
and  that  some  men  don't  cai-e  to  face  it,  brave  as  they  are," 

Mr.  Tufthunt  understood  the  hint,  and  bit  his"  lips  and 
walked  on.  And  as  for  that  woilhy  moralist,  Mr.  Brandon,  I 
am  happy  to  say  that  there  was  some  good  fortune  in  store  for 
him,  which,  though  similar  in  kind  to  that  bestowed  lately  upon 
Mr.  Fitch,  was  superior  in  degree. 

It  was  no  other  than  this,  that  forgetting  all  maidenly  decen- 
cy and  decorum,  before  Lord  Viscount  Cinqbars  and  his  friend, 
that  silly  little  creature,  Caroline  Gann,  rushed  out  from  the 
parlor  into  the  passage  —  she  had  been  at  the  window  ever 
since  she  was  rid  of  her  fainting  fit !  and  ah  !  what  agonies  of 
fear  had  that  little  panting  heart  endured  during  the  half-hour 
"of  her  lover's  absence  !  —  Caroline  Gann,  I  say,  rushed  into  the 
passage,  and  leaped  upon  the  neck  of  Brandon,  and  kissed  Jjira, 
and  called  him  her  dear,  dear,  dear,  darling  George,  and  sobbed, 
and  laughed,  until  George,  taking  her  round  tlie  waist  gentlj', 
carried  her  into  the  little  dingy  parlor,  and  closed  the  door 
behind  him. 

"  Egad,"  cried  Cinqbars,   "this  is  quite  a  thene  !      LTullo, 
Becky,  Polty,  what's  your  name  ?  —  bring  uth  up  the  breakfatht ; 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  91 

and  I  hope  you've  remembered  the  thoda-water.     Come  aloug 
up  thtauth,  Tufty  my  boy." 

,  «  •  ••  •  •  • 

When  Brandon  came  up  stairs  and  joined  them,  which  he  did 
in  a  minute  or  two,  consigning  Caroline  to  Becky's  care,  his 
eyes  were  full  of  tears  ;  and  when  Cinqbars  began  to  rally  him 
in  his  usual  delicate  way,  Brandon  said  gravely,  "  No  laughing, 
sir,  if  3'ou  please  ;  for  1  swear  that  that  lady  before  long  shall 
be  m}'  wife." 

"  Your  wife  !  —  and  what  will  your  father  sa}',  and  what  will 
your  duns  saj-,  and  what  will  Miss  Goldmore  say,  with  her  hun- 
dred thousand  pounds  ?  "  cried  Cinqbars. 

"  Miss  Goldmore  be  hanged,"  said  Brandon,  "  and  the  duns 
too  ;  and  my  father  may  reconcile  it  to  himself  as  he  can." 
And  here  Brandon  fell  into  a  reverie. 

"  It's  no  use  thinking,"  he  cried,  after  a  pause.  "  l"ou  see 
what  a  girl  it  is,  Cinqbars.  I  love  her  —  by  heavens,  I'm  mad 
with  love  for  her !  She  shall  be  mine,  let  what  will  come  of  it. 
And  besides,"  he  added,  in  a  lower  tone  of  voice,  "  why  need, 
why  need  my  father  know  an^'thiug  about  it?" 

"O  flames  and  furies,  what  a  lover  it  is!"  exclaimed  his 
friend.  "  But,  b}^  Jove,  I  like  your  spirit;  and  hang  all  gov- 
ernors, say  I.  Stop  —  a  bright  thought !  If  you  must  marry, 
why  here's  Tom  Tufthuut,  the  very  man  to  do  your  business." 
Little  Lord  Cinqbars  was  delighted  with  the  excitement  of 
the  affair,  and  thought  to  himself,  "  By  Jove,  this  is  an  in- 
trigue !  " 

"  What,  is  Tufthuut  in  orders?"  said  Brandon. 

"  Y^es,"  replied  that  reverend  gentleman:  "don't  you  see 
my  coat?  I  took  orders  six  weeks  ago,  on  my  fellowship. 
Cinqbars's  governor  has  promised  me  a  living." 

"And  3'ou  shall  marry  George  here,  so  3'ou  shall." 

"  What,  without  a  license?" 

"  Hang  the  license  !  —  we  won't  peach,  will  we,  George?  " 

"  Her  famil}^  must  know  nothing  of  it,"  said  George,  "  or 
they  would." 

"Why  should  they?  Why  shouldn't  Tom  marry  you  in 
this  very  room,  without  any  church  or  stuff'  at  all?  " 

Tom  said  :  "  You'll  hold  me  out,  my  lord,  if  anything  comes 
of  it;  and,  if  Brandon  likes,  why,  I  will.  He's  clone  for  if  he 
does,"  muttered  Tufthuut,  "  and  I  have  had  my  revenge  on 
him,  the  bullying,  supercilious  blackleg." 


92  A   SHABBY   GENTEEL    STORY. 

And  so  on  that  very  day,  in  Brandon's  room,  without  a 
license,  and  by  that  worthy  clergyman  the  Rev.  Thomas  Tuft- 
hunt,  with  my  Lord  Cinqbars  for  the  sole  witness,  poor  Caroline 
Gann,  who  knew  no  better,  who  never  heard  of  licenses,  and 
did  not  know  what  banns  meant,  was  married  in  a  manner  to 
the  person  calling  himself  George  Brandon ;  George  Brandon 
not  being  his  real  name. 

No  writings  at  all  were  made,  and  the  ceremony  merely 
read  through.  Becky,  Caroline's  sole  guardian,  when  the  poor 
girl  kissed  her,  and,  blushing,  showed  her  gold  ring,  thought 
all  was  in  order :  and  the  happy  couple  set  off  for  Dover  that 
day,  with  fifty  pounds  which  Cinqbars  lent  the  bridegroom. 

Becky  received  a  little  letter  from  CaroUne,  which  she  prom- 
ised to  carry  to  her  mamma  at  Swigby's  :  and  it  was  agreed 
that  she  was  to  give  warning,  and  come  and  live  with  her  young 
lady.  Next  morning  Lord  Cinqbars  and  Tufthunt  took  the 
boat  for  London  ;  the  latter  uneasy  in  mind,  the  former  vowing 
that  "  he'd  never  spent  such  an  exciting  day  in  his  life,  and 
loved  an  intrigue  of  all  things." 

Next  morning,  too,  the  great  travelling-chariot  of  Mrs, 
Carrickfergus  rolled  away  with  a  bearded  gentleman  inside. 
Poor  Fitch  had  been  back  to  his  lodgings  to  try  one  more 
chance  with  Caroline,  and  he  arrived  in  time  —  to  see  her  get 
into  a  post-chaise  alone  with  Brandon. 

Six  weeks  afterwards  GuUgnani's  Messenger  contained  the 
following  announcement :  — 


'» 


"  Married,  at  the  British  embassy,  by  Bishop  Luscombe,  Andrew  Fitch, 
Esq.,  to  Marianne  Caroline  Matilda,  widow  of  the  late  Antony  Carrick- 
fergus, of  Lombard  Street  and  Gloucester  Place,  Esquire.  The  bappy 
pair,  after  a  magnificent  dejeihie,  set  off  for  the  south  in  their  splendid  car- 
riage-and-four.  Miss  Runt  officiated  as  bride's-maid  ;  and  we  remarked 
among  the  company  Earl  and  Countess  Crabs,  General  Sir  Rice  Curry, 
K.C.B.,  Colonel  Wapshot,  Sir  Charles  Swang,  the  Hon.  Algernon  Percy 
Deuceace  and  his  ladv,  Count  Punter,  and  others  of  the  elite  of  the  fash- 
ionables now  in  Paris."  The  bridegroom  was  attended  by  his  friend  Michael 
Angelo  Titmarsh,  Esquire;  and  the  lady  was  given  away  by  the  Right 
Hon.  the  Earl  of  Crabs.  On  the  departure  of  the  bride  and  bridegroom 
the  festivities  were  resumed,  and  many  a  sparkling  bmnper  of  Meurice's 
cliampagne  was  quaffed  to  the  health  of  the  hospitable  and  interesting 
couple." 

And  with  one  more  marriage  this  chapter  shall  conclude. 
About  this  time  the  British  Auxiliary  Legion  came  home  from 
Spain  ;  and  Lieut.-General  Swabber,  a  knight  of  San  Fernando, 
of  the  order  of  IsabeUa  the  Cathohc,  of  the  Tower  and  Sword, 
who,  as  plain  Lieutenant  Swabber,  had  loved  Miss  Isabella 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  .  93 

Macarty,  as  a  general  now  actually  married  her.  I  leave  you 
to  suppose  how  glorious  Mrs.  Ganu  was,  and  how  Gann  got 
tipsy  at  the  ' '  Bag  of  Nails  ; "  but  as  her  daughters  each  in- 
sisted upon  their  SOL  a  year  income,  and  Mrs.  Gann  had  so 
on!}'  60/.  left,  she  was  obliged  still  to  continue  the  lodging- 
house  at  Margate,  in  which  have  occurred  the  most  interesting 
passages  of  this  shabby  genteel  story. 

Beck}^  never  went  to  her  young  mistress,  who  was  not  heard 
of  after  she  wrote  the  letter  to  her  parent,  saying  that  she  was 
married  to  Mr.  Brandon  ;  but,  for  particular  reasons^  her  dear 
husband  wished  to  keep  his  marriage  secret,  and  for  the  present 
her  beloved  parents  must  be  content  to  know  she  was  happy. 
Gann  missed  his  little  Carry  at  first  a  good  deal,  but  spent 
more  and  more  of  his  time  at  the  ale-house,  as  his  house  with 
only  Mrs.  Gann  in  it  was  too  hot  for  him.  Mrs.  Gann  talked 
unceasingly  of  her  daughter  the  squire's  lady,  and  her  daughter 
the  general's  wife  ;  but  never  once  mentioned  Caroline  after 
the  first  burst  of  wonder  and  wrath  at  her  departure. 

God  bless  thee,  poor  Caroline  !  Thou  art  happy  now,  for 
some  short  space  at  least ;  and  here,  therefore,  let  us  leave 
thee. 


THE   ADVENTUEES    OF   PHILIP 

ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD; 

SHOWING 

WHO    ROBBED    HIM,  WHO    HELPED    HIM,   AND  WHO    PASSED 

HIM    BY. 


TO 


M.  I.   HIGGINS, 


IN   GRATEFUL   KEMEMBRANCE   OF   OLD   FRIENDSHIP  AND    KINDNESS. 


Kensington,  July,  18G2. 


I 


TIE  ADVENTURES  OE  PHILIP. 


CHAPTER  I. 

DOCTOR  FELL. 


"  Not  attend  hor  own  son  when  he  is  ill !  "  said  my  mother. 
"  She  does  not  deserve  to  have  a  son  !  "  And  Mrs.  Pendenuis 
looked  towards  her  ow^n  only  darling  whilst  nttering  this  indig- 
nant exclamation.  •  As  she  looked,  I  know  what  passed  through 
her  mind.  She  nursed  me,  she  dressed  me  in  little  caps  and 
long-clothes,  she  attired  me  in  m}'  first  jacket  and  trousers. 
She  watched  at  m}'  bedside  through  my  infantile  and  juvenile 
ailments.  She  tended  me  through  all  my  life,  she  held  me  to 
her  heart  with  infinite  prayers  and  blessings.  She  is  no  longer 
with  us  to  bless  and  pray ;  but  from  heaven,  where  she  is,  I 
know  her  love  pursues  me  ;  and  often  and  often  I  think  she  is 
here,  only  invisible. 

"  Mrs.  Firmin  would  be  of  no  good,"  growled  Dr.  Good- 
enough.  "  She  would  have  hysterics,  and  the  nurse  would 
have  two  patients  to  look  after." 

"  Don't  tell  me"  cries  my  mother,  with  a  flush  on  her 
cheeks.  "  Do  you  suppose  if  that  child  "  (meaning,  of  course, 
her  paragon)  "  were  ill,  I  would  not  go  to  him?" 

"  Mj-  dear,  if  that  cliild  were  hungry,  you  would  chop  off 
your  head  to  make  him  broth,"  saj's  the  doctor,  sipping  his  tea. 

"  Potage  h  la  bonne  femme"  sa3's  Mr.  Pendennis.  "  Mother, 
we  have  it  at  the  club.  You  would  be  done  with  milk,  eggs, 
and  a  quantity  of  vegetables.  You  would  be  put  to  simmer 
for  many  hours  in  an  earthen  pan,  and  —  " 

"  Don't  be  horrible,  Arthur  !  "  cries  a  3'oung  lady,  who  was 
m}'  mother's  companion  of  those  happ}'  da^'s. 

' '  And  people  when  they  knew  you  would  like  3'ou  yery 
much." 

7 


98  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

M}'  uncle  looked  as  if  he  did  not  understand  the  allegory. 

"What  is  this  you  are  talking  about?  potage  a  la  —  what- 
d'ye-call-'im ? "  says  he.  "I  thought  we  were  speaking  of 
Mrs.  Firmin,  of  Old  Parr  Street.  Mrs.  Firmin  is  a  doosid  deli- 
cate woman,"  interposed  the  Major.  "  All.  the  females  of  that 
family  are.  Her  mother  died  early.  Her  sister,  Mrs.  Twysden, 
is  very  delicate.  She  would  be  of  no  more  use  in  a  sick-room 
than  a  —  than  a  bull  in  a  china-shop,  begad !  and  she  mighi 
catch  the  fever,  too." 

"  And  so  might  you.  Major!  "  cries  the  Doctor.  "Aren't 
you  talking  to  me,  who  have  just  come  from  the  boy?  Keep 
your  distance,  or  I  shall  bite  3'ou." 

The  old  gentleman  gave  a  little  backward  movement  with 
his  chair. 

"  Gad,  it's  no  joking  matter,"  sfiys  he;  "I've  known  fel- 
lows catch  fevers  at  —  at  ever  so  much  past  my  age.  At  any 
rate,  the  boy  is  no  boy  of  mine,  Ijegad  !  I  dine  at  Firmin'g 
house,  who  has  married  into  a  good  family,  though  he's  only  a 
doctor,  and  —  " 

"  And  pra^^  what  was  my  husband?  "  cried  Mrs.  Pendennis. 

"Only  a  doctor,  indeed!"  calls  out  Goodenough.  "My 
dear  creature,  I  have  a  great  mind  to  give  him  the  scarlet  fever 
this  minute  !  " 

"  My  father  was  a  surgeon  and  apothecar}'^,  I  have  heard," 
sa3^s  the  widow's  son. 

' '  And  what  then  ?  And  I  should  like  to  know  if  a  man  of 
one  of  the  most  ancient  families  in  the  kingdom  —  in  the  em- 
pire,  begad  !  —  hasn't  a  right  to  pursoo  a  learned,  a  useful,  an 
honorable  profession.     M}'  brother  John  was  —  " 

"  A  medical  practitioner !  "  I  say,  with  a  sigh. 

And  ni}^  uncle  arranges  his  hair,  puts  his  handkerchief  to  Mfo 
teeth,  and  sa^'s  — 

"Stuff!  nonsense  —  no  patience  with  these  personalities, 
begad  !  Firmin  is  a  doctor,  certainly'  —  so  are  you  —  so  are 
others.  But  Firmin  is  a  university  man,  and  a  gentleman. 
Firmin  has  travelled.  Firmin  is  intimate  with  some  of  the  best 
people  in  England,  and  has  married  into  one  of  the  first  fami- 
lies. Gad,  sir,  do  you  suppose  that  a  woman  bred  up  in  the 
la^j  of  luxmy  —  in  the  ver3^  lap,  sir  —  at  Eingwood  and  Whip- 
ham,  and  at  Ringwood  Plouse  in  Walpole  Street,  where  she  was 
absolute  mistress,  begad  —  do  you  suppose  such  a  woman  is 
fit  to  be  nurse-tender  in  a  sick-room  ?  She  never  was  fit  for 
that,  or  for  an3'thing  except —  "  (here  the  Major  saw  smiles  on 
the  countenances  of  some  of  his  audience)  —  ' '  except,  I  say, 


ON  HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  99 

to  preside  at  Ringwood  House  and  —  and  adorn  society,  and 
that  sort  of  tiling.  And  if  sucli  a  woman  cliooses  to  run  awa}^ 
witl\  her  uncle's  doctor,  and  marry  below  her  rank  —  wh^-,  1 
don't  think  it's  a  laughing  matter,  hang  me  if  I  do." 

"  And  so  she  stops  at  the  Isle  of  AYiglit,  whilst  the  poor  boy 
remains  at  the  school,"  sighs  my  mother. 

"  Firrain  can't  come  away.  He  is  in  attendance  on  the 
Grand  Dook.  The  prince  is  never  easy  without  Firmin.  He 
has  given  him  his  Order  of  the  Swan.  They  are  moving  heaven 
and  earth  in  high  quarters  ;  and  I  bet  you  even,  Goodenough, 
that  that  boy  wdiom  you  have  been  attending  will  be  a  baronet  — 
if  you  don't  kill  him  off  with  3'our  confounded  potions  and  pills, 
begad ! " 

Dr.  Goodenough  only  gave  a  humph  and  contracted  his  great 
eyebrows. 

M}^  uncle  continued  — 

' '  I  know  what  you  mean.  Firmin  is  a  gentlemanly  man  — 
a  handsome  man.  I  remember  his  father.  Brand  Firmin,  at 
Valenciennes  with  the  Dook  of  York  —  one  of  the  handsomest 
men  in  Europe.  Firebrand  Firmin  the}-  used  to  call  him  —  a 
red-headed  fellow  —  a  tremendous  duellist :  shot  an  Irishman  — 
became  serious  in  after  life,  and  that  sort  of  thing  —  quarrelled 
with  his  son,  who  was  doosid  wild  in  early  da^-s.  Gentlemanly 
man,  certainl}-,  Firmin.  Black  hair:  his  father  had  red.  So 
much  the  better  for  the  doctor  ;  but  —  but  —  we  understand 
each  other,  I  think,  Goodenough?  and  you  and  I  have  seen 
some  queer  fislies  in  our  time." 

And  the  old  gentleman  winked  and  took  his  snuff  graciously, 
and,  as  it  were,  puffed  the  Firmin  subject  away. 

"  Was  it  to  show  me  a  queer  fish  that  you  took  me  to  Dr. 
Firmin's  house  in  Parr  Street?"  asked  Mr.  Pendennis  of  his 
uncle.  "  The  house  was  not  very  gay,  nor  the  mistress  very 
wise,  but  they  w^ere  all  as  kind  as  might  be  ;  and  I  am  very  fond 
of  the  boy." 

"  So  did  Lord  Ringwood,  his  mother's  uncle,  like  him," 
cried  Major  Pendennis.  "  That  boy  brought  about  a  recon- 
ciliation between  his  mother  and  his  uncle,  after  her  runaway 
match.  I  suppose  you  know  she  ran  away  with  Firmin,  m}- 
dear?" 

My  mother  said  "  she  had  heard  something  of  the  story." 
And  the  Major  once  more  asserted  that  Dr.  Firmin  was  a  wild 
fellow  twent^y  years  ago.  At  the  time  of  which  I  am  writing 
he  was  Physician  to  the  Plethoric  Hospital,  Pliysician  to  the 
Grand  Duke  of  Groningen,  and  knight  of  his  order  of  the  Black 


100  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

Swan,  member  of  many  learned  societies,  the  husband  of  a  rich 
wife,  and  a  person  of  no  small  consideration. 

As  for  his  son,  whose  name  figures  at  the  head  of  these 
pages,  3'ou  may  suppose  he  did  not  die  of  the  illness  about 
which  we  had  just  been  talking.  A  good  nurse  waited  on  him, 
though  his  mamma  was  in  the  country.  Though  his  papa  was 
absent,  a  very  competent  ph^'sician  was  found  to  take  charge 
of  the  young  patient,  and  preserve  his  life  for  the  benefit  of  his 
family,  and  the  purposes  of  this  history. 

We  pursued  oui-  talk  about  Philip  Firmin  and  his  father, 
and  his  grand-uncle  the  Earl,  whom  Major  Pendennis  knew 
intimately  well,  until  Doctor  Goodenough's  carriage  was  an- 
nounced, and  our  kind  physician  took  leave  of  us,  and  drove 
back  to  London.  Some  who  spoke  on  that  summer  evening 
are  no  longer  here  to  speak  or  listen.  Some  who  were  young 
then  have  topped  the  hill  and  are  descending  towards  the  valley 
of  the  shadows.  "  Ah,"  says  old  Major  Pendennis,  shaking  his 
brown  curls,  as  the  Doctor  went  away  ;  "  did  you  see,  my  good 
soul,  when  I  spoke  about  his  confrere,  how  glum  Goodenough 
looked  ?  They  don't  love  each  other,  my  dear.  Two  of  a  trade 
don't  agree,  and  besides  I  have  no  doubt  the  other  doctor-fellows 
are  jealous  of  Firmin,  because  he  lives  in  the  best  society.  A 
man  of  good  family,  my  dear.  There  has  alreacl}-  been  a  great 
rapprochement;  and  if  Lord  Ringwood  is  quite  reconciled  to 
Mm,  there's  no  knowing  what  luck  that  boy  of  Firmin's  may 
come  to." 

Although  Dr.  Goodenough  might  think  but  lightly  of  his 
confrere,  a  great  portion  of  the  public  held  him  in  much  higher 
estimation :  and  especiall}'  in  the  little  community  of  Grej- 
Friars,  of  which  the  kind  reader  has  heard  in  previous  works 
of  the  present  biographer.  Dr.  Brand  Firmin  was  a  verv  great 
favorite,  and  received  with  much  respect  and  honor.  When- 
ever the  bo3's  at  that  school  were  afflicted  with  the  common  ail- 
ments of  youth,  Mr.  Spratt,  the  school  apothecary,  provided 
for  them  ;  and  by  the  simple,  though  disgusting  remedies  which 
were  in  use  in  those  times,  generall}'  succeeded  in  restoring  his 
3'oung  patients  to  health.  But  if  young  Lord  Egham  (the 
Marquis  of  Ascot's  son,  as  my  respected  reader  ver}^  likelj' 
knows)  happened  to  be  unwell,  as  was  frcquentl}^  the  case, 
from  his  lordship's  great  command  of  pocket-mone}"  and  im- 
prudent fondness  for  the  contents  of  the  pastry-cook's  shop  ;  or 
if  any  very  grave  case  of  illness  occurred  in  the  school,  then, 
quick,  the  famous  Dr.  Firmin,  of  old  Parr  Street,  Burlington 


ON  HIS  WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  101 

Gardens,  was  sent  for ;  and  an  illness  must  have  been  very- 
severe,  if  he  could  not  cure  it.  Dr.  Firmin  bad  been  a  school- 
fellow, and  remained  a  special  friend,  of  the  head-master. 
Wlien  3'oung  Lord  Egham,  before  mentioned,  (he  was  our  only 
lord,  and  therefore  we  were  a  little  proud  and  careful  of  our 
darling  youth,)  got  the  erysipelas,  which  swelled  his  head  to 
•the  size  of  a  pumpkin,  the  doctor  triumphantly  cari-ied  him 
through  his  illness,  and  was  complimented  by  the  head-boy  in 
his  Latin  oration  on  the  annual  speech-day  for  his  superhuman 
skill  and  godlike  delight  salutem  hominibus  dando.  The  head- 
master turned  towards  Dr.  Firmin,  and  bowed  :  the  governors 
and  bigwigs  buzzed  to  one  another,  and  looked  at  him  :  the 
boj's  looked  at  him  :  the  physician  held  his  handsome  head  down 
towards  his  shirt-frill.  Ilis  modest  eyes  would  not  look  up  from 
the  spotless  lining  of  the  broad-brimmed  hat  on  his  knees.  A 
murmur  of  applause  hummed  through  the  ancient  hall,  a  scuf- 
fling of  3'oung  feet,  a  rustling  of  new  cassocks  among  the  mas- 
ters, and  a  refreshing  blowing  of  noses  ensued,  as  the  orator 
polished  off  his  period,  and  then  passed  to  some  other  theme. 

Amidst  the  general  enthusiasm,  there  was  one  member  of 
the  auditor}'  scornful  and  dissentient.  This  gentleman  whis- 
pered to  his  comrade  at  the  commencement  of  the  phrase 
concerning  the  doctor  the,  I  believe  of  Eastern  derivation, 
monosyllable  "Bosh!"  and  he  added  sadly,  looking  towards 
the  object  of  all  this  praise,  "He  can't  construe  the  Latin  — 
though  it  is  all  a  parcel  of  humbug." 

"  Hush,  Phil !  "  said  his  friend  ;  and  Phil's  face  flushed  red, 
as  Dr.  Firmi'i,  lifting  up  his  eves,  looked  at  him  for  one  mo- 
ment ;  for  the  recipient  of  all  this  laudation  was  no  other  than 
Phil's  father. 

The  illness  of  which  we  spoke  had  long  since  passed  away. 
Philip  was  a  schoolboy  no  longer,  but  in  his  second  3'ear  at  the 
university,  and  one  of  half  a  dozen  young  men,  ex-pupils  of  the 
school,  who  had  come  up  for  the  annual  dinner.  The  honors 
of  this  3'ear's  dinner  were  for  Dr.  Firmin,  even  more  than  for 
Lord  Ascot  in  his  star  and  ribbon,  who  walked  with  his  arm  in 
the  doctor's  into  chapel.  His  lordship  faltered  when,  in  his 
after-dinner  speech,  he  alluded  to  the  inestimable  services  and ' 
skill  of  his  tried  old  friend,  whom  he  had  known  as  a  fellow- 
pupil  in  those  walls — (loud  cheers) — whose  friendship  had 
been  the  delight  of  his  life  —  a  friendship  which  he  pray-ed 
might  be  the  inheritance  of  their  children.  (Immense  ap- 
plause ;  after  which  Dr.  Fii'min  spoke.) 

The  doctor's  speech  was  perhaps  a  little  commonplace ;  the 


102  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

Latin  quotations  which  he  used  were  not  exactly  novel ;  but 
Phil  need  not  have  been  so  angry  or  ill-behaved.  He  went  on 
sipping  sheny,  glaring  at  his  father,  and  muttering  observa- 
tions that  were  anything  but  complimentary  to  his  parent. 
"Now  look,"  saj's  he,  "he  is  going  to  be  overcome  b}^  his 
feelings.  He  will  put  his  handkerchief  up  to  his  mouth,  and 
show  his  diamond  ring.  I  told  you  so !  It's  too  much.  I 
can't  swallow  this  .  .  ,  this  sherr3\  I  sa}-,  you  fellows,  let 
us  come  out  of  this,  and  iiave  a  smoke  somewhere."  And 
Phil  rose  up  and  quitted  the  dining-room,  just  as  his  father 
was  declaring  what  a  jo}',  and  a  pride,  and  a  delight  it  was  to 
him  to  think  that  the  friendship  with  which  his  noble  friend 
honored  him  was  likely  to  be  transmitted  to  their  children,  and 
that  when  he  had  passed  away  from  this  eartlil}'  scene  (cries  of 
"  No,  no  !  "  "  May  you  live  a  thousand  years  J  ")  it  would  be 
his  joy  to  think  that  his  son  would  always  find  a  friend  and  pro- 
tector in  the  noble,  the  princely  house  of  Ascot. 

We  found  the  carriages  waiting  outside  Grey  Friars'  Gate, 
and  Philip  Firmin,  pushing  me  into  his  father's,  told  the  footman 
to  drive  home,  and  that  the  doctor  would  return  in  Lord  As- 
cot's carriage.  Home  then  to  Old  Parr  Street  we  went,  where 
many  a  time  as  a  boy  I  had  been  welcome.  And  we  retired  to 
Phil's  private  den  in  the  back  buildings  of  the  great  house  :  and 
over  our  cigars  we  talked  of  the  Founder's-day  Feast,  and  the 
speeches  delivered ;  and  of  the  old  Cistercians  of  our  time,  and 
how  Thompson  was  married,  and  Johnson  was  in  the  army,  and 
Jackson  (not  red-haired  Jackson,  pig-eyed  Jackson,)  was  first 
in  his  year,  and  so  forth  ;  and  in  this  twaddle  were  most  hap- 
pily engaged,  when  Phil's  father  flung  open  the  tall  door  of  the 
study. 

"  Here's  the  governor  !  "  growled  Phil ;  and  in  an  undertone, 
"What  does  />e  want?" 

"  Tiie  governor,"  as  I  looked  up,  was  not  a  pleasant  object 
to  behold.  Dr.  Firmin  had  very  white  false  teeth,  which  per- 
haps were  a  little  too  large  for  his  mouth,  and  these  grinned  in 
the  gas-light  very  fiercely.  On  his  cheeks  were  black  whiskers, 
and  over  his  glaring  eyes  fierce  black  e^'obrows,  and  his  bald 
head  glittered  lilie  a  billiard-ball.  You  would  hardly  have 
known  that  he  was  the  original  of  that  melancholj'  philosophic 
portrait  which  all  the  patients  admired  in  the  doctor's  waiting- 
room. 

"  I  find,  Philip,  that  you  took  my  carriage,"  said  the  father ; 
"  and  Lord  Ascot  and  I  had  to  walk  ever  so  far  for  a  cab  !  " 

"  Hadn't  he  got  his  own  carriage?     I  thought,  of  course,  he 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  103 

would  have  his  carriage  on  a  State-day,  aud  that  you  would 
come  home  with  the  lord,"  said  Philip. 

"  I  had  promised  to  bring  him  home,  sir !  "  said  the  father. 

"  Well,  sir,  I'm  very  sorry,"  continued  the  son,  curtly. 

"  Sorry  !  "  screams  the  other. 

"  I  can't  say  an}'  more,  sir,  and  I  am  very  sorry,"  answers 
Phil ;  and  he  knocked  the  ash  of  his  cigar  into  the  stove. 

The  stranger  within  the  house  hardl}-  knew  how  to  look  on 
its  master  or  his  sou.  There  was  evidently  some  dire  quarrel 
between  them.  The  old  man  glared  at  the  young  one,  who 
calmly  looked  his  father  in  the  face.  Wicked  rage  and  hate 
seemed  to  flash  from  the  doctor's  e^'es,  and  anon  came  a  look 
of  wild  pitiful  supplication  towards  the  guest,  which  was  most 
painful  to  bear.  In  the  midst  of  what  dark  famil}^  myster}'  was 
I?  What  meant  this  cruel  spectacle  of  the  father's  terrified 
auger,  and  the  son's  scorn? 

"I  —  I  appeal  to  you,  Pendennis,"  says  the  doctor,  with  a 
choking  utterance  and  a  ghastl}'  face. 

"  Shall  we  begin  ub  ovo,  sir?"  says  Phil.  Again  the  ghastly 
look  of  terror  comes  over  the  father's  face. 

"I  —  I  promise  to  bring  one  of  the  first  noblemen  in  Eng- 
land," gasps  the  doctor,  "  from  a  public  dinner,  in  my  carriage  ; 
and  my  son  takes  it,  and  leaves  me  and  Lord  Ascot  to  walk ! 
—  Is  it  fair,  Pendennis  ?  Is  it  the  conduct  of  a  gentleman  to  a 
gentleman  ;  of  a  son  to  a  father  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  I  said,  gravely,  "  nothing  can  excuse  it." 
Indeed  I  was  shocked  at  the  young  man's  obduracy  and  un- 
dutifulness. 

"  I  told  you  it  was  a  mistake  !  "  cries  Phil,  reddening.  "I 
heard  Lord  Ascot  order  his  own  carriage  ;  I  made  no  doubt  he 
would  bring  my  father  home.  To  ride  in  a  chariot  with  a  foot- 
man behind  me,  is  no  pleasure  to  me,  and  I  would  far  rather 
have  a  Hansom  and  a  cigar.  It  was  a  blunder,  and  I  am  sorry 
for  it  —  there  !     And  if  I  live  to  a  hundred  I  can't  say  more." 

"  If  you  are  sorry,  Philip,"  groans  the  father,  ''  it  is  enough. 
You  remember,  Pendennis,  when  —  when  my  son  and  I  were 
not  on  this  —  on  this  footing,"  and  he  looked  up  for  a  moment 
at  a  picture  which  was  hanging  over  Phil's  head  —  a  portrait 
of  Phil's  mother ;  the  lady  of  whom  my  own  mother  spoke,  on 
that  evening  when  we  had  talked  of  the  boy's  illness.  Both 
the  ladies  had  passed  from  the  world  now,  and  their  images 
were  but  painted  shadows  on  the  wall. 

The  father  had  accepted  an  apology,  though  the  son  had 
made  none.     I  looked  at  the  elder  Firmin's  face,  and  the  char- 


104  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

acter  written  on  it.  I  remembered  such  particulars  of  his  early 
history  as  had  been  told  to  me  ;  and  I  perfectly  recalled  that  feel- 
ing of  doubt  and  misliking  which  came  over  my  mind  when  I 
first  saw  the  doctor's  handsome  face  some  few  years  previously, 
when  my  uncle  first  took  me  to  the  doctor's  in  Old  Parr  Street ; 
little  Phil  being  then  a  flaxen-headed,  pretty  child,  who  had 
just  assumed  his  first  trousers,  and  I  a  fifth- form  bo}^  at 
school. 

My  father  and  Dr.  Firmin  were  members  of  the  medical 
profession.     They  had  been  bred   up    as   boys   at   the    same 
school,  whither  families  used  to  send  their  sons  from  genera- 
tion to  generation,  and  long   before  people  had  ever  learned 
that  the  place  was  unwholesome.     Grey  Friars  was  smoky, 
certainly ;  I  think  in  the  time  of  the  Plague  great  numbers  of 
people  were  buried  there.     But  had  the  school  been  situated  in 
the  most  picturesque  swamp  in  England,  the  general  health  of 
the  boys  could  not  have  been  better.     We  boys  used  to  hear 
of  epidemics  occurring  in  other  schools,  and  were  almost  sorry 
that  they  did  not  come  to  ours,  so  that  we  might  shut  up,  and 
get  longer  vacations.     Even  that   illness  which  subsequently 
befell  Phil  Finnin  himself  attacked  no  one  else  —  the  boys  all 
luckily  going  home  for  the  holida3-s  on  the  very  day  of"  poor 
Phil's  seizure  ;  but  of  this  illness  more  anon.     When  it  was 
determined  that  little  Phil  Firmin  was  to  go  to  Grey  Friars, 
Phil's  fiither  bethought  him  that  Major  Pendennis,   whom  he 
met  in  the  world  and  society,  had  a  nephew  at  the  place,  who 
might  protect  the  little  fellow,  and  the  Major  took  his  nephew 
to  see  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Firmin  one  Sunday  after  church,  and  we 
had  lunch  at  Old  Parr  Street,  and  there  little  Phil  was  presented 
to  me,  whom  I  promised  to  take  under  my  protection.     He  was 
a  simple  little  man  ;  an  artless  child,  who' had  not  the  least  idea 
of  the  dignity  of  a  fifth-form  boy.     He  was  quite  unabaslied  in 
talking  to  me  and  other  persons,  and  has  remained  so  ever 
since.     He  asked  my  uncle  how  he  came  to  have  such  odd  hair. 
He  partook  freely  of  the  delicacies  on  the  table.     I  remember 
he  hit  me  with  liis  little  fist  once  or  twice,  which  liberty  at  first 
struck  me  with  a  panic  of  astonishment,  and  then  with  a  sense 
of  the  ridiculous  so  exquisitely  keen,  that  I  burst  out  into  a  fit 
of  laughter.     It  was,  you  see,  as  if  a  stranger  were  to  hit  the 
Pope  in  the  ribs,  and  call  him  "  Old  boy ;  "  as  if  Jack  were  to 
tweak  one  of  the  giants  by  the  nose ;  or  Ensign  Jones  to  ask 
the  Duke  of  Wellington  to  take  wine.     I  had  a  strong  sense 
of  humor,  even  in  those  early  days,  and   enjoyed   this  joke 
accordingly'. 


ON  HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  105 

"  Philip  !  "  cries  mamma,  "  j'ou  will  hurt  Mr.  Pendennis." 

"I  will  knock  him  down!"  shouts  Phil.  Fanc}' knocking 
me  down,  —  me,  a  fifth-form  boy  ! 

"  The  child  is  a  perfect  Hercules,"  remarks  the  mother. 

"  He  strangled  two  snakes  in  his  cradle,"  says  the  doctor, 
looking  at  me.  (It  was  then,  as  I  remember,  I  felt  Z)r.  Fell 
towards  him.) 

"  La,  Dr.  Firmin  !  "  cries  mamma,  "  I  can't  bear  snakes.  I 
remember  there  was  one  at  Rome,  when  we  were  walking  one 
da}^,  a  great,  large  snake,  and  I  hated  it,  and  I  cried  out,  and 
I  nearty  fainted  ;  and  my  uncle  Ringwood  said  I  ought  to  like 
snakes,  for  one  might  be  an  agreeable  rattle  ;  and  I  have  read 
of  them  being  charming  in  India,  and  I  dare  say  you  have, 
Mr.  Pendennis,  for  I  am  told  you  are  very  clever  ;  and  I  am 
not  in  the  least;  I  wish  I  were;  but  my  husband  is,  very  — 
and  so  Phil  will  be.  Will  you  be  a  very  clever  boy,  dear?  He 
was  named  after  my  dear  papa,  who  was  killed  at  Busaco  when 
I  was  quite,  quite  a  little  thing,  and  we  wore  mourning,  and  we 
went  to  live  with  m}'  uncle  Ringwood  afterwards  ;  but  Maria  and 
I  had  both  our  own  fortunes  ;  and  I  am  sure  I  little  thought  I 
should  marry  a  physician  —  la,  one  of  uncle  Ringwood's  grooms, 
I  should  as  soon  have  thought  of  marrying  him !  —  but,  you 
know,  m}'  husband  is  one  of  the  cleverest  men  in  the  world. 
Don't  tell  me,  — ^^ou  are,  dearest,  and  you  know  it ;  and  when 
a  man  is  clever,  I  don't  value  his  rank  in  life  ;  no,  not  if  he  was 
that  fender ;  and  I  always  said  to  uncle  Ringwood,  '  Talent  I 
will  marry,  for  talent  I  adore  ; '  and  I  did  marry  you.  Dr. 
Firmin,  you  know  I  did,  and  this  child  is  your  image.  And 
you  will  be  kind  to  liim  at  school,"  says  the  poor  lady,  tm-ning 
to  me,  her  eyes  filling  with  tears,  "  for  talent  is  always  Idnd, 
except  uncle  Ringwood,  and  he  was  very  —  " 

"A  little  more  wine,  Mr.  Pendennis?"  said  the  doctor  — 
Dr.  Fell  still,  though  he  was  most  kind  to  me.  "I  shall  put 
ray  little  man  under  your  care,  and  I  know  you  will  keep  him 
from  harm.  I  hope  3'ou  will  do  us  the  favor  to  come  to 
Parr  Street  whenever  j'ou  are  free.  In  my  father's  time  we 
used  to  come  home  of  a  Saturday  from  school,  and  enjoyed 
going  to  the  play."  And  the  doctor  shook  me  cordially  by  the 
hand,  and,  I  must  say,  continued  his  kindness  to  me  as  long  as 
ever  I  knew  him.  When  we  went  away,  my  uncle  Pendennis 
told  me  many  stories  about  the  great  earl  and  famil}'  of  Ring- 
wood,  and  how  Dr.  Firmin  had  made  a  match  —  a  match  of 
the  affections —with  this  lady,  daughter  of  Philip  Ringwood, 
who  was  killed  at  Busaco ;  and  how  she  had  been  a   great 


106  THE  ADVENTURES  OF   PHILIP 

beauty,  and  was  a  perfect  grande  dame  always  ;  and,  if  not 
the  cleverest,  certainly  one  of  the  kindest  and  most  amiable 
women  in  the  world. 

In  those  days  I  was  accustomed  to  receive  the  opinions  of 
my  informant  with  such  respect  that  I  at  once  accepted  this 
statement  as  authentic.  Mrs.  Firmin's  portrait,  indeed,  was 
beautiful :  it  was  painted  by  young  Mr.  Harlowe,  that  year  he 
was  at  Rome,  and  when  in  eighteen  days  he  completed' a  copy 
of  the  "Transfiguration,"  to  the  admiration  of  all  the  Acad- 
emy ;  but  I,  for  my  part,  only  remember  a  lady  weak,  and  thin, 
and  faded,  who  never  came  out  jof  her  dressing-room  until  a 
late  hour  in  the  afternoon,  and  whose  superannuated  smiles  and 
grimaces  used  to  provoke  my  juvenile  sense  of  humor.  She 
used  to  kiss  Phil's  brow ;  and,  as  she  held  the  boy's  hand  in 
one  of  her  lean  ones,  would  say,  "  Who  would  suppose  such  a 
great  boy  as  that  could  be  my  son?  "  "  Be  kind  to  him  when 
I  am  gone,"  she  sighed  to  me,  one  Sunday  evening,  when  I 
was  taking  leave  of  her,  as  her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  she 
placed  the  thin  hand  in  mine  for  the  last  time.  The  doctor, 
reading  by  the  fire,  turned  round  and  scowled  at  her  from  under 
his  tall  shining  forehead.  "  You  are  nervous,  Louisa,  and  had 
better  go  to  your  room,  I  told  30U  30U  had,"  he  said  abruptly. 
"  Young  gentlemen,  it  is  time  for  you  to  be  off  to  Grey  Friars. 
Is  the  cab  at  the  door,  Brice  ?  "  And  he  took  out  his  watch  — 
his  great  shining  watch,  by  which  he  had  felt  the  pulses  of  so 
many  famous  personages,  whom  his  prodigious  skill  had  rescued 
from  disease.  And  at  parting,  Phil  flung  his  arms  round  his 
poor  mother,  and  kissed  her  under  the  glossy  curls  ;  the  bor- 
rowed curls !  and  he  looked  his  father  resolutely  in  the  face 
(whose  own  glance  used  to  fall  before  that  of  the  boy),  and 
bade  him  a  gruff  good-night,  ere  we  set  forth  for  Grey  Friars. 


CHAPTER  n. 

AT   SCHOOL   AND  AT   HOME. 


I  DINED  yesterday  with  three  gentlemen,  whose  time  of  life 
may  be  guessed  by  their  conversation,  a  great  part  of  which 
consisted  of  Eton  reminiscences  and  lively  imitations  of  Dr. 
Keate.  Each  one,  as  he  described  how  he  had  been  flogged, 
mimicked  to  the  best  of  his  power  the  manner  and  the  mode  of 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  107 

operating  of  the  famous  doctor.  His  little  parenthetical  re- 
marks dming  the  ceremony  were  recalled  with  great  facetious- 
ness  :  the  ver}^  hwhish  of  the  rods  was  parodied  with  thrilling 
fidelity,  and  after  a  good  hour's  conversation,  the  subject  was 
brought  to  a  climax  by  a  description  of  that  awful  night  when 
the  doctor  called  up  squad  after  squad  of  bo^'s  from  their  beds 
in  their  respective  boarding-houses,  whipped  through  the  whole 
nisfht,  and  casti2:ated  I  don't  know  how  manv  hundred  rebels. 
All  these  mature  men  lauglied,  prattled,  rejoiced,  and  became 
3'oung  again,  as  the}^  recounted  their  stories  ;  and  each  of  them 
heartily  and  eagerl}^  bade  the  stranger  to  understand  how 
Keate  was  a  thorough  gentleman.  Having  talked  about  their 
floggings,  I  say,  for  an  hour  at  least,  they  apologized  to  me  for 
dwelling  upon  a  subject  which  after  all  was  strictly  local :  but, 
indeed,  their  talk  greatl}'  amused  and  diverted  me,  and  I  hope, 
and  am  quite  read3^,  to  hear  all  their  jolly  stories  over  again. 

Be  not  angr}',  patient  reader  of  former  volumes  b}'  the 
author  of  the  present  historj',  if  I  am  garrulous  about  Grey 
Friars,  and  go  back  to  that  ancient  place  of  education  to  find 
the  heroes  of  our  tale.  We  are  young  but  once.  When  we 
remember  that  time  of  3'outh,  we  are  still  young.  He  over 
whose  head  eight  or  nine  lustres  have  passed,  if  he  wishes  to 
write  of  boys,  must  recall  the  time  when  he  himself  was  a  bo}'. 
Their  habits  -change  ;  their  waists  are  longer  or  shorter  ;  their 
shirt-collars  stick  up  more  or  less  ;  but  the  bo}'  is  the  boy  in 
King  George's  time  as  in  that  of  his  roval  niece — once  our 
maiden  queen,  now  the  anxious  mother  of  man}'  boj's.  And 
young  fellows  are  honest,  nnd  merry,  and  idle,  and  mischiev- 
ous, and  timid,  and  brave,  and  studious,  and  selfish,  and  gen- 
erous, and  mean,  and  false,  and  truth-telling,  and  affectionate, 
and  good,  and  bad,  now  as  in  former  daj'S.  He  with  whom  we 
have  mainh' to  do  is  a  gentleman  of  mature  age  now  wallcing 
the  street  with  bo^'S  of  his  own."  He  is  not  going  to  perish  in 
the  last  chapter  of  these  memoirs  —  to  die  of  consumption 
with  his  love  weeping  b}'  his  bedside,  or  to  blow  his  brains  out 
in  despair,  because  she  has  been  married  to  his  rival,  or  killed 
out  of  a  gig,  or  otherwise  done  for  in  the  last  chapter  but  one. 
No,  no,  we  will  have  no  dismal  endings.  Philip  Firmin  is  well 
and  hearty  at  this  minute,  owes  no  man  a  shilling,  and  can 
enjoy  his  glass  of  port  in  perfect  comfort.  So,  vay  dear  miss, 
if  3^ou  want  a  pulmonary  romance,  the  present  won't  suit  3'ou. 
So,  3'oung  gentleman,  if  3'ou  are  for  melanchol3%  despair,  and 
sardonic  satire,  please  to  call  at  some  other  shop.  That 
Philip  shall  have  his  trials  is  a  matter  of  course  —  ma}'  they 


108  THE  ADVEXTURES  OF  PHILIP 

be  interesting,  though  they  do  not  end  dismally' !  That  he  shall 
fall  and  trip  in  his  course  sometimes  is  pretty  certain.  Ah, 
who  does  not  upon  this  life-journey  of  ours?  Is  not  our  want 
the  occasion  of  our  brother's  charity,  and  thus  does  not  good 
come  out  of  that  evil?  When  the  trayeller  (of  whom  the  Mas- 
ter spoke)  feU  among  the  thieves,  his  mishap  was  contrived  to 
try  many  a  heart  beside  his  own  —  the  Knave's  who  robbed 
him,  the  Levite's  and  Priest's  who  passed  him  by  as  he  lay 
bleeding,  the  humble  Samaritan's  whose  hand  poured  oil  into 
his  wound,  and  held  out  its  pittance  to  relieve  him. 

So  little  Philip  Firmin  was  brought  to  school  by  his  mamma 
in  her  carriage,  who  entreated  the  housekeeper  to  have  a  spe- 
cial charge  of  that  angelic  child  ;  and  as  soon  as  the  poor  lady's 
back  was  turned,  Mrs.  Bunee  emptied  the  contents  of  the  little 
bo}''s  trunk  into  one  of  sixty  or  seventy  little  cupboards, 
wherein  reposed  other  boys'  clothes  and  haberdasherj' :  and 
then  Mrs.  Firmin  requested  to  see  the  Rev.  Mr.  X.,  in  whose 
house  Philip  was  to  board,  and  besought  him,  and  explained 
many  things  to  him,  such  as  the  exceeding  delicacy  of  the 
child's  constitution,  &c.  &c.  ;  and  Mr.  X.,  who  was  very  good- 
natured,  patted  the  bo}'  kindly  on  the  head,  and  sent  for  the 
other  Philip,  Philip  Ringwood,  Phil's  cousin,  who  had  arrived 
at  Grey  Friars  an  hour  or  two  before ;  and  Mr.  X.  told  Ring- 
wood  to  take  care  of  the  little  fellow  ;  and  Mrs.  Firmin,  chok- 
ing behind  her  pocket-handkerchief,  gurgled  out  a  blessing  on 
the  grinning  youth,  and  at  one  time  had  an  idea  of  giving 
Master  Ringwood  a  sovereign,  but  paused,  thinking  he  was  too 
big  a  boy,  and  that  she  might  not  take  such  a  liberty,  and 
presentl}^  she  was  gone ;  and  little  Phil  Firmin  was  intro- 
duced to  the  long-room  and  his  schoolfellows  of  Mr.  X.'s 
house  ;  and  having  plent}'  of  money,  and  naturally  finding  his 
way  to  the  pastry-cook's,  the  next  day,  after  school,  he  was; 
met  by  his  cousin  Ringwood  and  robbed  of  half  the  tarts 
which  he  had  purchased.  A  fortnight  afterwards,  the  hospi- 
table doctor  and  his  wife  asked  their  young  kinsman  to  Old 
Parr  Street,  Burlington  Gardens,  and  the  two  boys  went ;  but 
Phil  never  mentioned  anything  to  his  parents  regarding  the 
robbery  of  tarts,  being  deterred,  perhaps,  from  speaking  by 
awful  threats  of  punishment  which  his  cousin  promised  to  ad- 
minister when  they  got  back  to  school,  in  case  of  the  little 
boy's  confession.  Subsequently,  Master  Ringwood  was  asked 
once  in  ever}^  term  to  Old  Parr  Street ;  but  neither  Mrs.  Fir- 
min, nor  the  doctor,  nor  Master  Firmin  liked  the  baronet's  son, 
and  Mrs.  Firmin  pronounced  him  a  violent,  rude  boy. 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  109 

I,  for  my  part,  left  school  suddenly  and  early,  and  my  little 
protege  behind  me.  His  poor  mother,  who  had  promised  her- 
self to  come  for  him  every  Saturday,  did  not  keep  her  prom- 
ise. Smithfield  is  a  long  way  from  Piccadilly ;  and  an  angry 
cow  once  scratched  the  panels  of  her  carriage,  causing  her 
footman  to  spring  from  his  board  into  a  pig-pen,  and  herself 
to  feel  such  a  shock,  that  no  wonder  she  was  afraid  of  visiting 
the  City  afterwards.  The  circumstances  of  this  accident  she 
often  narrated  to  us.  Her  anecdotes  were  not  numerous,  but 
she  told  them  repeatedly.  In  imagination,  sometimes,  I  can 
hear  her  ceaseless,  simple  cackle  ;  see  her  faii^t  eyes,  as  she 
prattles  on  unconsciously,  and  watch  the  dark  looks  of  her 
handsome,  silent  husband,  scowHng  from  under  his  eye- 
brows and  smiUng  behind  his  teeth.  I  dare  say  he  ground 
those  teeth  with  suppressed  rage  sometimes.  I  dare  say 
to  bear  with  her  endless  volubility  must  have  tasked  his 
endurance.  He  may  have  treated  her  ill,  but  she  tried  him. 
She,  on  her  part,  may  have  been  a  not  very  wise  woman,  but 
she  was  kind  to  me.  Did  not  her  housekeeper  make  me  the 
best  of  tarts  and  keep  goodies  from  the  company  dinners  for 
the  young  gentlemen  when  they  came  home?  Did  not  her  hus- 
band give  me  of  his  fees?  I  promise  you,  after  I  had  seen 
Dx.  Fell  a  few  times,  that  first  unpleasing  impression  produced 
by  his  darkling  countenance  and  sinister  good  looks  wore  away. 
He  was  a  gentleman.  He  had  lived  in  the.  great  world,  of 
which  he  told  anecdotes  delightful  to  boys  to  hear;  and  he 
passed  the  bottle  to  me  as  if  I  was  a  man. 

I  hope  and  think  I  remembered  the  injunction  of  poor  Mrs. 
Firmin  to  be  kind  to  her  boy.  As  long  as  we  stayed  together 
at  Grey  Friars,  I  was  Phil's  champion  whenever  he  needed  my 
protection,  though  of  course  I  could  not  always  be  present  to 
guard  the  little  scapegrace  from  all  the  blows  which  were  aimed 
kt  his  young  face  by  pugilists  of  his  own  size.  Thpre  were 
seven  or  eight  years'  difference  between  us  (he  says  ten,  which 
is  absurd,  and  which  I  deny)  ;  but  I  was  always  remarkable 
for  my  affability,  and,  in  spite  of  our  disparity  of  age,  would 
often  graciously  accept  the  general  invitation  I  had  from  his 
father  for  any  Saturday  and  Sunday  when  I  would  like  to 
accompan}'  Philip  home. 

Such  an  invitation  is  welcome  to  any  schoolboy.  To  get 
away  from  Smithfield,  and  show  our  best  clothes  in  Bond  Street, 
was  always  a  privilege.  To  strut  in  the  Park  on  Sunday,  and 
nod  to  the  other  fellows  who  were  strutting  there  too,  was 
better  than  remaining  at  school,   "doing  '  Diatcs  aron,' "  as 


110  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

the  phrase  used  to  be,  having  that  endless  roast-beef  for  dinner, 
and  hearing  two  sermons  in  chapel.  There  may  have  been 
more  lively  streets  in  London  than  Old  Parr  Street ;  but  it  was 
pleasanter  to  be  there  than  to  look  at  Goswell  Street  over  Grey 
Friars'  wall ;  and  so  the  present  biographer  and  reader's  very 
humble  servant  found  Dr.  Firmin's  house  an  agreeable  resort. 
Mamma  was  often  ailing,  or,  if  well,  went  out  into  the  world 
with  her  husband  ;  in  either  case,  we  boys  had  a  good  dinner 
pro^'ided  for  us,  with  the  special  dishes  which  Phil  loved  ;  and 
after  dinner  we  adjourned  to  the  play,  not  being  by  any  means 
too  proud  to  sit  in  the  pit  with  Mr.  Brice,  the  doctor's  confiden- 
tial man.  On  Sunda}''  we  went  to  church  at  Lady  Whittlesea's, 
and  back  to  school  in  the  evening ;  when  the  doctor  almost 
alwa3's  gave  us  a  fee.  If  he  did  not  dine  at  home  (and  I  own 
his  absence  did  not  much  damp  our  pleasure) ,  Brice  would  lay 
a  small  enclosure  on  the  3'oung  gentlemen's  coats,  which  we 
transferred  to  our  pockets.  I  beUeve  schoolboy's  disdain  fees 
in  the  present  disinterested  times. 

Everything  in  Dr.  Firmin's  house  was  as  handsome  as  might 
be,  and  yet  somehow  the  place  was  not  cheerful.  One's  steps 
fell  noiselessly  on  the  faded  Turkey  carpet ;  the  room  was  lai'ge, 
and  all  save  the  dining-table  in  a  dmgy  twilight.  The  picture 
of  Mrs.  Firmin  looked  at  us  from  the  wall,  and  followed  us 
about  with  wild  violet  e3'es.  Philip  Firmin  had  the  same  violet 
odd  bright  ej-es,  and  the  same  colored  hair  of  an  auburn  tinge  ; 
in  the  picture  it  fell  in  long  wild  masses  over  the  lady's  back 
as  she  leaned  with  bare  arms  on  a  hai'p.  Over  the  sideboard 
was  the  doctor,  in  a  black  velvet  coat  and  a  fur  collar,  his  hand 
on  a  skull,  like  Hamlet.  Skulls  of  oxen,  horned,  with  wreaths, 
formed  the  cheerful  ornaments  of  the  cornice.  On  the  side- 
table  glittered  a  pair  of  cups,  given  by  grateful  patients,  look- 
ing like  receptacles  rather  for  funereal  ashes  than  for  festive 
flowers  or  wine.  Brice,  the  butler,  wore  the  gravity  and  cos- 
tume of  an  undertaker.  The  footman  stealthily  moved  hither 
and  thither,  bearing  the  dinner  to  us  ;  we  always  spoke  under 
our  breath  whilst  we  were  eating  it.  ' '  The  room  don't  look 
more  cheerful  of  a  morning  when  the  patients  are  sitting  here, 
I  can  tell  you,"  Phil  would  say ;  indeed,  we  could  well  fancy 
that  it  was  dismal.  The  drawing-room  had  a  rhubarb-colored 
flock  paper  (on  account  of  the  governor's  attachment  to  the 
shop,  Master  Phil  said),  a  great  piano,  a  harp  smothered  in 
a  leather  bag  in  the  corner,  which  the  languid  owner  now  never 
touched  ;  and  everybody's  face  seemed  scared  and  pale  in  the 
great  looking-glasses,  which  reflected  you  over  and  over  again 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  Ill 

into  the  distance,  so  that  you  seemed  to  twinkle  off  right  through 
the  Albany  into  Piccadilly. 

Old  Parr  Street  has  been  a  habitation  for  generations  of 
surgeons  and  physicians.  I  suppose  the  noblemen  for  whose 
use  tlie  street  was  intended  in  the  time  of  the  early  Georges 
fled,  finding  the  neighborhood  too  dismal,  and  the  gentlemen 
in  black  coats  came  and  took  possession  of  the  gilded,  gloom^^ 
chambers  which  the  sacred  ynode  vacated.  These  mutations  of 
fashion  have  alwa^^s  been  matters  of  profound  speculation  to 
me.  Why  shall  not  one  moralize  over  London,  as  over  Rome, 
or  Baalbec,  or  Troy  town  ?  I  like  to  walk  among  the  Hebrews 
of  Wardour  Street,  and  fancy  the  place,  as  it  once  was,  crowded 
with  chairs  and  gilt  chariots,  and  torches  flashing  in  the  hands 
of  the  running  footmen.  I  have  a  grim  pleasure  in  thinking 
that  Golden  Square  was  once  the  resort  of  the  aristocracy,  and 
Monmouth  Street  the  delight  of  the  genteel  world.  What  shall 
prevent  us  Londoners  from  musing  over  the  decline  and  fall 
of  city  sovereignties,  and  drawing  our  cockney  morals?  As 
the  late  Mr.  Gibbon  meditated  his  history  leaning  against  a 
column  in  the  Capitol,  why  should  not  I  muse  over  mine, 
reclining  under  an  arcade  of  tlie  Pantheon  ?  Not  the  Pantheon 
at  Rome,  in  the  Cabbage  Market  by  the  Piazza  Navona,  where 
the  immortal  gods  were  worshipped, — the  immortal  gods  who 
are  now  dead ;  but  the  Pantheon  in  Oxford  Street,  ladies, 
where  you  purchase  feeble  pomatums,  music,  glassware,  and 
baby-linen  ;  and  whicli  has  its  history  too.  Have  not  Selwj'n, 
and  Walpole,  and  March,  and  Carlisle  figured  there?  Has  not 
Prince  Florizel  flounced  through  the  hall  in  his  rustling  domino, 
and  danced  there  in  powdered  splendor?  and  when  the  ushers 
refused  admission  to  lovely  Sophy  Baddeley,  did  not  the  3'oung 
men,  her  adorers,  draw  their  rapiers  and  vow  to  slay  the  door- 
keepers ;  and,  crossing  the  glittering  blades  over  the  enchant- 
ress's head,  make  a  warlike  triumphal  arch  for  her  to  pass  under, 
all  flushed,  and  smiling,  and  perfumed,  and  painted?  The 
lives  of  streets  are  as  the  lives  of  men,  and  shall  not  the  street- 
preacher  if  so  minded,  take  for  the  text  of  his  sermon  the  stones 
in  the  gutter?  That  3'ou  were  once  the  resort  of  the  fashion, 
0  Monmouth  Street !  b}*  the  invocation  of  blessed  St.  Giles 
shall  I  not  improve  that  sweet  thought  into  a  godly  discourse, 
and  make  the  ruin  edifying?  0  mes  frh-es !  There  were  splen- 
did thoroughfares,  dazzling  company,  bright  illuminations,  in 
our  streets  when  our  hearts  were  3^oung  :  we  entertained  in  them 
a  noble  youthful  company  of  chivalrous  hopes  and  lofty  ambi- 
tions ;  of  blushing  thoughts  in  snow}'  robes  spotless  and  virginal. 


112  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

See,  in  the  embrasure  of  the  window,  where  you  sat  looking  to 
the  stars,  and  nestUng  by  the  soft  side  of  your  first  love,  hang 
Mr.  Moses'  bargains  of  turned  old  clotlies,  very  cheap  ;  of  worn 
old  boots,  bedraggled  in  how  much  and  how  many  people's 
mud  ;  a  great  bargain.  See !  along  the  street,  strewed  with 
flowers  once  mayhap  —  a  fight  of  beggars  for  the  refuse  of  an 
apple-stall,  or  a  tipsy  basket- woman  reehng  shrieking  to  the 
station.  O  me  !  O  my  beloved  congregation  !  I  have  preached 
this  stale  sermon  to  you  for  ever  so  man^^  j^ears.  O  my  jolly 
companions,  I  have  drunk  many  a  bout  with  you,  and  alwa3-s 
found  vanitas  vanitatum  written  on  the  bottom  of  the  pot ! 

I  choose  to  moralize  now  when  I  pass  the  place.  The  gar- 
den has  run  to  seed,  the  walks  are  mildewed,  the  statues  have 
broken  noses,  the  gravel  is  dank  with  green  moss,  the  roses 
are  withered,  and  the  nightingales  have  ceased  to  make  love. 
It  is  a  funereal  street.  Old  Parr  Street,  certainly  ;  the  carriages 
which  drive  there  ought  to  have  feathers  on  the  roof,  and  the 
butlers  who  open  the  doors  should  wear  weepers  —  so  the  scene 
strikes  3'ou  now  as  you  pass  along  the  spacious  empty  pave- 
ment. You  are  bilious,  my  good  man.  Go  and  pay  a  guinea 
to  one  of  the  doctors  in  those  houses  ;  there  are  still  doctors 
there.  He  will  prescribe  taraxacum  for  3'ou,  or  pil :  h3'drarg  : 
Bless  you  !  in  my  time,  to  us  gentlemen' of  the  fifth  form,  the 
place  was  bearable.  The  yellow  fogs  didn't  damp  our  spirits 
—  and  we  never  thought  them  too  thick  to  keep  us  away  from 
the  play :  from  the  chivalrous  Charles  Kemble,  I  tell  j^ou,  my 
Mirabel,  my  Mercutio,  my  princely  Falconbridge :  from  his 
adorable  daughter  (O  my  distracted  heart !)  :  from  the  classic 
Young :  from  the  glorious  Long  Tom  CotUn :  from  the  un- 
earthl}'  Vanderdecken  —  "  Return,  O  m^'  love,  and  we'll  never, 
never  part"  (where  art  thou,  sweet  singer  of  that  most  thrilling 
ditt}^  of  m3"3'outh?)  :  from  the  sweet,  sweet  Victorine  and  the 
Bottle  Imp.  Oh,  to  see  that  Bottle  Imp  again,  and  hear  that 
song  about  the  "Pilgrim  of  Love!"  Once,  but  —  hush;  — 
this  is  a  secret  —  we  had  private  boxes,  the  doctor's  grand 
friends  often  sending  him  these  ;  and  finding  the  opera  rather 
slow,  we  went  to  a  concert  in  M-d-n  Lane,  near  Covent  Garden, 
and  heard  the  most  celestial  glees,  over  a  supper  of  fizzing 
sausages  and  mashed  potatoes,  such  as  the  world  has  never 
seen  since.  We  did  no  harm  ;  but  I  dare  sa3'  it  was  very 
wrong.  Brice,  the  butler,  ought  not  to  have  taken  us.  We 
bullied  him,  and  made  him  take  us  where  he  liked.  We  had 
rum-shrub  in  the  housekeeper's  room,  where  we  used  to  be 
diverted   b3'  the   societ3'  of  other  butlers  of  the  neighboring 


ON  HIS  WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  113 

nobility  and  gentry,  who  would  step  in.  Perhaps  it  was  wrong 
to  leave  us  so  to  the  company  of  servants.  Dr.  Firmin  used 
to  go  to  his  grand  parties,  Mrs.  P'irmin  to  bed.  "Did  we 
enjoy  the  performance  last  night?"  our  host  would  ask  at 
breakfast.  "  Oh,  yes,  we  enjoyed  the  performance  !  "  But  my 
poor  Mrs.  Firmin  fancied  that  we  enjoyed  Semiramide  or  the 
Donna  del  Lago ;  whereas  we  had  been  to  the  pit  at  the  Adelphi 
(out  of  our  own  money),  and  seen  that  jolly  John  Reeve,  and 
laughed  —  laughed  till  we  were  fit  to  drop  —  and  stayed  till  the 
curtain  was  down.  And  then  we  would  come  home,  and,  as 
aforesaid,  pass  a  delightful  hour  over  supper,  and  hear  the 
anecdotes  of  Mr.  Brice's  friends,  the  other  butlers.  Ah,  that 
was  a  time  indeed !  .There  never  was  any  liquor  so  good  as 
rnra-shrub,  never ;  and  the  sausages  had  a  flavor  of  Elysium. 
How  hushed  we  were  when  Dr.  Firmin,  coming  home  from  his 
parties,  let  himself  in  at  the  street-door !  Shoeless,  we  crept 
lip  to  our  bedrooms.  And  we  came  down  to  breakfast  with 
innocent  young  faces  —  and  let  Mrs.  Firmin,  at  lunch,  prattle 
about  the  opera  ;  and  there  stood  Brice  and  the  footman  behind 
us,  looking  quite  grave,  the  abominable  hypocrites  ! 

Then,  sir,  there  was  a  certain  way,  out  of  the  study  window, 
or  through  the  kitchen,  and  over  the  leads,  to  a  building,  gloomy 
indeed,  but  where  I  own  to  have  spent  delightful  hours  of  the 
most  flagitious  and  criminal  enjoyment  of  some  deUcious  little 
Havanas,  ten  to  the  shilling.  In  that  building  there  were 
stables  once,  doubtless  occupied  by  great  Flemish  horses  and 
rumbling  gold  coaches  of  Walpole's  time ;  but  a  celebi-ated  sur- 
geon, when  he  took  possession  of  the  house,  made  a  lecture- 
room  of  the  premises,  —  "  And  this  door,"  says  Phil,  pointing 
to  one  leading  into  the  mews,  "  was  very  convenient  for  having 
the  bodies  in  and  out"  —  a  cheerful  reminiscence.  Of  this  kind 
of  furniture  there  was  now  ver}'  little  in  the  apartment,  except 
a  dilapidated  skeleton  in  a  corner,  a  few  dusty  casts  of  heads, 
and  bottles  of  preparations  on  the  top  of  an  old  bureau,  and 
some  mildewed  harness  hanging  on  the  walls.  This  apartment 
became  Mr.  Phil's  smoking-room  when,  as  he  grew  taller,  he 
felt  himself  too  dignified  to  sit  in  the  kitchen  regions  :  the 
honest  butler  and  housekeeper  themselves  pointing  out  to  their 
young  master  that  his  place  was  elsewhere  than  among  the 
servants.  So  there,  privately  and  with  great  delectation,  we 
smoked  many  an  abominable  cigar  in  that  dreary  back-room, 
the  gaunt  walls  and  twihght  ceilings  of  which  were  by  no  means 
melancholy  to  us,  who  found  forbidden  pleasures  the  sweetest, 
after  the  absurd  fashion  of  boys.    Dr.  Firmin  was  an  enemy  to 

8 


114  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

smoking,  and  ever  accustomed  to  speak  of  the  practice  with 
eloquent  indignation.  "It  was  a  low  practice  —  the  habit  of 
cabmen,  pothouse  frequenters,  and  Irish  apple-women,"  the 
doctor  would  saj^  as  Phil  and  his  friend  looked  at  each  other 
with  a  stealthy  jo}'.  Phil's  father  was  ever  scented  and  neat, 
the  pattern  of  handsome  propriet}'.  .Perhaps  he  had  a  clearer 
perception  regarding  manners  than  respecting  morals  ;  perhaps 
his  conversation  was  full  of  platitudes,  his  talk  (concerning 
people  of  fashion  chiefl)')  mean  and  uninstructive,  his  behavior 
to  3'oung  Lord  Egham  rather  fulsome  and  lacking  of  dignit}'. 
Perhaps,  I  say,  the  idea  may  have  entered  into  young  Mr.  Pen- 
dennis's  mind  that  his  hospitable  entertainer  and  friend.  Dr. 
Firmin,  of  Old  Parr  Street,  was  what  at  the  present  day  might  be 
denominated  an  old  humbug  ;  but  modest  3'oung  men  do  not  come 
quickly  to  such  unpleasant  conclusions  regarding  their  seniors. 
Dr.  Firmin's  manners  were  so  good,  his  forehead  was  so  high, 
his  frill  so  fresh,  his  hands  so  white  and  slim,  that  for  some. con- 
siderable time  we  ingenuously  admired  him  ;  and  it  was  not 
without  a  pang  that  we  came  to  view  him  as  he  actualh-  was  — 
no,  not  as  he  actually  was  —  no  man  whose  earl^-  nurture  was 
kindly  can  judge  quite  impartially  the  man  who  has  been  kind 
to  him  in  bo3hood. 

I  quitted  school  suddenly,  leaving  my  little  Phil  behind  me, 
a  brave  little  handsome  bo}-,  endearing  himself  to  old  and  3'oung 
by  his  good  looks,  his  gayet}',  his  courage,  and  his  gentlemanlj- 
bearing.  Once  in  a  way  a  letter  would  come  from  him,  full  of 
that  artless  affection  and  tenderness  which  fills  boys'  hearts, 
and  is  so  touching  in  their  letters.  It  was  answered  with 
proper  dignity  and  condescension  on  the  senior  boy's  part. 
Our  modest  little  country  home  kept  up  a  friendlj'  intercourse 
with  Dr.  Firmin's  grand  London  mansion,  of  which,  in  his 
visits  to  us,  my  uncle,  Major  Pendennis,  did  not  fail  to  bring 
news.  A  correspondence  took  place  between  the  ladies  of  each 
house.  We  supplied  Mrs.  Firmin  with  little  country  presents, 
tokens  of  my  mother's  good-will  and  gratitude  towards  the 
friends  who  had  been  kind  to  her  son.  I  went  my  wa}^  to  the 
university,  having  occasional  glimpses  of  Phil  at  school.  I 
took  chambers  in  the  Temple,  which  he  found  great  delight 
in  visiting ;  and  he  liked  our  homel}-  dinner  from  Dick's,  and 
a  bed  on  the  sofa,  better  than  the  splendid  entertainments 
in  Old  Parr  Street  and  his  great  gloomy  chamber  there.  He 
had  grown  by  this  time  to  be  ever  so  much  taller  than  his 
senior,  though  he  always  persists  in  looking  up  to  me  unto  the 
present  day. 


ON  HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  115 

A  very  few  weeks  after  m^-  poor  mother  passed  that  judg- 
ment on  Mrs.  Firmin,  she  saw  reason  to  regret  and  revoke  it. 
Phil's  mother,  who  was  afraid,  or  perhaps  was  forbidden,  to  at- 
tend her  son  in  his  ilhiess  at  school,  was  taken  ill  herself. 

Phil  retnrned  to  Grey  Friars  in  a  deep  suit  of  black  ;  the 
servants  on  the  carriage  wore  black  too  ;  and  a  certain  tyrant 
of  the  place,  beginning  to  laugh  and  jeer  because  Firmin's  eyes 
filled  with  tears  at  some  ribald  remark,  was  gruffly  rebuked  by 
Sampson  major,  the  cock  of  the  whole  school ;  and  with  the 
question,  "  Don't  j'ou  see  the  poor  beggar's  in  mourning,  3'ou 
great  brute?"  was  kicked  about  his  business. 

When  Philip  Firmin  and  I  met  again,  there  was  crape  on 
both  our  hats.  I  don't  think  either  could  see  the  other's  face 
very  well.  I  went  to  see  him  in  Parr  Street,  in  the  vacant, 
melancholy  house,  where  the  poor  mother's  picture  was  yet 
hanging  in  her  empty  drawing-room. 

"  She  was  always  fond  of  yon,  Pendennis,"  said  Phil.  "God 
bless  you  for  being  so  good  to  her.     You  know  what  it  is  to  lose 

—  to  lose  what  loves  you  best  in  the  world.     I  didn't  know  how 

—  how  I  loved  her,  till  I  had  lost  her."     And  man}'  a  sob  broke 
his  words  as  he  spoke. 

"  Her  picture  was  removed  from  the  drawing-room  presently 
into  Phil's  own  little  study  —  the  room  in  which  he  sat  and  de- 
fied his  father.  What  harl  passed  between  them  ?  The  young 
man  was  very  much  changed.  The  frank  looks  of  old  days  were 
gone,  and  Phil's  face  was  haggard  and  bold.  The  doctor  would 
not  let  me  have  a  word  more  with  his  son  after  he  had  found 
us  together,  but  with  dubious  appealing  looks,  followed  me  to 
the  door,  and  shut  it  upon  me.  I  felt  that  it  closed  upon  two 
unhappy  men. 


CHAPTER  HI. 

A   CONSULTATION. 

Shoui>d  T  peer  into  Firmin's  privacy,  and  find  the  key  to 
that  secret?  What  skeleton  was  there  in  the  closet?  In  the 
Gornhill  Magazine*  jou  maj"  remember,  there  were  some  verses 
about  a  {)ortion  of  a  skeleton.  Did  3-ou  remark  how  the  poet 
and  present  jM-oprietor  of  the  human  skull  at  once  settled  the 
sex  of  it,  and  determined  off-hand  that  it  must  have  belonsfed 

*  No.  12  :  December,  18G0. 


116  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

to  a  woman  ?  Such  skulls  are  locked  up  in  many  gentlemen's 
hearts  asid  memories.  Bktebeard,  you  know,  had  a  whole 
museum  of  them  —  as  that  imprudent  little  last  wife  of  his  found 
out  to  her  cost.  And,  on  the  other  hand,  a  lady,  we  suppose, 
would  select  hers  of  the  sort  which  had  carried  beards  when  in 
the  flesh.  Given  a  neat  locked  skeleton  cupboard,  belonging 
to  a  man  of  a  certain  age,  to  ascertain  the  sex  of  the  original 
owner  of  the  bones,  you  have  not  much  need  of  a  picklock  or 
a  blacksmith.  There  is  no  use  in  forcing  the  hinge,  or  scratch- 
ing the  pretty  panel.  We  know  what  is  inside  —  we  arch  rogues 
and  men  of  the  world.  Murders,  I  suppose,  are  not  many  — 
enemies  and  victims  of  our  hate  and  anger,  destroyed  and 
trampled  out  of  life  by  us,  and  locked  out  of  sight :  but  corpses 
of  our  dead  loves,  mj^  dear  sir  —  my  dear  madam  —  have  we 
not  got  them  stowed  away  in  cupboard  after  cupboard,  in  bot- 
tle after  bottle  ?  Oh,  fie  !  And  3'oung  people  !  What  doctrine 
is  this  to  preach  to  them,  who  spell  your  book  by  papa's  and 
mamma's  knee?  Yes,  and  how  wrong  it  is  to  let  them  go  to 
church,  and  see  and  hear  papa  and  mamma  publicly  on  their 
knees,  calling  out,  and  confessing  to  the  whole  congregation, 
that  they  are  sinners  !  So,  though  I  had  ilot  the  key,  I  could 
see  through  the  panel  and  the  glimmering  of  the  skeleton  in- 
side. 

Although  the  elder  Firmin  followed  me  to  the  door,  and  his 
eyes  only  left  me  as  I  turned  the  corner  of  the  street,  I  felt  sure 
that  Phil  ere  long  would  open  his  mind  to  me,  or  give  me  some 
clue  to  that  mystery.  I  should  hear  from  him  why  his  bright 
cheeks  had  become  hollow,  why  his  fresh  voice,  which  I  remem- 
ber so  honest  and  cheerful,  was  now  harsh  and  sarcastic,  with 
tones  that  often  grated  on  the  hearer,  and  laughter  that  gave 
pain.  It  was  about  Philip  himself  that  my  anxieties  were.  The 
young  fellow  had  inherited  from  his  poor  mother  a  considerable 
fortune  —  some  eight  or  nine  hundred  a  year,  we  always  under- 
^stood.  lie  was  living  in  a  costly,  not  to  say  extravagant  man- 
ner. I  thought  Mr.  Philip's  juvenile  remorses  were  locked  up 
in^  the  skeleton  closet,  and  was  grieved  to  think  he  had  fallen  in 
mischiefs  way.  Hence,  no  doubt,  might  arise  the  anger  between 
him  and  his  father.  The  boy  was  extravagant  and  headstrong ; 
and  the  parent  remonstrant  and  irritated. 

I  met  my  old  friend  Dr.  Good  enough  at  the  club  one  even- 
ing ;  and  as  we  dined  together  I  discoursed  with  him  about  his 
former  patient,  and  recalled  to  him  that  day,  years  back,  when 
the  boy  was  ill  at  school,  and  when  my  poor  mother  and  Phil's 
own  were  vet  alive. 


ON  HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  117 

Goodenongh  looked  very  grave. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  the  boy  was  very  ill ;  he  was  nearly  gone 
at  that  time  —  at  that  time  —  when  his  mother  was  in  the  Isle 
of  Wight,  and  his  father  dangling  after  a  prince.  "We  thought 
one  day  it  was  all  over  with  him  ;  but  —  " 

"But  a  good  doctor  interposed  between  him  and  pallida 


mors." 


'•A  good  doctor?  a  good  nurse!  The  boy  was  delirious, 
and  had  a  fancy  to  walk  out  of  window,  and  would  have  done 
so,  but  for  one  of  my  nurses.     You.know  her." 

"  What !  the  Little  Sister?  " 

"Yes,  the  Little  Sister." 

"  And  it  was  she  who  nursed  Phil  through  his  fever,  and 
saved  his  life?  I  drink  her  health.  She  is  a  good  little 
soul." 

"  Good  !  "  said  the  doctor,  with  his  gruffest  voice  and  frown. 
(He  was  alwa3's  most  fierce  when  he  was  most  tender-hearted.) 
"Good,  indeed!  Will  you  have  some  more  of  this  duck?  — 
Do.  Y'^ou  have  had  enough  already,  and  it's  very  unwhole- 
some. Good,  sir?  But  for  women,  fire  and  brimstone  ought 
to  come  down  and  consume  this  world.  Y^our  dear  mother  was 
one  of  the  good  ones.  I  was  attending  you  when  you  were  ill, 
at  those  horrible  chambers  you  had  in  the  Temple,  at  the  same 
time  when  young  Firmin  was  ill  at  Grey  Friars.  And  I  sup- 
pose I  must  be  answerable  for  keeping  two  scapegraces  in  the 
world." 

' '  Why  didn't  Dr.  Firmin  come  to  see  him  ?  " 

"  Hm  !  his  nerves  were  too  delicate.  Besides,  he  did  come. 
Talk  of  the     *     *     * " 

The  personage  designated  by  asterisks  was  Phil's  father, 
who  was  also  a  member  of  our  club,  and  who  entered  the  dining- 
room,  tall,  stately,  and  pale,  witli  his  stereot3'ped  smile,  and 
wave  of  his  pretty  hand.  B}^  the  wa3%  that  smile  of  Firmin's 
was  a  very  queer  contortion  of  the  handsome  features.  As  you 
came  up  to  him,  he  would  draw  his  lips  over  his  teeth,  causing 
his  jaws  to  wrinkle  (or  dimple  if  you  will)  on  either  side.  Mean- 
while his  eyes  looked  out  from  his  face,  quite  melancholy  and 
independent  of  tlie  little  transaction  in  which  the  mouth  was 
engaged.  Lips  said,  "lam  a  gentleman  of  fine  manners  and 
fascinating  address,  and  I  am  supposed  to  be  happy  to  see  you. 
How  do  you  do?"  Drear}',  sad,  as  into  a  great  blank  desert, 
looked  the  dark  eyes.  I  do  know  one  or  two,  but  only  one  or 
two  faces  of  men,  when  oppressed  with  care,  which  can  yet 
smile  all  over. 


118  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

Goodenongh  nods  grimly  to  the  smile  of  the  other  doctor, 
who  blandl}^  looks  at  our  table,  holding  his  chin  in  one  of  his 
pretty  hands. 

"  How  do?"  growls  Goodenough,     "  Young  hopeful  well?  " 

"  Young  hopeful  sits  smoking  cigars  till  morning  with  some 
friends  of  his,"  says  Firmin,  with  the  sad  smile  directed  towards 
me  this  time.  "  Boys  will  be  boys."  And  he  jDensivelj'  walks 
awa}'  from  us  with  a  friendlj^  nod  towards  me  ;  examines  the 
dinner-card  in  an  attitude  of  melancholy  grace ;  points  with 
the  jewelled  hand  to  the  dishes  which  he  will  have  served,  and  is 
off,  and  simpering  to  another  acquaintance  at  a  distant  table. 

"  I  thought  he  would  take  that  table,"  saj'S  Firmin's  cynical 
confrere. 

"  In  the  draught  of  the  door?  Don't  you  see  how  the  can- 
dle flickers  ?     It  is  the  worst  place  in  the  room  !  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  don't  3'ou  see  who  is  sitting  at  the  next  table?  " 

Now  at  the  next  table  was  a  n-blem-n  of  vast  wealth,  who 
was  growling  at  the  qualit}'  of  the  mutton  cutlets,  and  the  half- 
pint  of  sherry  which  he  had  ordered  for  his  dinner.  .  But  as  his 
lordship  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  ensuing  historj^  of  course 
we  shall  not  violate  confidence  b}'  mentioning  his  name.  We 
could  see  Firmin  smiling  on  his  neighbor  with  his  blandest 
melancholy,  and  the  waiters  presently  bearing  up  the  dishes 
which  the  doctor  had  ordered  for  his  own  refection.  He  was 
no  lover  of  mutton-chops  and  coarse  sherrj',  as  I  knew,  who  had 
partaken  of  many  a  feast  at  his  board.  I  could  see  the  dia- 
mond twinkle  on  his  pretty  hand,  as  it  daintil}-  poured  out 
creaming  wine  from  the  ice-pail  by  his  side  —  the  liberal  hand 
that  had  given  me  man}'  a  sovereign  when  I  w^as  a  boy. 

"I  can't  help  liking  him,"  I  said  to  my  companion,  whose 
scornful  eyes  were  now  and  again  directed  towards  his  col- 
league. 

' '  This  port  is  very  sweet.  Almost  all  port  is  sweet  now," 
remarks  the  doctor. 

"He  was  very  kind  to  me  in  my  school-da^'s  ;  and  Philip 
was  a  fine  little  fellow." 

"Handsome  a  boy  as  ever  I  saw.  Does  he  keep  his 
beauty  ?  Father  was  a  handsome  man  —  yavy.  Quite  a  lady- 
killer  —  I  mean  out  of  his  practice  ! "  adds  the  grim  doctor. 
' '  What  is  the  boy  doing  ?  " 

'  He  is  at  the  university.  He  has  his  mother's  fortune.  He 
is  wild  and  unsettled,  and  I  fear  he  is  going  to  the  bad  a  little." 

"Is  he?     Shouldn't  wonder  !  "  grumbles  Goodenough. 

We  had  talked  very  frankly  and  pleasantly  until  the  appear- 


ON    HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  119 

ance  of  the  other  doctor,  but  with  Firmin's  arrival  Goodenough 
seemed  to  button  up  his  conversation.  He  quiclvl}^  stumped 
awa}'  from  the  dining-room  to  the  drawing-room,  and  sat  over 
a  novel  there  until  time  came  when  he  was  to  retire  to  his  pa- 
tients or  his  home. 

That  there  was  no  liking  between  the  doctors,  that  there 
was  a  difference  between  Philip  and  his  father,  was  clear 
enough  to  me :  but  the  causes  of  these  ditferences  I  had  j'et  to 
learn.  The  stor^^  came  to  me  piecemeal ;  from  confessions  here, 
admissions  there,  deductions  of  my  own.  I  could  not,  of  course, 
be  present  at  many  of  the  scenes  which  I  shall  have  to  relate  as 
though  I  had  witnessed  theui ;  and  the  posture,  language,  and 
inward  thoughts  of  Philip  and  his  friends,  as  here  related,  no 
doubt  are  fancies  of  the  narrator  in  many  cases  ;  but  the  stor}' 
is  as  authentic  as  man}'  histories,  and  the  reader  need  only- 
give  such  an  amount  of  credence  to  it  as  he  may  judge  that  its 
verisimilitude  warrants. 

Well,  then,  we  must  not  only  revert  to  that  illness  which 
befell  when  Philip  Firmin  was  a  bo}'  at  Grej'  Friars,  but  go 
back  yet  farther  in  time  to  a  period  which  I  cannot  precisely 
ascertain. 

The  pupils  of  old  Gandish's  painting  academy  may  remem- 
ber a  ridiculous  little  man,  with  a  great  deal  of  wild  talent, 
about  the  ultimate  success  of  which  his  friends  were  divided. 
Whether  Andrew  was  a  genius,  or  whether  he  was  a  zan^^  was 
always  a  moot  question  among  the  frequenters  of  the  Greek 
Street  billiard-rooms,  and  the  noble  disciples  of  the  Academy 
and  St.  Martin's  Lane.  He  may  have  been  craz}-  and  absurd ; 
he  ma}'  have  had  talent  too :  such  characters  are  not  unknown 
in  art  or  in  literature.  He  broke  the  Queen's  English  ;  he  was 
ignorant  to  a  wonder ;  he  dressed  his  little  person  in  the  most 
fantastic  raiment  and  queerest  cheap  finer}' :  he  wore  a  beard, 
bless  m}'  soul !  twent}'  years  before  beards  were  known  to  wag 
in  Britain.  He  was  the  most  affected  little  creature,  and,  if 
}ou  looked  at  him,  would  pose  in  attitudes  of  such  ludicrous 
dirty  dignity,  that  if  you  had  had  a  dun  waiting  for  monc}'  in 
the  hall  of  j'our  lodging-house,  or  your  picture  refused  at  the 
Academy  —  if  you  were  suffering  under  ever  so  much  calamit}- 
—  you  could  not  help  laughing.  He  was  the  butt  of  all  his  ac- 
quaintances, the  laughing-stock  of  high  and  low,  and  he  had  as 
loving,  gentle,  faithful,  honorable  a  heart  as  ever  beat  in  a  little 
bosom.  He  is  gone  to  his  rest  now  ;  his  palette  and  easel  are 
waste  timber ;  his  genius,  which  made  some  little  flicker  of 
brightness,  never  shone  much,  and  is  extinct.     In  an  old  album 


120  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

that  dates  back  for  more  than  a  score  of  j^ears,  I  sometimes 
look  at  poor  Andrew's  strange  wild  sketches.  He  might  have 
done  something  had  he  continued  to  remain  poor ;  but  a  rich 
widow,  whom  he  met  at  Rome,  fell  in  love  with  the  strange 
errant  painter,  pursued  him  to  England,  and  married  him  in 
spite  of  himself.  His  genius  drooped  under  the  servitude  :  he 
lived  but  a  few  short  years,  and  died  of  a  consumption,  of 
which  the  good  Goodenough's  skill  could  not  cure  him. 

One  da}',  as  he  was  driving  with  his  wife  in  her  splendid 
barouche  through  the  Haymarket,  he  suddenly  bade  the  coach- 
man stop,  sprang  over  the  side  of  the  carriage  before  the  steps 
could  be  let  fall,  and  his  astonished  wife  saw  him  shaking  the 
hands  of  a  shabbily  dressed  little  woman  who  was  passing,  — 
shaking  both  her  hands,  and  weeping,  and  gesticulating,  and 
twisting  his  beard  and  mustachios,  as  his  wont  was  when 
agitated.  Mrs.  Montfitchet  (the  wealth}^  Mrs.  Carrickfergus 
she  had  been,  before  she  married  the  painter),  the  owner  of  a 
young  husband,  who  had  sprung  from  her  side,  and  out  of  her 
carriage,  in  order  to  caress  a  young  woman  passing  in  the 
street,  might  well  be  disturbed  by  this  demonstration  ;  but  she 
was  a  kind-hearted  woman,  and  when  Montfitchet,  on  reasceud- 
ing  into  the  family  coach,  told  his  wife  the  history  af  the  per- 
son of  whom  he  had  just  taken  leave,  she  cried  plentifully  too. 
She  bade  the  coachman  drive  straightwa}^  to  her  own  house  : 
she  rushed  up  to  her  own  apartments,  whence  she  emerged, 
bearing  an  immense  bag  full  of  wearing  apparel,  and  followed 
by  a  panting  butler,  carrying  a  bottle-basket  and  a  pie:  and 
she  drove  off,  with  her  pleased  Andrew  by  her  side,  to  a  court 
in  St.  Martin's  Lane,  where  dwelt  the  poor  woman  with  whom 
he  had  just  been  conversing. 

It  had  pleased  heaven,  in  the  midst  of  dreadful  calamity,  to 
send  her  friends  and  succor.  She  was  suffering  under  misfor- 
tune, povert}',  and  cowardly  desertion.  A  man  who  had  called 
himself  Brandon  when  he  took  lodgings  in  her  father's  house, 
married  her,  brought  her  to  London,  tired  of  her,  and  left  her. 
She  had  reason  to  think  he  had  given  a  false  name  when  he 
lodged  with  her  father :  he  fled,  after  a  few  months,  and  his 
real  name  she  never  knew.  When  he  deserted  her,  she  went 
back  to  her  father,  a  weak  man,  married  to  a  domineering 
woman,  who  pretended  to  disbelieve  the  story  of  her  marriage, 
and  drove  her  from  the  door.  Desperate,  and  almost  mad,  she 
came  back  to  London,  where  she  still  had  some  little  relics  of 
property  that  her  fugitive  husband  left  behind  him.  He  prom- 
ised, when  he  left  her,  to  remit  her  money ;  but  he  sent  none, 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  121 

or  she  refused  it  —  or,  in  her  wildness  and  despair,  lost  the 
dreadful  paper  which  announced  his  desertion,  and  tliat  he  was 
married  before,  and  that  to  pursue  him  would  ruin  him,  and  he 
knew  she  never  would  do  that  —  no,  however  much  he  might 
have  wronged  her. 

She  was  penniless  then,  —  deserted  by  all, — having  made 
away  with  the  last  trinket  of  her  brief  days  of  love,  having  sold 
the  last  little  remnant  of  her  poor  little  stock  of  clothing,  — 
alone  in  the  great  wilderness  of  London,  when  it  pleased  God 
to  send  her  succor  in  the  person  of  an  old  friend  who  had  known 
her,  and  even  loved  her,  in  happier  days.  When  the  Samari- 
tans came  to  this  poor  child,  they  found  her  sick  and  shudder- 
ing with  fever.  They  brought  their  doctor  to  her,  who  is  never 
so  eager  as  when  he  runs  up  a  poor  man's  stair.  And,  as  he 
watched  by  the  bed  where  her  kind  friends  came  to  help  her,  he 
heard  her  sad  little  story  of  trust  and  desertion. 

Her  father  was  a  humble  person  who  had  seen  better  daj's ; 
and  poor  little  Mrs.  Brandon  had  a  sweetness  and  simplicitj'  of 
manner  which  exceedingly  touched  the  good  doctor.  She  had 
little  education,  except  that  which  silence,  long-suffering,  seclu- 
sion, will  sometimes  give.  When  cured  of  her  illness,  there 
was  the  great  and  constant  evil  of  poverty  to  meet  and  over- 
come. How  was  she  to  live  ?  He  got  to  be  as  fond  of  her  as 
of  a  child  of  his  own.  She  was  tid\',  thrifty,  gay  at  times,  with 
a  little  simple  cheerfulness.  The  httle  flowers  began  to  bloom 
as  the  sunshine  touched  them.  Her  whole  life  hitherto  had 
been  cowering  under  neglect,  and  t3-ranny,  and  gloom. 

Mr.  Montfitchet  was  for  coming  so  often  to  look  after  the 
little  outcast  whom  he  had  succored  that  I  am  bound  to  say 
Mrs.  M.  became  hj-sterically  jealous,  and  waited  for  him  on  the 
stall's  as  he  came  down  swathed  in  his  Spanish  cloak,  pounced 
on  him,  and  called  him  a  monster.  Goodenough  was  also,  I 
fanc}',  suspicious  of  Montfitchet,  and  Montfitchet  of  Good- 
enough.  Howbeit,  the  doctor  vowed  that  he  never  had  other 
than  the  feeling  of  a  father  towards  his  poor  little  protegee^  nor 
could  any  father  be  more  tender.  He  did  not  try  to  take  her 
out  of  her  station  in  life.  He  found,  or  she  found  for  herself,  a 
work  which  she  could  do.  "Papa  used  to  say  no  one  ever 
nursed  him  so  nice  as  I  did,"  she  said.  "I  think  I  could  do 
that  better  tlian  anything,  except  my  needle,  but  I  like  to  be 
useful  to  poor  sick  people  best.  I  don't  tliink  about  myself 
then,  sir."  And  for  this  business  good  Dr.  Goodenough  had 
her  educated  and  employed. 

The  widow  died  in  course  of  time  whom  Mrs.   Brandon's 


122  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

father  had  married,  and  her  daughters  refused  to  keep  him, 
speaking  very  disrespectfully  of  this  old  Mr.  Gann,  who  was, 
indeed,  a  weak  old  man.  And  now  Caroline  came  to  the  rescue 
of  her  old  father.  She  was  a  shrewd  little  Caroline.  She  had 
saved  a  little  money.  Goodenough  gave  up  a  country-house 
which  he  did  not  care  to  use,  and  lent  Mrs.  Brandon  the  fur- 
niture. She  thought  she  could  keep  a  lodging-house  and  find 
lodgers.  Montfitchet  had  painted  her.  There  was  a  sort  of 
beauty  about  her  which  the  artists  admired.  When  Ridley  the 
Academician  had  the  small-pox,  she  attended  him,  and  caught 
the  malad}'.  She  did  not  mind  ;  not  she.  "  It  won't  spoil  my 
beaut}^"  she  said.  Nor  did  it.  The  disease  dealt  ver}'  kindly 
with  her  little  modest  face.  I  don't  know  who  gave  her  the 
nickname,  but  she  had  a  good  roomy  house  in  Thornhaugh 
Street,  an  artist  on  the  first  and  second  floor  ;  and  there  never 
was  a  word  of  scandal  against  the  Little  Sister,  for  was  not  her 
father  in  permanence  sipping  gin-and-water  in  the  ground-floor 
parlor?  As  we  called  her  "the  Little  Sister,"  her  father  was 
called  "the  Captain"  —  a  bragging,  lazy,  good-natured  old 
man  —  not  a  reputable  captain  —  and  very  cheerftil,  though  the 
conduct  of  his  children,  he  said,  had  repeatedly  broken  his 
heart. 

I  don't  know  how  man}'  3'ears  the  Little  Sister  had  been  on 
duty  when  Philip  Firmin  had  his  scarlet  fever.  It  befell  him  at 
the  end  of  the  terra,  just  when  all  the  boys  were  going  home. 
His  tutor  and  his  tutor's  wife  wanted  their  holidays,  and  sent 
their  own  children  out  of  the  way.  As  Phil's  father  was  ab- 
sent. Dr.  Goodenough  came,  and  sent  his  nurse  in.  The  case 
grew  worse,  so  bad  that  Dr.  Firmin  was  summoned  from  the 
Isle  of  Wight,  and  arrived  one  evening  at  Grey  Friars  —  Grey 
Friars  so  silent  now,  so  noisy  at  other  times  with  the  shouts  and 
crowds  of  the  playground. 

Dr.  Goodenough's  carriage  was  at  the  door  when  Dr.  Fir- 
min's  carriage  drove  up. 

"  How  was  the  boy?  " 

"  He  had  been  very  bad.  He  had  been  wrong  in  'the  head 
all  da}-,  talking  and  laughing  quite  wild-like,"  the  servant  said. 

The  father  ran  up  the  stairs. 

Phil  was  in  a  great  room,  in  which  were  several  empt}'  beds 
of  boys  gone  home  for  the  holidays.  The  windows  were  opened 
into  Grey  Friars  Square.  Goodenough  heard  his  colleague's 
carriage  drive  up,  and  rightly  divined  that  Phil's  father  had 
arrived.     He  came  out,  and  met  Firmin  in  the  ante-room. 

"Head  has  wandered  a  little.      Better  now,  and  quiet;" 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  123 

and  the  one  doctor  murmured  to  the  other  the  treatment  which 
he  had  pursued. 

Firmin  stepped  in  gently  towards  the  patient,  near  whose 
side  the  Little  Sister  was  standing. 

"Who  is  it?"  asked  Phil. 

"It  is  I,  dear.  Your  father,"  said  Dr.  Firmin,  with  real 
tenderness  in  his  voice. 

The  Little  Sister  turned  round  once,  and  fell  down  like  a 
stone  by  the  bedside. 

"You  infernal  villain!"  said  Goodenough,  with  an  oath, 
and  a  step  forward.     "  You  are  the  man  !  " 

"Hush!  The  patient,  if  30U  please,  Dr.  Goodenough," 
said  the  other  physician. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A   GENTEEL   FAMILY. 

Have  you  made  up  your  mind  on  the  question  of  seeming 
and  being  in  the  world?  I  mean,  suppose  you  are  poor,  is  it 
right  for  you  to  seem  to  be  well  off'?  Have  people  an  honest 
right  to  keep  up  appearances?  Are  3'ou  justified  in  starving 
your  dinnei'-table  in  order  to  keep  a  carriage  ;  to  have  such  an 
expensive  house  that  you  can't  by  any  possibility  help  a  poor 
relation  ;  to  array  your  daughters  in  costly  milliners'  wares 
because  they  live  with  girls  whose  parents  are  twice  as  rich? 
Sometimes  it  is  hard  to  say  where  honest  pride  ends  and  hypoc- 
risy begins.  To  obtrude  3'our  poverty  is  mean  and  slavish ; 
as  it  is  odious  for  a  beggar  to  ask  compassion  by  showing  his 
sores.  Cut  to  simulate  prosperity  —  to  be  wealthy  and  lavish 
thrice  a  year  when  you  ask  3'our  friends,  and  for  the  rest  of  the 
time  to  munch  a  crust  and  sit  by  one  candle  — are  the  folks 
who  practise  this  deceit  worth}'  of  applause  or  a  whipping? 
Sometimes  it  is  noble  pride,  sometimes  shabby  swindling. 
When  I  see  Eugenia  with  her  dear  children  exquisitely  neat 
and  cheerful ;  not  showing  the  slightest  semblance  of  poverty, 
or  uttering  the  smallest  complaint ;  persisting  that  Squander- 
field,  her  husband,  treats  her  well,  and  is  good  at  heart;  and 
denying  that  he  leaves  her  and  her  young  ones  in  want ;  I 
admire  and  reverence  that  noble  falsehood  —  that  beautiful 
constancy  and  endurance  which  disdains  to  ask  compassion. 


124  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

When  I  sit  at  poor  Jezebella's  table,  and  am  treated  to  her 
sham  bounties  and  shabby  splendor,  I  only  feel  anger  for  the 
hospitality,  and  that  dinner,  and  guest,  and  host,  are  humbugs 
together. 

Talbot  Twysden's  dinner-table  is  large,  and  the  guests  most 
respectabki.  There  is  always  a  bigwig  or  two  present,  and  a 
dining  dowager  who  frequents  the  greatest  houses.  There  is 
a  butler  who  offers  you  wine  ;  there's  a  menu  du  dhier  before 
Mrs.  Twysden  ;  and  to  read  it  you  would  fancy  you  were  at  a 
good  dinner.  It  tastes  of  chopped  straw.  Oh,  the  dreary 
sparkle  of  that  feeble  champagne  ;  the  audacity  of  that  public- 
house  sherry ;  the  swindle  of  that  acrid  claret ;  the  fiery  twang 
of  that  clammy  port !  I  have  tried  them  all,  I  tell  you  !  It  is 
.sham  wine,  a  sham  dinner,  a  sham  welcome,  a  sham  cheerful- 
ness among  the  guests  assembled.  I  feel  that  that  woman 
eyes  and  counts  the  cutlets  as  they  are  carried  off'  the  tables  ; 
perhaps  watches  that  one  which  you  try  to  swallow.  She  has 
counted  and  grudged  each  candle  by  which  the  cook  prepares 
the  meal.  Does  her  big  coachman  fatten  himself  on  purloined 
oats  and  beans,  and  Thorley's  food  for  cattle?  Of  the  rinsings 
of  those  wretched  bottles  the  butler  will  have  to  give  a  recko^n- 
ing  in  the  morning.  Unless  you  are  of  the  very  great  monde, 
Twysden  and  his  wife  think  themselves  better  than  you  are, 
and  seriously  patronize  you.  They  consider  it  is  a  privilege 
to  be  invited  to  those  horrible  meals  to  which  they  gravelj^  ask 
the  greatest  folks  in  the  country.  I  actually  met  AViuton  there 
—  the  famous  Winton  —  the  best  dinner-giver  in  the  world  (ah, 
what  a  position  for  man  !)  I  watched  him,  and  marked  the 
sort  of  wonder  which  came  over  him  as  he  tasted  and  sent  away 
dish  after  dish,  glass  after  glass.  "  Try  that  Chateau  Margaux, 
Winton  !  "  calls  out  the  host.  "It  is  some  that  Bottleby  and 
I  imported."  Imported !  I  see  Winton's  face  as  he  tastes  the 
wine,  and  puts  it  down.  He  does  not  like  to  talk  about  that 
dinner.  He  has  lost  a  day.  Twysden  will  continue  to  ask 
him  every  year ;  will  continue  to  expect  to  be  asked  in  return, 
with  Mrs.  Twysden  and  one  of  his  daughters  ;  and  will  express 
his  surprise  loudly  at  the  club,  saying,  "Hang  Wiuton  !  Deuce 
take  the  fellow !  He  has  sent  me  no  game  this  year !  "  When 
foreign  dukes  and  princes  arrive,  Twysden  straightway  collars 
them,  and  invites  them  to  his  house.  And  sometimes  they  go 
once —  and  then  ask,  "  Qui  done  est  ce  Monsieur  Ihisden,  qui  est 
si  droW^"  And  he  elbows  his  way  up  to  them  at  the  Minis- 
tei-'s  assemblies,  and  frankl^^  gives  them  his  hand.  And  calm 
Mrs.  Twysden  wriggles,  and  works,  and  slides,  and  pushes,  and 


Mr.  Frog  requests  the  Honor  of  Prince  Ox's  Company  at  Dinner. 


1 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  125 

tramples  if  need  be,  her  girls  following  behind  her,  until  she 
too  has  come  up  under  the  eyes  of  the  great  man,  and  bestowed 
on  him  a  smile  and  a  curts^'.  Tw3'sden  grasps  prosperity 
cordially  by  the  hand.  He  sa3'S  to  success,  "Bravo!"  On 
the  contrar}',  t  never  saw  a  man  more  resolute  in  not  knowing 
unfortunate  people,  or  more  daringly  forgetful  of  those  whom 
he  does  not  care  to  remember.  If  this  Levite  met  a  wa3'farer, 
going  down  from  Jerusalem,  who  had  Mien  among  thieves, 
do  you  think  he  would  stop  to  rescue  the  fallen  man  ?  He 
would  neither  give  wine,  nor  oil,  nor  mone3%  He  would  pass 
on  perfect!}'  satisfied  with  his  own  virtue,  and  leave  the  other 
to  go,  as  best  he  might,  to  Jericho. 

What  is  this  ?  Am  I  angry  because  Twysden  has  left  off 
asking  me  to  his  vinegar  and  chopped  ha}'?  No.  I  think  not. 
Am  I  hurt  because  Mrs.  Twysden  sometimes  patronizes  my 
wife,  and  sometimes  cuts  her?  Perhaps.  Only  women  thor- 
oughl}'  know  the  insolence  of  women  towards  one  another  in 
the  world.  That  is  a  very  stale  remark.  They  receive  and 
deliver  stabs,  smiling  politel}'.  Tom  Sayers  could  not  take 
punishment  more  gayly  than  the}'  do.  If  you  could  but  see 
iDider  the  skin,  you  would  find  their  little  hearts  scarred  all  over 
with  little  lancet  digs.  I  protest  I  have  seen  my  own  wife 
enduring  the  impertinence  of  this  woman,  with  a  face  as  calm 
and  placid  as  she  wears  when  old  Twysden  himself  is  talking 
to  her,  and  pouring  out  one  of  his  maddening  long  stories. 
Oh,  no !  I  am  not  angry  at  all.  I  can  see  that  by  the  way  in 
which  I  am  writing  of  these  folks.  By  the  way,  whilst  I  am 
giving  this  candid  opinion  of  the  Twysdens,  do  I  sometimes 
pause  to  consider  what  they  think  of  /ne  ?  What  do  I  care  ? 
Think  what  you  like.  Meanwhile  we  bow  to  one  another  at 
parties.  We  smile  at  each  other  in  a  sickly  way.  And  as  for 
the  dinners  in  Beaunash  Street,  I  hope  those  who  eat  them 
enjoy  their  food. 

Twysden  is  one  of  the  chiefs  now  of  the  Powder  and  Poma- 
tum Office  (the  Pigtail  branch  was  finally  abolished  in  1833, 
after  the  Reform  Bill,  with  a  compensation  to  the  retiring  under- 
secretary), and  his  son  is  a  clerk  in  the  same  office.  Wlien 
they  came  out,  the  daughters  were  very  pretty  —  even  my  wife 
aUows  that.  One  of  them  used  to  ride  in  the  Park  with  her 
father  or  brother  daily  ;  and  knowing  what  his  salary  and  wife's 
fortune  were,  and  what  the  rent  of  his  house  in  Beaunash  Street, 
everybody  wondered  how  the  Twysdens  could  make  both  ends 
meet.  They  had  horses,  carriages,  and  a  great  house  fit  for  at 
least  five  thousand  a  year  ;  they  had  not  half  as  much,  as  every- 


126  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

bod}'  knew  ;  and  it  was  supposed  that  old  Ringwood  must 
make  his  niece  an  allowance.  She  certainly"  worked  hard  to 
get  it.  I  spoke  of  stabs  anon,  and  poor  little  breasts  and  sides 
scarred  all  over.  No  nuns,  no  monks,  no  fakeers  take  whip- 
pings more  kindl}'  than  some  devotees  of  the  world  ;  and,  as 
tlie  punishment  is  one  for  edification,  let  us  hope  the  world  lays 
smartly  on  to  back  and  shoulders,  and  uses  the  thong  well. 

When  old  Ringwood,  at  the  close  of  his  lifetime,  used  -to 
come  to  visit  his  dear  niece  and  her  husband  and  children,  he 
alwa3's  brought  a  cat-o'-nine-tails  in  his  pocket,  and  adminis- 
tered it  to  the  whole  household.  He  grinned  at  the  povert}^, 
the  pretence,  the  meanness  of  the  people,  as  the}'  knelt  before 
him  and  did  him  homage.  The  father  and  mother  trembling 
brought  the  girls  up  for  punishment,  and,  piteously  smiling, 
received  their  own  boxes  on  the  ear  in  presence  of  their  chil- 
dren. "  Ah  !  "  the  little  French  governess  used  to  sa^',  grind- 
ing her  white  teeth,  "I  like  milor  to  come.  All  day  you  vip 
me.  When  milor  come,  he  vip  you,  and  you  kneel  down  and 
kiss  de  rod." 

Thej'  certainly  knelt  and  took  their  whipping  with  the  most 
exemplary  fortitude.  Sometimes  the  lash  fell  on  papa's  back, 
sometimes  on  mamma's :  now  it  stung  Agnfes,  and  now  it 
lighted  on  Blanche's  pretty  shoulders.  But  I  think  it  was  on 
the  heir  of  the  house,  young  Ringwood  Tw^sden,  that  my  lord 
loved  best  to  operate.  Ring's  vanity'  was  very  thin-skinned, 
his  selfishness  easily  wounded,  and  his  contortions  under  pun- 
ishment amused  the  old  tormentor. 

As  my  lord's  brougham  drives  up  —  the  modest  little  brown 
brougham,  with  the  noble  horse,  the  lord  chancellor  of  a  coach- 
man, and  the  ineffable  footman  —  the  ladies,  who  know  the 
whirr  of  the  wheels,  and  may  be  quarrelling  in  the  drawing- 
room,  call  a  truce  to  the  fight,  and  smooth  down  their  ruffled 
tempers  and  raiment.  Manmia  is  writing  at  her  table,  in  that 
beautiful,  clear  hand  which  we  all  admire  ;  Blanche  is  at  her 
book  ;  Agnes  is  rising  from  the  piano  quite  naturally.  A  quar- 
rel between  those  gentle,  smiling,  delicate  creatures  !  Impos- 
sible !  About  your  most  common  piece  of  hypocrisy  how  men 
will  blush  and  bungle  :  how  easily,  how  gracefull}',  how  con- 
summately, women  will  perform  it ! 

"Well,"  growls  my  lord,  "  ^'ou  are  all  in  such  pretty  atti- 
tudes, I  make  no  doubt  3'ou  have  been  sparring.  I  suspect, 
Maria,  the  men  must  know  what  devilish  bad  tempers  the  girls 
have  got.  '  Who  can  have  seen  you  fighting?  You're  quiet 
enough  hei'e,  you  little  monkeys.   I  tell  you  what  it  is.    Ladies'- 


ON  HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  127 

maids  get  about  and  talk  to  the  valets  in  the  housekeeper's 
room,  and  the  men  tell  their  masters.  Upon  my  word  1  believe 
it  was  that  business  last  3'ear  at  Whipham  which  frightened 
Greenwood  off.  Famous  match.  Good  house  in  town  and 
eountrv.  No  mother  alive.  Agnes  might  have  had  it  her  own 
wa3',  but  for  that  —  " 

"We  are  not  all  angels  in  our  family,  uncle!  "  cries  Miss 
Agnes,  reddening. 

"  And  30ur  mother  is  too  sharp.  The  men  are  afraid  of 
you,  Maria.  I've  heard  several  .young  men  say  so.  At  White's 
they  talk  about  it  quite  freely.  Pity  for  the  girls.  Great  pity. 
Fellows  come  and  tell  me.  Jack  Hall,  and  fellows  who  go 
about  everywhere." 

' '  I'm'  sure  I  don't  care  what  Captain  Hall.  sa3^s  about  me  — 
odious  little  wretch  !  "  cries  Blanche. 

"  There  30U  go  off  in  a  tantrum  !  Hall  never  has  any  opinion 
of  his  own.  He  only  fetches  and  carries  T\'hat  other  people  say. 
And  he  sa3's,  fellows  say  the3'  are  frightened  of  3'our  mother. 
La  bless  3-ou  !  Hall  has  no  opinion.  A  fellow  might  commit 
murder  and  Hall  would  wait  at  the  door.  Quite  a  discreet  man. 
But  I  told  him  to  ask  about  3-ou.  And  that's  what  I  hear.  And 
he  says  that  Agnes  is  making  eyes  at  the  doctor's  boy." 

"  It's  a  shame,"  cries  Agnes,  shedding  tears  under  her  mar- 
tyrdom. 

"Older  than  he  is;  but  that's  no  obstacle.  Good-looking 
boy,  I  suppose  a'OU  don't  object  to  that?  Has  his  poor  mother's 
mone\-,  and  his  father's  :  must  be  well  to  do.  A  vulgar  fellow, 
but  a  clever  fellow,  and  a  determined  fellow,  the  doctor  —  and 
a  fellow,  who,  I  suspect,  is  capable  of  anything.  Shouldn't 
wonder  at  that  fellow  marrying  some  rich  dowager.  Those 
doctors  get  an  immense  influence  over  women ;  and  unless 
I'm  mistaken  in  my  man,  Maria,  3-our  poor  sister  got  hold 
of  a  —  " 

"  Uncle  !  "  cries  Mrs.  Twysden,  pointing  to  her  daughters, 
"  before  these  —  " 

"  Before  those  innocent  lambs  !  Hem  !  Well,  I  think  Firmin 
is  of  the  wolf  sort :  "  and  the  old  noble  laughed,  and  showed  his 
own  fierce  fangs  as  he  spoke. 

"I  grieve  to  say,  mv  lord,  I  agree  with  you,"  remarks  Mr. 
Tw3-sclen.  "  I  don't  think  Firmin  a  man  of  high  principle.  A 
clever  man?  Yes.  An  accomplished  man?  Yes.  A  good 
physician?  Yes.  A  prosperous  man?  Yes.  But  what's  a  man 
without  principle?  " 

"  You  ought  to  have  been  a  parson,  Tw3'sden." 


128  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

"Others  have  said  so,  my  lord.  M3'  poor  mother  often 
regretted  that  I  didn't  choose  the  Church.  When  I  was  at 
Cambridge  I  used  to  speak  constantly  at  the  Union.  I  prac- 
tised. I  do  not  disguise  from  you  that  my  aim  was  public  life. 
I  am  free  to  confess  I  think  the  House  of  Commons  would  have 
been  my  sphere  ;  and,  had  my  means  permitted,  should  certainly 
have  come  forward." 

Lord  Kingwood  smiled  and  winked  to  his  niece  — 

"  He  means,  my  dear,  that  he  would  like  to  wag  his  jaws  at 
my  expense,  and  that  I  should  put  him  in  for  Whipham." 

"  There  are,  I  thi«k,  worse  members  of  Parliament,"  re- 
marked Mr.  Twysden. 

"  If  there  was  a  box  of 'em  like  you,  what  a  cage  it  would 
be  !  "  roared  m}"  lord.  "  By  George,  I'm  sick  of  jaw.  And  I 
would  like  to  see  a  king  of  spirit  in  this  country,  who  would 
shut  up  the  talking-shops  and  gag  the  whole  chattering  crew  !  " 

"  I  am  a  partisan  of  order  —  but  a  lover  of  freedom,"  con- 
tinues Twysden.  "I  hold  that  the  balance  of  our  constitu- 
tion —  " 

I  think  my  lord  would  have  indulged  in  a  few  of  those  oaths 
with  which  his  old-fashioned  conversation  was  liberall}^  gar- 
nished ;  but  the  servant,  entei'ing  at  this  moment,  announces 
Mr.  Philip  Firmin  ;  and  ever  so  faint  a  blush  fluttei-s  up  in 
Agnes'  cheek,  who  feels  that  the  old  lord's  eye  "is  upon  her. 

"  So,  sir,  I  saw  you  at  the  Opera  last  night,"  says  Lord 
Ringwood. 

"  I  saw  3"ou,  too,"  says  downright  Phil. 

The  women  looked  terrified,  and  Twysden  scared.  The 
Twysdens  had  Lord  Ringwood's  box  sometimes.  But  there 
were  boxes  in  which  the  old  man  sat,  and  in  which  they  never 
could  see  him. 

"  Why  don't  you  look  at  the  stage,  sir,  when  you  go  to  the 
Opera,  and  not  at  me  ?  When  you  go  to  church  you  ought  to 
look  at  the  parson,  oughtn't  you  ?  "  growled  the  old  man.  "  I'm 
about  as  good  to  look  at  as  the  fellow  who  dances  first  in  the 
ballet  —  and  very  nearly  as  old.  But  if  I  were  you,  I  should 
think  looking  at  the  Ellsler  better  fun." 

And  now  you  may  fancy  of  wliat  old,  old  times  we  are  writ- 
ing—  times  in  which  those  horrible  old  male  dancers  yet  existed 
—  hideous  old  creatures,  with  low  dresses  and  short  sleeves, 
and  wreaths  of  flowers,  or  hats  and  feathers  round  their  absurd 
old  wigs  —  who  skipped  at  the  head  of  the  ballet.  Let  ns  be 
thankful  that  tliose  old  apes  have  almost  vanished  off  the  stage, 
and  left  it  in  possession  of  the  beauteous  bounders  of  the  other 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  129 

sex.  Ah,  my  dear  3'oung  friends,  tiine  will  be  when  these  too 
will  cease  to  appear  more  than  mortally  beautiful !  To  Philip, 
at  his  age,  the}'  yet  looked  as  lovely  as  houris.  At  this  time 
the  simple  young  feUow,  surveying  the  ballet  from  his  stall  at 
the  Opera,  mistook  carmine  for  blushes,  pearl-powder  for  na- 
tive snows,  and  cotton-wool  for  natural  symmetry :  and  I  dare 
say  when  he  went  into  the  world  was  not  more  clear-sighted 
about  its  rouged  innocence,  its  padded  pretensions,  and  its 
painted  candor. 

Old  Lord  Rhigwood  had  a  humorous  pleasure  in  petting  and 
coaxing  Philip  Firmin  before  Philip's  relatives  of  Beaunash 
Street.  Even  the  girls  felt  a  little  plaintive  env}'  at  the  par- 
tiality which  uncle  Riugwood  exhibited  for  Phil ;  but  the  elder 
Twysdens  and  Ringwood  Twysden,  their*  son,  writhed  with 
ao'ony  at  the  preference  which  the  old  man  sometimes  showed 
for  tiie  doctor's  boy.  Phil  was  much  taller,  mitch  handsomer, 
much  stronger,  much  better  tempered,  and  much  richer  than 
young  Twysden.  He  would  be  the  sole  inheritor  of  his  father's 
fortune,  and  had  his  mother's  thirty  thousand  pounds.  Even 
when  they  told  him  his  father  would  marry  again,  Phil  laughed, 
and  did  not  seem  to  care  —  "I  wish  him  joy  of  his  new  wife," 
was  all  he  could  be  got  to  say :  '^  when  he  gets  one,  I  suppose 
I  shall  go  into  chambers.  Old  Parr  Street  is  not  as  gay  as 
Pall  Mall."  I  am  not  angry  with  Mrs.  Twysden  for  having  a 
little  jealousy  of  her  nephew.  Her  boy  and  girls  were  the  fruit 
of  a  dutiful  marriage  ;  and  Phil  was  the  son  of  a  disobedient 
child.  Her  chilcU'en  were  always  on  their  Jaest  behavior  before 
their  great  uncle  ;  and  Phil  cared  for  him  no  more  than  for 
any  other  man  :  and  he  liked  Phil  the  best.  Her  boy  was  as 
humble  and  eager  to  please  as  an};-  of  his  lordship's  humblest 
henchmen  ;  and  Lord  Ringwood  snapped  at  him,  browbeat  him, 
and  trampled  on  the  poor  darling's  tenderest  feelings,  and 
treated  him  scarcely  better  than  a  lackey.  As  for  poor  Mr. 
Twysden,  m}'  lord  not  onl}'  yawned  unreservedly'  in  his  face  — 
that  could  not  be  helped  ;  poor  Talbot's  talk  set  many  of  his 
acquaintance  asleep  —  but  laughed  at  him,  inteiTupted  him, 
and  told  him  to  hold  his  tongue.  On  this  day,  as  the  family 
sat  togetlier  at  the  pleasant  hour  —  the  before-dinner  hour  — 
the  fireside  and  tea-table  hour  —  Lord  Ringwood  said  to  Phil  — 

"  Dine  with  me  to-day,  sir?  ' 

"Why  docs  he  not  ask  me,  with  my  powers  of  conversa- 
tion ?  "  thought  old  Twysden  to  himself. 

"Hang  him,  he  always  asks  that  beggar,"  writhed  young 
Twysden,  in  his  corner. 


130  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

"Very  sorry,  sir,  can't  come.  Have  asked  some  fellows  to 
dine  at  the  '  Blue  Posts,'  "  says  Pliil. 

"  Confound  you,  sir,  why  don't  you  put  'em  off?"  cries  the 
old  lord.     "  Yuiid  put  'em  off,  Tw3sden,  wouldn't  3'ou?" 

"  Oh,  sir  !  "  the  heart  of  father  and  son  both  beat. 

"You  know  you  would;  and  you  quarrel  with  this  hoy  for 
not  throwing  his  friends  over.  Good-night,  Firmiu,  since  you 
won't  come." 

And  with  this  my  lord  was  gone. 

The  two  gentlemen  of  the  house  glumh'-  looked  from  the 
window,  and  saw  my  lord's  brougham  drive  swiftly'  away  in  the 
rain. 

"I  hate  your  dining  at  those  horrid  taverns,"  whispered  a 
young  lady  to  Philip. 

"  It  is  better  fun  than  dining  at  home,"  Philip  remarks. 

"You  smoke  and  drink  too  much.  You  come  home  late, 
and  30U  don't  live  in  a  proper  monde^  sir ! "  continues  the 
young  lady. 

"  What  would  3-on  have  me  do?" 

"Oh,  nothing.  You  must  dine  with  those  horrible  men," 
cries  Agnes  ;  "  else  3'ou  might  have  gone  to  Lady  Pendleton's 
to-night." 

"I  can  throw  over  the  men  easily-  enough,  if  3-ou  wish," 
answered  the  young  man. 

"  I  ?  I  have  no  wish  of  the  sort.  Have  you  not  already' 
refused  uncle  Ringwood?" 

'■'•You  are  not  Lord  Ringwood,"  sa3's  Phil,  with  a  tremor  in 
his  voice.     "  I  don't  know  there  is  much  I  would  refuse  3'Ou." 

"You  silly  bo3' !  What  do  I  ever  ask  you  to  do  that  30U 
ought  to  refuse?  I  want  you  to  live  in  our  world,  and  not  with 
3'our  dreadful  wild  Oxford  and  Temple  bachelors.  I  don't 
waut  3'Ou  to  smoke.  I  want  3'OU  to  go  into  the  world  of  which 
you  have  the  entree  —  and  you  refuse  your  uncle  on  account  of 
some  horrid  engagement  at  a  tavern  !  " 

"  Shall  I  stop  here?  Aunt,  will  3'ou  give  me  some  dinner 
—  here?"  asks  the  young  man. 

"We  have  dined:  my  husband  and  son  dine  out,"  said 
gentle  Mrs.  Twysden. 

There  was  cold  mutton  and  tea  for  the  ladies ;  and  Mrs. 
Twysden  did  not  like  to  seat  her  nephew,  who  was  accustomed 
to  good  fare  and  high  living,  to  that  meagre  meal. 

"  You  see  I  must  console  m3-self  at  the  tavern,"  Philip  said. 
"  We  shall  have  a  pleasant  party  there." 

"  And  pra3-  who  makes  it?"  asks  the  lady. 


ON   HIS  WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  131 

"  There  is  Ridle}-  the  painter." 

"My  dear  Philip!  Do  you  know  that  his  fatlier  was  ac- 
tually—" 

"  In  the  service  of  Lord  Todmorden?  He  often  tells  us  so. 
He  is  a  queer  character,  the  old  man." 

"  Mr.  Ridley  is  a  man  of  genius,  certainly.  His  })ictures 
are  delicious,  and  he  goes  everywhere  —  but  —  but  you  provoke 
me,  Philip,  by  3'oui:  carelessness  ;  indeed  you  do.  Why  should 
3'ou  be  dining  with  the  sons  of  footmen,  when  the  first  houses 
in  the  country  might  be  open  to  you  ?  You  pain  me,  you  fool- 
ish boy." 

"For  dining  in  company  of  a  man  of  genius?  Come, 
Agnes  !  "  And  the  young  man's  brow  grew  dark.  "  Besides," 
he  added,  with  a  tone  of  sarcasm  in  his  voice,  which  Miss 
Agnes  did  not  like  at  all  —  "besides,  my  dear,  you  know  he 
dines  at  Lord  Pendleton's." 

"What  is  that  you  are  talking  of  Lad}^  Pendleton,  chil- 
dren ?  "  asked  watchful  mamma  from  her  corner. 

"  Ridley  dines  there.  He  is  going  to  dine  with  me  at  a 
tavern  to-da}'.  And  Lord  Halden  is  coming  —  and  Mr.  Win- 
ton  is  coming  —  having  heard  of  the  famous  beefsteaks." 

"  Winton  !  Lord  Halden  I  Beefsteaks!  Where?  Bv  George! 
I  have  a  mind  to  go,  too!  Where  do  you  fellows  dine?  cm 
cabaret  ?  Hang  me,  I'll  be  one,"  shrieked  little  Twysden,  to  the 
terror  of  Philip,  who  knew  his  uncle's  awful  powers  of  conver- 
sation. But  Twysden  remembered  himself  in  good  time,  and  to 
the  intense  relief  of  young  Firmin.  "Hang  me,  I  forgot! 
Your  aunt  and  I  dine  with  the  Bladeses.  Stupid  old  fellow, 
the  admiral,  and  bad  wine — Avhich  is  unpardonable;  but  we 
must  go  —  on  n'a  qua  sa  parole,  he}'?  Tell  Winton  tlKit  I  had 
meditated  joining  him,  and  that  I  have  still  some  of  that  Chateau 
Margaux  he  liked.  Ilalden's  father  I  know  well.  Tell  him  so. 
Bring  him  here.  Maria,  send  a  Thursday  card  to  Lord  Halden  ! 
You  must  bring  him  here  to  dinner,  Philip.  That's  the  best 
wa}-  to  make  acquaintance,  my  boy ! "  And  the  little  man 
swaggers  off,  waving  a  bed-candle,  as  if  he  was  going  to  quaff 
a  bumper  of  sparkling  spermaceti. 

The  mention  of  such  great  personages  as  Lord  Halden  and 
Mr.  Winton  silenced  the  reproofs  of  the  pensive  Agnes. 

"  You  won't  care  for  our  quiet  fireside  whilst  3"ou  live  with 
those  fine  people,  Philip,"  she  .sighed.  Thei^e  was  no  talk  now 
of  his  throwing  himself  away  on  bad  compan}^ 

So  Philip  did  not  dine  with  his  relatives  :  but  Talbot  Tw3's- 
dcn  took  good  care  to  let  Lord  Ringwood  know  how  3'oung 


132  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

Firmin  had  offered  to  dine  with  his  aunt  that  da}^  after  refusing 
his  lordship.  And  everything  to  Pliil's  discredit,  and  every  act 
of  extravagance  or  wildness  which  the  young  man  committed, 
did  Phil's  uncle,  and  Phil's  cousin  Ringwood  Twj'sden,  convey 
to  the  old  nobleman.  Had  not  these  been  the  informers.  Lord 
Eingwood  would  have  been  angr^- :  for  he  exacted  obedience 
and  servility  from  all  round  about  him.  But  it  was  pleasanter 
to  vex  the  Tw3-sdens  than  to  scold  and  browbeat  Philip,  and  so 
his  lordship  chose  to  laugh  and  be  amused  at  Phil's  insubordi- 
nation. He  saw,  too,  other  things  of  which  he  did  not  speak. 
He  was  a  wily  old  man,  who  could  afford  to  be  blind  upon 
occasion. 

What  do  you  judge  from  the  fact  that  Philip  was  ready  to 
make  or  break  engagements  at  a  3'oung  lady's  instigation? 
When  you  were  twenty  years  old,  had  no  young  ladies  an  in- 
fluence over  you  ?  Were  they  not  commonly  older  than  your- 
self? Did  your  youthful  passion  lead  to  anything,  and  are  3'ou 
verj-  sorr}^  now  that  it  did  not?  Suppose  30U  had  had  jour 
soul's  wish  and  married  her,  of  what  age  would  she  be  now? 
And  now  when  you  go  into  the  world  and  see  her,  do  j-ou  on 
your  conscience  very  much  regret  that  the  little  affair  came  to 
an  end?  Is  it  that  (lean,  or  fat,  or  stump}',  or  tall)  woman 
with  all  those  children  Avhom  3'ou  once  chose  to  break  your 
heart  about ;  and  do  you  still  envy  Jones  ?  Philip  was  in  love 
with  his  cousin,  no  doubt,  but  at  the  university  had  he  not  been 
previously  in  love  with  the  Tomkinsian  professor's  daughter 
Miss  Budd ;  and  had  he  not  already  written  verses  to  Miss 
Flower,  his  neighbor's  daughter  in  Old  Parr  Street?  And  don't 
3'oung  men  alwaj-s  begin  b3'  falling  in  love  with  ladies  older 
than  themselves  ?  Agnes  certainly  was  Philip's  senior,  as  her 
sister  constantl3'  took  care  to  inform  him. 

And  Agnes  might  have  told  stories  about  Blanche,  if  she 
chose  —  as  3'ou  ma3'  about  me,  and  I  about  3'ou.  Not  quite 
true  stories,  but  stories  with  enough  allo3'  of  lies  to  make  them 
serviceable  coin  ;  stories  such  as  we  hear  daily  in  the  world  ; 
stories  such  as  we  read  in  the  most  learned  and  conscientious 
history-books,  which  are  told  hy  the  most  respectable  persons, 
and  perfectl3'  authentic  until  contradicted.  It  is  onl3'  our  his- 
tories that  can't  be  contradicted  (unless,  to  be  sure,  novelists 
contradict  themselves,  as  sometimes  the3''  will).  What  loe  say 
about  people's  virtues,  failings,  characters,  3'ou  ma3'  be  sure  is 
all  true.  And  1  def3'  an3'^  man  to  assert  that  mj  opinion  of  the 
Tw3'sden  family  is  malicious,  or  unkind,  or  unfounded  in  an3- 
particular.     Agnes  wrote  verses,  and  set  her  own  and  other 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  133 

writers'  poems  to  music.  Blanche  was  scientific,  and  attended 
the  Albemarle  Street  lectures  sedulousl}'.  The}'  are  both  clever 
women  as  times  go  ;  well  educated  and  accomplished,  and  very 
well  mannered  when  they  choose  to  be  pleasant.  If  you  were 
a  bachelor,  say,  with  a  good  fortune,  or  a  widower  who  wanted 
consolation,  or  a  lady  giving  very  good  parties  and  belonging 
to  the  monde,  you  would  find  them  agreeable  people.  If  you 
were  a  little  Treasury  clerk,  or  a  young  barrister  with  no  prac- 
tice, or  a  lad}',  old  or  young,  7iot  quite  of  the  monde,  your 
opinion  of  them  would  not  be  so  favorable.  I  have  seen  them 
cut,  and  scorn,  and  avoid,  and  caress,  and  kneel  dov/n  and 
worship  the  same  person.  When  Mrs.  Lovel  first  gave  parties, 
don't  I  remember  the  shocked  countenances  of  the  Twysden 
family?  Were  ever  shoulders  colder  than  yours,  dear  girls? 
Now  they  love  her  ;  they  fondle  her  step-children  ;  they  praise 
her  to  her  face  and  behind  her  handsome  back ;  they  take  her 
hand  in  public  ;  the}'  call  her  by  her  Christian  name  ;  they  fall 
into  ecstasies  over  her  toilettes,  and  would  fetch  coals  for  her 
dressing-room  fire  if  she  but  gave  them  the  word.  She  is  not 
changed.  vShe  is  the  same  lady  who  once  was  a  governess,  and 
no  colder  and  no  warmer  since  then.  But  you  see  her  pros- 
perity has  brought  virtues  into  evidence,  which  people  did  not 
perceive  when  she  was  poor.  C-ould  people  see  Cinderella's 
beauty  when  she  was  in  rags  by  the  fire,  or  until  she  stepped  out 
of  her  fairy  coach  in  her  diamonds?  How  are  you  to  recognize 
a  diamond  in  a  dusthole?  Only  very  clever  eyes  can  do  that. 
Whereas  a  lady  in  a  fairy  coach  and  eight  naturally  creates  a 
sensation  ;  and  enraptured  princes  come  and  beg  to  have  the 
honor  of  dancing  with  her. 

In  the  character  of  infallible  historian,  then,  I  declare  that 
if  Miss  Twysden  at  three-and-twenty  feels  ever  so  much  or 
little  attachment  for  her  cousin,  who  is  not  yet  of  age,  there  is 
no  reason  to  be  angry  with  her.  A  brave,  handsome,  blunder- 
ing, downright  young  fellow,  with  broad  shoulders,  high  spirits, 
and  quite  fresh  blushes  on  his  face,  with  very  good  talents, 
(thougli  he  has  been  wofuUy  idle,  and  requested  to  absent  him- 
self temporarily  from  his  university,)  the  possessor  of  a  com- 
petent fortune  and  the  heir  of  another,  may  naturall}'  make 
some  impression  on  a  lady's  heart  with  wliom  kinsmanship  and 
circumstance  bring  him  into  daily  communion.  When  had  any 
sound  so  hearty  as  Phil's  laugh  been  heard  in  Beaunash  Street? 
His  jolly  frankness  touched  his  aunt,  a  clever  woman.  She 
would  smile  and  say,  "  My  dear  Philip,  it  is  not  only  what  you 
say,  but  what  you  are  going  to  say  next,  which  keeps  me  in 


134  THE   ADVENTURES  OF   PHILIP 

such  a  perpetual  tremor."  There  may  have  been  a  time  once 
when  she  was  frank  and  cordial  herself:  ever  so  long  ago,  when 
she  and  her  sister  were  two  blooming  girls,  lovingl}^  clinging 
together,  and  just  stepping  forth  into  the  world.  But  if  \o\x 
succeed  in  keeping  a  fine  house  on  a  small  income  ;  in  showing 
a  cheerful  face  to  the  world  though  oppressed  with  ever  so 
much  care  ;  in  bearing  with  dutiful  reverence  an  intolerable  old 
bore  of  a  husband  (and  I  vow  it  is  this  quality-  in  Mrs.  Twjsden 
for  which  I  most  admire  her)  ;  in  submitting  to  defeats  patiently  ; 
to  humiliations  with  smiles,  so  as  to  hold  3"our  own  in  3'our 
darling  monde  ;  you  may  succeed,  but  you  must  give  up  being 
frank  and  cordial.  The  marriage  of  her  sister  to  the  doctor 
gave  Maria  Ringwood  a  great  panic,  for  Lord  Ringwood  was 
furious  when  the  news  came.  Then,  perhaps,  she  sacrificed  a 
little  private  passion  of  her  own :  then  she  set  her  cap  at  a 
noble  3'oung  neighbor  of  my  lord's  who  jilted  her;  then  she 
took  up  with  Talbot  Twysden,  Esquire,  of  the  Powder  and 
Pomatum  Office,  and  made  a  ver^^  faithful  wife  to  him,  and  was 
a  very  careful  mother  to  his  children.  But  as  for  frankness 
and  cordiality,  my  good  friend,  accept  from  a  lady  what  she 
can  give  you  —  good  manners,  pleasant  talk,  and  decent  atten- 
tion. If  you  go  to  her  breakfast- table,  don't  ask  for  a  roc's 
egg,  but  eat  that  moderately  fresh  hen's  egg  which  John  brings 
you.  When  Mrs.  Twysden  is  in  her  open  carriage  in  the  Park, 
how  prosperous,  handsome,  and  J0II3'  she  looks  — the  girls  how 
smiling  and  young  (that  is,  you  know,  considering  all  things)  ; 
the  horses  look  fat,  the  coachman  and  footman  wealthy  and 
sleek  ;  they  exchange  bows  with  the  tenants  of  other  carriages 
—  well-known  aristocrats.  Jones  and  Brown,  leaning  over  the 
railings,  and  seeing  the  Twysden  equipage  pass,  have  not  the 
slightest  doubt  that  it  contains  people  of  the  highest  wealth 
and  fashion.  "  I  say,  Jones  m}^  bo}',  what  noble  familj-  has 
the  motto,  Wei  done  Ttvys  done  ?  and  what  cli[)ping  girls  there 
were  in  that  barouche  ! "  B.  remarks  to  J.  ;  "  and  what  a  hand- 
some young  swell  that  is  riding  the  bay  mare,  and  leaning  over 
and  talking  to  the  A'ellow-haired  girl !  "  And  it  is  evident  to 
one  of  those  gentlemen,  at  least,  that  he  has  been  looking  at 
your  regular  first-rate  tiptop  people. 

As  for  Phil  Firmin  on  his  bay  mare,  witli  his  geranium  in  his 
button-hole,  there  is  no  doubt  that  Phili[)pus  looks  as  hand- 
some, and  as  rich,  and  as  brave  as  any  lord.  And  I  think 
Brown  must  have  felt  a  little  pang  when  his  friend  told  him, 
"That  a  lord!  Bless  you,  it's  only  a  swell  doctor's  son." 
But  while  J.  and  B.  fancy  all  the  little  partj^  very  happy,  they 


I 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  135 

do  not  hear  Phil  whisper  to  his  cousin,  "  I  hope  j-ou  liked  your 
partner  last  night?"  and  they  do  not  see  how  anxious  Mrs. 
Tvvj'sden  is  under  her  smiles,  how  she  perceives  Colonel  Shafto's 
cab  coming  up  (the  dancer  in  question) ,  and  how  she  would 
rather  have  Phil  anywhere  than  b}'  that  particular  wheel  of  her 
carriage  ;  how  Lady  Braglands  has  just  passed  tliem  by  without 
noticing  them — Lady  Braglands,  who  has  a  ball,  and  is  de- 
termined not  to  ask  that  woman  and  her  two  endless  girls  ;  and 
how,  though  Lady  Braglands  won't  see  Mrs.  Twysden  in  her 
great  staring  equipage,  and  the  three  faces  which  have  been 
beaming  smiles  at  her,  she  instantly  perceives  Lady  Lovel,  who 
is  passing  ensconced  in  her  little  brougham,  and  kisses  her 
fingers  twentj- times  over.  How  should  poor  J.  and  B.,  who 
are  not,  vous  comprenez^  da  monde^  understand  these  m3'steries? 

"  That's  young  Firmin,  is  it,  that  handsome  j'oung  fellow?  " 
sa3's  Brown  to  Jones. 

"Doctor  married  the  Earl  of  Ringwood's  niece  —  ran  away 
with  her,  you  know." 

"Good  practice?" 

"  Capital.  First-rate.  All  the  tiptop  people.  Great  ladies' 
doctor.  Can't  do  without  him.  Makes  a  fortune,  besides  what 
he  had  with  his  wife." 

"We've  seen  his  name — the  old  man's  —  on  some  very 
queer  paper,"  says  B.  with  a  wink  to  J.  Bj-  which  I  conclude 
they  are  c\iy  gentlemen.  And  ihey  look  very  hard  at  friend 
Philip,  as  he  comes  to  talk  and  shake  hands  with  some  pedes- 
trians who  are  gazing  over  the  railings  at  the  busy  and  pleasant 
Park  scene. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    NOBLE    KINSMAN. 

Having  had  occasion  to  mention  a  noble  earl  once  or  twice, 
I  am  sure  no  polite  reader  will  consent  that  his  lordship  should 
push  through  this  histor}-  along  with  the  crowd  of  commoner 
characters,  and  without  a  special  word  regarding  himself.  If 
you  are  in  the  least  familiar  with  Burke  or  Debrett,  j-ou  know 
that  the  ancient  family  of  Ringwood  has  long  been  famous  for 
its  great  possessions,  and  its  loyalty  to  the  British  crown. 

In  the  troubles  which  unhappily  agitated  this  kingdom  after 
the  deposition  of  the  late  reigning  house,  the  Ringwoods  were 


136  THE   ADVENTURES  OF   PHILIP 

implicated  with  many  other  families,  but  on  the  accession  of  his 
Majesty  George  III.  these  differences  happily  ended,  nor  had 
the  monarch  anj-  subject  more  loyal  and  devoted  than  Sir  John 
Ringwood,  Baronet,  of  Wingate  and  Whipham  Market,  Sir 
John's  influence  sent  three  Members  to  Parliament ;  and  during 
the  dangerous  and  vexatious  period  of  the  American  war,  this 
influence  was  exerted  so  cordially  and  consistently  in  the  cause 
of  order  and  the  crown,  that  his  Majesty  thought  fit  to  advance 
Sir  John  to  the  diguit}'  of  Baron  Ringwood.  Sir  John's  brother. 
Sir  Francis  Ringwood,  of  Appleshaw,  who  followed  the  pro- 
fession of  the  law,  also  was  promoted  to  be  a  Baron  of  his 
Majesty's  Court  of  Exchequer.  Tlie  first  baron,  dying  a.  d. 
1786,  was  succeeded  by  the  eldest  of  his  two  sons  —  John, 
second  Baron  and  first  Earl  of  Ringwood.  His  loixlship's 
brother,  the  Honorable  Colonel  Philip  Ringwood,  died  glori- 
ously, at  the  head  of  his  regiment  and  in  the  defence  of  his 
countrj',  in  the  battle  of  Busaco,  1810,  leaving  two  daugliters, 
Louisa  and  Maria,  who  henceforth  lived  with  the  earl  their 
uncle. 

The  Earl  of  Ringwood  had  but  one  son,  Charles  Viscount 
Cinqbars,  who,  unhappily,  died  of  a  decline,  in  his  twenty- 
second  year.  And  thus  the  descendants  of  Sir  Francis  Ring- 
wood  became  heirs  to  the  earl's  great  estates  of  Wingate  and 
Whipham  Market,  though  not  of  the  peerages  which  had  been 
conferred  on  the  earl  and  his  father. 

Lord  Ringwood  had,  living  with  him,  two  nieces,  daughters 
of  his  late  brother,  Colonel  I*hilip  Ringwood,  who  fell  in  the 
Peninsular  War.  Of  these  ladies,  the  youngest,  Louisa,  was 
his  lordship's  favorite  ;  and  though  both  the  ladies  had  con- 
siderable fortunes  of  their  own,  it  was  supposed  their  uncle 
would  further  provide  for  them,  especially  as  he  was  on  no  very 
good  terms  with  his  cousin.  Sir  John  of  the  Shaw,  who  took  the 
Whig  side  in  politics,  whilst  his  lordship  was  a  chief  of  the 
Tory  party. 

Of  these  two  nieces,  the  eldest,  Maria,  never  any  great 
favorite  with  her  uncle,  married,  1824,  Talbot  Twysden,  Esq., 
a  Commissioner  of  Powder  and  Pomatum  Tax  ;  but  the  young- 
est, Louisa,  incurred  my  lord's  most  serious  anger  by  eloping 
with  George  Brand  Firmin,  Esq.,  M.D.,  a  young  gentleman  of 
Cambridge  University,  who  had  been  with  Lord  Cinqbars  when 
he  died  at  Naples,  aiid  had  brought  home  his  body  to  Wingate 
Castle. 

The  quarrel  with  the  youngest  niece,  and  the  indifference 
with  which  he  generally  regarded  the  elder  (whom  his  lordship 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  137 

was  in  the  habit  of  calling  an  old  schemer),  occasioned  at  first' 

L      a  little  rapprochement  between  Lord  Ringwood  and  his  heir,  Sir 

f     John  of  Appleshaw  ;  but  both  gentlemen  were  very  firm,  not  to 

say  obstinate  in  their  natures.    The}-  had  a  quarrel  with  i-espect 

to  the  cutting  off  of  a  small  entailed  property,  of  which  the  earl 

wished  to  dispose  ;  and  they  parted  with  much  rancor  and  bad 

language  on  his  lordship's  part,  who  was  an  especially  free- 

I     spoken  nobleman,  and  apt  to  call  a  spade  a  spade,  as  the  say- 

'      ing  is. 

After  this  difference,  and  to  spite  his  heir,  it  was  supposed 
that  tlie  Earl  of  Ringwood  would  marry.  He  was  little  more 
than  seventy  years  of  age,  and  had  once  been  of  a  very  robust 
constitution.  And  though  his  temper  was  violent  and  his  per- 
son not  at  all  agreeable  (for  even  in  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence's 
1  picture  his  countenance  is  very  ill-favored),  there  is  little  doubt 
"  he  could  have  found  a  wife  for  the  asking  among  the  young 
beauties  of  his  own  count}^  or  the  fairest  of  Ma}'  Fair. 

But  he  was  a  cynical  nobleman,  and  perhaps  morbidly  con- 
scious of  his  own  ungainl}'  appearance.  "  Of  course  I  can  buy 
a  wife"  (his  lordship  would  say).  "Do  3-ou  suppose  people 
won't  sell  their  daughters  to  a  man  of  my  rank  and  means  ? 
Now  look  at  me,  my  good  sir,  and  say  whether  any  woman 
alive  could  fall  in  love  with  me?  I  have  been  married,  and 
once  was  enough.  I  hate  ugly  w^men,  and  your  virtuous 
women,  who  tremble  and  ciy  in  private,  and  preach  at  a  man, 
bore  me.  Sir  John  Ringwood  of  Appleshaw  is  an  ass,  and  I 
hate  him  ;  but  I  don't  hate  him  enough  to  make  myself  miser- 
able for  the  rest  of  m}'  days,  in  order  to  spite  him.  When  I 
drop,  I  drop.  Do  you  suppose  I  care  wliat  comes  after  me?" 
And  with  much  sardonical  humor  this  old  lord  used  to  play  off 
one  good  dowager  after  another  who  would  bring  her  girl  in  his 
way.  He  would  send  pearls  to  Elmily,  diamonds  to  Fanny, 
opera-boxes  to  lively  Kate,  books  of  devotion  to  i)ious  Selinda, 
and,  at  the  season's  end,  drive  back  to  his  lonel}'  great  castle 
in  the  west.  The}'  were  all  the  same,  such  was  his  lordship's 
opinion.  I  fear,  a  wicked  and  corrupt  old  gentleman,  my  dears. 
But  ah,  would  not  a  woman  submit  to  some  sacrifices  to  reclaim 
that  unhappy  man  ;  to  lead  that  gifted  but  lost  being  into  the 
ways  of  right ;  to  convert  to  a  belief  in  woman's  purity  that 
erring  soul?  They  tried  him  with  high-church  altar-cloths  for 
his  chapel  at  Wingate  ;  they  tried  him  with  low-church  tracts  ; 
they  danced  before  him  ;  they  jumped  fences  on  horseback  ;  they 
wore  bandeaux  or  ringlets,  according  as  his  taste  dictated  ;  they 
were  always  at  home    when  he  called,  and  poor  you   and  I 


138  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

were  gruffly  told  the}-  were  engaged  ;  they  gushed  in  gratitude 
over  his  bouquets  ;  tliey  sang  for  him,  and  their  mothers,  con- 
ceahng  their  sobs,  murmured,  "•  What  an  angel  that  Cecilia  of 
mine  is  !  "  Every  variet^^  of  delicious  chaff  they  flung  to  that 
old  bird.  But  he  was  uncaught  at  the  end  of  the  season  :  he 
winged  his  way  back  to  his  western  hills.  And  if  you  dared  to 
say  that  Mrs.  Netle}"  had  tried  to  take  him,  or  Lad}'  Trapbo3's 
had  set  a  snare  for  him,  you  know  you  were  a  wicked,  gross 
calumniator,  and  notorious  everywhere  for  your  dull  and  vulgar 
abuse  of  women. 

Now,  in  the  year  1830,  it  happened  that  this  great  nobleman 
was  seized  with  a  fit  of  the  gout,  which  had  ver^'  nearly  con- 
signed his  estates  to  his  kinsman  the  Baronet  of  Appleshaw. 
A  revolution  took  place  in  a  neighboring  State.  An  illustrious 
reigning  family  was  expelled  from  its  country,  and  projects  of 
reform  (which  would  pretty  certainl}'  end  in  revolution)  were 
rife  in  ours.  The  events  in  France,  and  those  pending  at  home, 
so  agitated  Lord  Ringwood's  mind,  that  he  was  attacked  by  one 
of  the  severest  fits  of  gout  under  which  he  ever  sutfered.  His 
shrieks,  as  he  was  brought  out  of  his  ^^acht  at  Ryde  to  a  house 
taken  for  him  in  the  town,  were  dreadful ;  his  language  to  all 
persons  about  him  was  frightfully  expressive,  as  Lad}'  Quamley 
and  her  daughter,  who  had  sailed  with  him  several  times,  can 
vouch.  An  ill  return  tha^rude  old  man  made  for  all  their  kind- 
ness and  attention  to  him.  The}'  had  danced  on  board  his 
3'acht ;  the}'  had  dined  on  board  his  yacht ;  they  had  been  out 
sailing  with  him,  arid  cheerfully  braved  the  inconveniences  of 
the  deep  in  his  company.  And  when  they  ran  to  the  side  of  his 
chair  —  as  what  would  they  not  do  to  soothe  an  old  gentleman 
in  illness  and  distress  ?  —  when  they  ran  up  to  his  chair  as  it 
was  wheeled  along  the  pier,  he  called  mother  and  daughter  b}' 
the  most  vulgar  and  opprobrious  names,  and  roared  out  to  them 
to  go  to  a  place  which  I  certainly  shall  not  more  particular!}' 
mention. 

Now  it  happened,  at  this  period,  that  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Firmin 
were  at  Ryde  with  their  little  boy,  then  some  three  years  of  age. 
The  doctor  was  already  taking  his  place  as  one  of  the  most 
fashionable  physicians  then  in  London,  and  had  begun  to  be 
celebrated  for  the  treatment  of  this  especial  malady.  (Firmin 
on  "  Gout  and  Rheumatism  "  was,  you  remember,  dedicated  to 
his  Majesty  George  IV.)  Lord  Ringwood's  valet  bethought 
him  of  calling  the  doctor  in,  and  mentioned  how  he  was  present 
in  the  town.  Now  Lord  Ringwood  was  a  nobleman  who  never 
would  allow  his  angry  feelings  to  stand  in  the  way  of  his  present 


ON  HIS  WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  139 

comforts  or  ease.  He  instantiy  desired  Mr.  Firmiu's  attend- 
ance, and  submitted  to  bis  treatment ;  a  part  of  wbieb  was  a 
hauteur  to  tbe  full  as  great  as  tbat  wbich  tlie  sick  manexbibited. 
Firmin's  appearance  was  so  tall  and  grand,  that  be  looked  vastly 
more  noble  tban  a  great  many  noblemen.  Six  feet,  a  high 
manner,  a  polished  forehead,  a  flashing  eye,  a  snowy  shirt-friU, 
a  rolling  velvet  collar,  a  beautiful  hand  appearing  under  a  veh^t 
cuff — all  these  advantages  he  possessed  and  used.  He  did 
not  make  the  slightest  allusion  to  bygones,  but  treated  his 
patient  with  a  perfect  courtesy  and  an  impenetrable  self-pos- 
session. 

This  defiant  and  darkling  politeness  did  not  always  disjilease 
the  old  man.  He  was  so  accustomed  to  slavish  compliance  and 
eager  obedience  from  all  people  round  about  him,  that  he 
sometimes  wearied  of  tlieir  servility,  and  relished  a  little  inde- 
pendence. Was  it  from  calculation,  or  because  he  was  a  man 
of  high  spirit,  that  Firmin  determined  to  maintain  an  indepen- 
dent course  with  his  lordship?  From  the  first  day  of  their 
meeting  he  never  departed  from  it,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of 
meeting  with  only  ci\  il  behavior  from  his  noble  relative  and 
patient,  who  was  notorious  for  his  rudeness  and  brutality  to 
almost  every  person  who  came  in  his  wa^s'. 

From  hints  which  his  lordship  gave  in  conversation,  he 
showed  the  doctor  that  he  was  acquainted  with  some  particulars 
of  the  latter's  early  career.  It  had  been  wild  and  stormy. 
Firmin  had  incurred  debts  ;  had  quarrelled  with  liis  father  ;  liad 
left  the  university  and  gone  abroad  ;  had  lived  in  a  wild  socictj', 
which  used  dice  and  cards  every  niglit,  and  pistols  sometimes 
in  the  morning ;  and  had  shown  a  fearful  dexterity  in  the  use 
of  the  latter  instrument,  which  he  employed  against  the  person 
of  a  famous  Italian  adventurer,  who  fell  under  his  hand  at 
Naples,  When  this  centurj-  was  five-and-twent}- yeai's  younger, 
the  crack  of  the  pistol-shot  might  still  occasional!}'  be  heard  in 
the  suburbs  of  London  in  the  very  earlj-  morning  ;  and  the  dice- 
box  went  round  in  many  a  haunt  of  pleasure.  The  knights  of 
the  Four  Kings  travelled  from  capital  to  capital,  and  engaged 
each  other  or  made  prey  of  the  unwary.  Now,  the  times  are 
changed.  The  cards  are  coffined  in  their  'boxes.  Only  sous- 
officiers,  brawling  in  their  provincial  cafes  over  their  dominos, 
fight  duels.  "  Ah,  dear  me,"  I  heard  a  veteran  punter  sigh  the 
other  day  at  Bays's,  "  isn't  it  a  melancholy  thing  to  think,  that 
if  I  wanted  to  amuse  myself  with  a  fifty-pound  note,  I  don't 
know  the  place  in  London  where  I  could  go  and  lose  it?" 
And  he  fondly  recounted   the   names  of  twenty  places  where 


140  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

he  could  have   cheerfully   staked   and  lost  his  money  in  his 
young  time. 

After  a  somewhat  prolonged  absence  abroad,  Mr.  Firmin 
came  back  to  this  country,  was  permitted  to  retui-n  to  the 
universitj^,  and  left  it  with  a  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Medicine. 
We  haA'C  told  how  he  ran  away  with  Lord  Ringwood's  niece, 
and  incurred  the  anger  of  that  nobleman.  Bej-ond  abuse  and 
anger  his  lordship  was  powerless.  The  )'oung  lady  was  free 
to  marry  whom  she  liked,  and  her  uncle  to  disown  or  receive 
him  ;  and  accordingly'  she  was,  as  we  have  seen,  disowned 
by  his  lordship,  until  he  found  it  convenient  to  forgive  her. 
What  were  Lord  Ringwood's  intentions  regarding  his  property, 
what  were  his  accumulations,  and  who  his  heirs  would  be,  no 
one  knew.  Meanwhile,  of  course,  there  were  those  who  felt 
a  ver}'  great  interest  on  the  point.  Mrs.  Twvsden  and  her 
husband  and  children  were  hungry  and  poor.  If  uncle  Ring- 
wood  had  money  to  leave,  it  would  be  ver^^  welcome  to  those 
three  darlings,  whose  father  had  not  a  great  income  like  Dr. 
Firmin.  Philip  was  a  dear,  good,  frank,  amiable,  wild  fellow, 
and  the}'  all  loved  him.  But  he  had  his  faults  —  that  could 
not  be  concealed  —  and  so  poor  Phil's  faults  were  pretty  con- 
stantly canvassed  before  uncle  Ringwood,  by  dear  relatives 
who  knew  them  onl}'  too  well.  The  dear  relatives  !  How  kind 
they  are  !  I  don't  think  Phil's  aunt  abused  him  to  my  lord. 
That  quiet  woman  calml}'  and  genth'  put  forward  the  claims  of 
her  own  darlings,  and  affection  ate  I3'  dilated  on  the  3'oung  man's 
present  prosperity,  and  magnificent  future  prospects.  The 
interest  of  thirty  thousand  pounds  now,  and  the  inheritance  of 
his  father's  great  accumulations  !  What  young  man  could  want 
for  more?  Perhaps  he  had  too  much  alread}'.  Perhaps  he 
was  too  rich  to  work.  The  sly  old  peer  acquiesced  in  his 
niece's  statements,  and  perfectly  understood  the  point  towards 
which  they  tended.  "  A  thousand  a  year  !  What's  a  thousand 
a3'ear?  "  growled  the  old  lord.  "  Not  enough  to  make  a  gen- 
tleman, more  than  enough  to  make  a  fellow  idle." 

"Ah,  indeed,  it  was  but  a  small  income,"  sighed  Mrs. 
Twysden.  "With  a  large  house,  a  good  establishment,  and 
Mr.  Twysden's  salary  from  his  office  —  it  was  but  a  pittance." 

"Pittance!  Starvation,"  gi'owls  my  lord,  with  his  usual 
frankness.  "  Don't  I  know  what  housekeeping  costs  ;  and  see 
how  3'ou  screw?  Butlers  and  footmen,  carriages  and  job-horses, 
rent  and  dinners  —  though  youi^s,  Maria,  are  not  famous." 

"Very  bad  —  I  know  they  are  very  bad,"  saj' s  the  contrite 
lady.     "  I  wish  we  could  afford  any  better." 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  141 

"Afford  an}^  better?  Of  course  you  can't.  You  are  the 
Crocker}'  pots,  and  you  swim  down-stream  with  the  brass  pots. 
I  saw  Twysden  the  other  da^-  walking  down  St.  James's  Street 
with  Rhodes  —  that  tall  fellow."  (Here  my  lord  laughed,  and 
showed  many  fangs,  the  exhibition  of  which  gave  a  peculiarly 
fierce  air  to  his  lordship  when  in  good-humor.)  "If Twysden 
walks  with  a  big  fellow,  he  always  tries  to  keep  step  with 
him.  Ton  know  that."  Poor  Maria  naturallj'  knew  her  hus- 
band's pecuharities  ;  but  she  did  not  say  that  she  had  no  need 
to  be  reminded  of  them. 

"  He  was  so  blown  he  could  hardly  speak,"  continued  uncle 
Ringwood  ;  "but  he  would  stretch  his  little  legs,  and  try  and 
keep  up.  He  has  a  little  bod}',  le  cher  mari^  but  a  good  pluck. 
Those  little  fellows  often  have.  I've  seen  him  half  dead  out 
shooting,  and  plunging  over  the  ploughed  fields  after  fellows 
with  twice  his  stride.  Why  don't  men  sink  in  the  world,  I  want 
to  know?  Instead  of  a  fine  house,  and  a  parcel  of  idle  servants, 
why  don't  3'ou  have  a  maid  and  a  leg  of  mutton,  Maria?  You 
go  half  crazy  in  trying  to  make  both  ends  meet.  You  know 
you  do.  It  keeps  3'ou  awake  of  nights  ;  /know  that  very  well. 
You've  got  a  house  fit  for  people  with  four  times  your  money. 
I  lend  you  my  cook  and  so  forth  ;  but  I  can't  come  and  dine 
with  you  unless  I  send  the  wine  in.  Wh}'  don't  you  have  a  pot 
of  porter,  and  a  joint,  or  some  tripe  ?  —  tripe's  a  famous  good 
thing.  The  miseries  which  people  entail  on  themselves  in  try- 
ing to  live  bej'ond  their  means  are  perfectly  ridiculous,  by 
George  !  Look  at  that  fellow  who  opened  the  door  to  me  ;  he's 
as  tall  as  one  of  my  own  men.  Go  and  live  in  a  quiet  little 
street  in  Belgravia  somewhere,  and  have  a  neat  little  maid. 
Nobody  will  think  a  penny  the  worse  of  you  —  and  3'ou  will  be 
just  as  well  off  as  if  30U  lived  here  with  an  extra  couple  of  thou- 
sand a  year.  The  advice  I  am  giving  you  is  worth  half  that, 
ever}-  shilling  of  it." 

"It  is  very  good  advice;  but  I  think,  sir,  I  should  prefer 
the  thousand  pounds,"  said  the  lady. 

"  Of  course  3'ou  would.  That  is  the  consequence  of  3-our 
false  position.  One  of  the  good  points  about  that  doctor  is, 
that  he  is  as  proud  as  Lucifer,  and  so  is  his  bo3'.  The3'  are 
not  always  hungering  after  mone3'.  The}-  keep  their  indepen- 
dence ;  tiiough  he'll  have  his  own  too,  the  fellow  will.  Wh}', 
when  I  first  called  him  in,  I  thought,  as  he  was  a  i-elation, 
he'd  doctor  me  for  nothing  ;  but  he  wouldn't.  He  would  have 
his   fee,  by  George !    and  wouldn't   come  without   it.      Con- 


142  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

founded  independent  fellow  Firmin  is.  And  so  is  the  j'oung 
one." 

But  when  Tw3'sden  and  his  son  (perhaps  inspirited  hy  Mrs. 
Twysden)  tried  once  or  twice  to  be  independent  in  the  pres- 
ence of  this  lion,  he  roared,  and  he  rushed  at  them,  and  he 
rent  them,  so  that  the}'  fled  from  him  howling.  And  this  re- 
minds me  of  an  old  stor^- 1  have  heard  —  quite  an  old,  old  story, 
such  as  kind  old  fellows  at  clubs  love  to  remember — of  my 
lord,  when  he  was  onl}'  Lord  Cinqbars,  insulting  a  half-pay 
lieutenant,  in  his  own  county,  who  horsewhipped  his  lordship 
in  the  most  |>rivate  and  ferocious  manner.  It  was  said  Lord 
Cinqbars  had  had  a  rencontre  with  poachers  ;  but  it  was  my  lord 
who  was  poaching  and  the  lieutenant  who  was  defending  his 
own  dovecot.  I  do  not  sa}-  that  this  was  a  model  nobleman  ; 
but  that,  when  his  own  passions  or  interests  did  not  mislead 
him,  he  was  a  nobleman  of  very  considerable  acuteness,  humor, 
and  good  sense  ;  and  could  give  quite  good  advice  on  occasion. 
If  men  would  kneel  down  and  kiss  his  boots,  well  and  good. 
There  was  the  blacking,  and  you  were  welcome  to  embrace  toe 
and  heel.  But  those  who  would  not,  were  free  to  leave  the 
operation  alone.  The  Pope  himself  does  not  demand  the  cere- 
mony from  Protestants  ;  and  if  the}-  object  to  the  slipper,  no 
one  thinks  of  forcing  it  into  their  mouths.  Phil  and  his  father 
probably  declined  to  tremble  before  the  old  man,  not  because 
they  knew  he  was  a  bully  who  might  be  put  down,  but  because 
the}'  were  men  of  spirit,  who  eared  not  whether  a  man  was  bully 
or  no. 

I  have  told  j'ou  I  like  Philip  Firmin,  though  it  must  be  con- 
fessed that  the  3'oung  fellow  had  many  faults,  and  that  his 
career,  especially  his  early  career,  was  bj'  no  means  exemplary. 
HaA^e  I  ever  excused  his  conduct  to  his  father,  or  said  a  word 
in  apology  of  his  brief  and  inglorious  universit}'  career  ?  I  ac- 
knowledge his  shortcomings  with  that  candor  which  m}'  friends 
exhibit  in  speaking  of  mine.  Who  does  not  see  a  friend's 
weaknesses,  and  is  so  blind  that  he  cannot  perceive  that  enor- 
mous beam  in  his  neighbor's  e3'e?  Only  a  woman  or  two,  from 
time  to  time.  And  even  thej'  are  undeceived  some  day.  A 
man  of  tlie  world,  I  write  about  m}'  friends  as  mundane  fellow- 
creatures.  Do  3'ou  suppose  there  are  man}'  angels  here?  I  say 
again,  perhaps  a  woman  or  two.  But  as  for  you  and  me,  my 
good  sir,  are  there  any  signs  of  wings  sprouting  from  our  shoul- 
der-blades? Be  quiet.  Don't  pursue  your  snarling,  cynical 
remarks,  but  go  on  with  your  story. 

As  you  go  through  life,  stumbling,  and  slipping,  and  stagger- 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  143 

ing  to  your  feet  again,  ruefully  aware  of  your  own  wretched 
weakness,  and  praying,  with  a  contrite  heart,  let  us  trust,  that 
you  may  not  be  led  into  temptation,  have  you  not  often  looked 
at  other  fellow-sinners,  and  speculated  with  an  awful  interest 
on  their  career?  Some  there  are  on  whom,  quite  in  their  early 
lives,  dark  Ahrimanes  has  seemed  to  lay  his  dread  mark  :  chil- 
dren, 3'et  corrupt,  and  wicked  of  tongue  ;  tender  of  age,  3'et 
cruel ;  who  should  he  truth-telling  and  generous  3'et  (the_y  were 
at  their  mothers'  bosoms  3-esterda}') ,  but  are  false  and  cold  and 
greedy  before  their  time.  Infants  almost,  they  practise  the  art 
and  selfishness  of  old  men.  Behind  their  candid  faces  are  wiles 
and  wickedness,  and  a  hideous  precocity  of  artifice.  I  can 
recall  such,  and  in  the  vista  of  far-off,  unforgotten  boyhood,  can 
see  marching  that  sad  little  procession  of  enfans  perdus.  May 
they  be  saved,  pray  heaven !  Then  there  is  the  doubtful  class, 
those  who  are  still  on  trial ;  those  who  fall  and  rise  again  ;  those 
who  are  often  worsted  in  life's  battle  ;  beaten  down,  wounded, 
imprisoned  ;  but  escape  and  conquer  sometimes.  And  then 
there  is  the  happy  class  about  whom  there  seems  no  doubt  at 
all :  the  spotless  and  white-robed  ones,  to  whem  virtue  is  eas}' ; 
in  whose  pure  bosoms  faith  nestles,  and  cold  doubt  finds  no 
entrance  ;  who  are  children,  and  good  ;  young  men,  and  good  ; 
husbands  and  fathers,  and  yet  good.  Why  could  the  captain 
of  our  school  write  his  Greek  iambics  without  an  effort,  and 
without  an  error  ?  Others  of  us  blistered  the  page  with  un- 
availing tears  and  blots,  and  might  toil  ever  so  and  come  in  lag 
last  at  the  bottom  of  the  form.  Our  friend  Philip  belongs  to 
the  middle-class,  in  which  you  and  I  probably  are,  my  dear  sir 
—  not  yet,  I  hope,  irredeemably  consigned  to  that  awful  third 
class,  whereof  mention  has  been  made. 

But,  being  homo,  and  liable  to  err,  there  is  no  doubt  Mr, 
Philip  exercised  his  privilege,  and  there  was  even  no  little  fear 
at  one  time  that  he  should  overdraw  his  account.  lie  went 
from  school  to  the  university,  and  there  distinguished  himself 
certainly,  but  in  a  way  in  which  very  few  parents  would  choose 
that  their  sons  should  excel.  That  lie  should  hunt,  that  he 
should  give  parties,  that  he  should  pull  a  good  oar  in  one  of  the 
best  boats  on  the  river,  that  he  should  speak  at  the  Union  — 
all  these  were  very  well.  But  why  should  he  speak  such  awful 
radicaUsm  and  republicanism  —  he  with  noble  blood  in  his  veins, 
and  the  son  of  a  parent  whose  interest  at  least  it  was  to  keep 
well  with  people  of  high  station  ? 

"  Why,  Pendennis,"  said  Dr.  Firmin  to  me  with  tears  in  his 
eyes,  and  much  genuine  grief  exhibited  on  his  handsome  pale 


144  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

face  — ' '  wln^  should  it  be  said  that  Philip  Firmin  —  both  of 
whose  grandfathers  fought  nobly  for  their  king  —  should  be 
forgetting  the  principles  of  his  family,  and  —  and,  I  haven't 
words  to  tell  3'ou  how  deepl^^  he  disappoints  me.  Why,  I  ac- 
tually heard  of  him  at  that  horrible  Union  advocating  the  death 
of  Charles  the  First !  I  was  wild  enough  myself  when  I  was  at 
the  university,  but  I  was  a  gentleman." 

"  Bo^-s,  sir,  are  boys,"  I  urged.  "  They  will  advocate  any- 
thing for  an  argument ;  and  Philip  would  have  taken  the  other 
side  quite  as  readily." 

"  Lord  Axminster  and  Lord  St.  Dennis  told  me  of  it  at  the 
club.  I  can  tell  you  it  has  made  a  most  painful  impression," 
cried  the  father.  ''  That  my  son  should  be  a  radical  and  a  re- 
publican, is  a  cruel  thDught  for  a  father ;  and  I,  who  had  hoped 
for  Lord  Ringwood's  borough  for  him  —  who  had  hoped  —  who 
had  hoped  very  much  better  things  for  him  and  from  him.  He 
is  not  a  comfort  to  me.  You  saw  how  he  treated  me  one  night? 
A  man  might  live  on  different  terms,  I  think,  with  his  only 
son ! "  And  with  a  breaking  voice,  a  pallid  cheek,  and  a  real 
grief  at  his  heart,  the  unhappy  physician  moved  awa}' . 

How  had  the  doctor  bred  his  son,  that  the  3'oung  man 
should  be  thus  unrulj-  ?  Was  the  revolt  the  bo3''s  fault,  or  the 
father's?  Dr.  Firmin's  horror  seemed  to  be  because  his  noble 
friends  were  horrified  by  Phil's  radical  doctrine.  At  that  time 
of  my  life,  being  young  and  ver}-  green,  I  had  a  little  mischiev- 
ous pleasure  in  infuriating  Squaretoes,  and  causing  him  to  pro- 
nounce that  I  was  "  a  dangerous  man."  Now,  I  am  ready  to 
sa}'  that  Nero  was  a  monarch  with  many  elegant  accomplish- 
ments, and  considerable  natural  amiabilit}'  of  disposition.  I 
praise  and  admire  success  wherever  I  meet  it.  I  make  allow- 
ance for  faults  and  shortcomings,  especiall}'  in  my  superiors ; 
and  feel  that,  did  we  know  all  we  should  judge  them  very 
differently.  People  don't  believe  me,  perhaps,  quite  so  much 
as  formerly.  But  I  don't  offend  :  I  trust  I  don't  offend.  Have 
I  said  anything  painful  ?  Plague  on  my  blundei's  !  I  recall 
the  expression.     I  regret  it.     I  contradict  it  flat. 

As  I  am  ready  to  find  excuses  for  everj'bod}^  let  poor  Philip 
come  in  for  the  benefit  of  this  mild  amnestj^ ;  and  if  he  vexed 
his  father,  as  he  certainly  did,  let  us  trust  —  let  us  be  thankfully 
sure  —  he  was  not  so  black  as  the  old  gentleman  depicted  him. 
Nay,  if  I  have  painted  the  Old  Gentleman  himself  as  rather 
black,  who  knows  but  that  this  was  an  error,  not  of  his  com- 
l^lexion,  but  of  m}'  vision?  Phil  was  unruly  because  he  was 
bold,  and  wild,  and  young.     His  father  was  hurt,  naturallj^ 


ox  HIS   WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  145 

hurt,  because  of  the  boy's  extravagances  and  follies.  They 
will  come  together  again,  as  father  and  son  should.  These 
little  differences  of  temper  will  be  smoothed  and  equalized  anon. 
The  bov  has  led  a  wild  life.  He  has  been  obliged  to  leave 
college.  He  has  given  his  father  hours  of  anxiety  and  nights 
of  painful  watching.  But  sta}',  father,  what  of  you?  Have 
you  shown  to  the  boy  the  practice  of  confidence,  the  example  of 
love  and  honor?  Did  3'ou  accustom  him  to  virtue,  and  teach 
truth  to  the  child  at  your  knee?  "Honor  your  father  and 
mother."  Amen.  May  his  days  be  long  who  fulfils  the  com- 
mand :  but  implied,  though  unwritten  on  the  table,  is  there  not 
the  order,  "Honor  30ur  son  and  daughter?"  Pra}'  heaven 
that  we,  whose  da^-s  are  alread}^  not  few  in  the  land,  may  keep 
this  ordinance  too. 

What  had  made  Philip  wild,  extravagant,  and  insubordi- 
nate? Cured  of  that  illness  in  which  we  saw  him,  he  rose  up, 
and  from  school  went  his  way  to  the  university,  and  there  en- 
tered on  a  life  such  as  wild  young  men  will  lead.  From  that 
day  of  illness  his  manner  towards  his  father  changed,  and  re- 
garding the  change  the  elder  Firmin  seemed  afraid  to  question 
his  son.  He  used  the  house  as  if  his  own,  came  and  absented 
himself  at  will,  ruled  the  servants,  and  was  spoiled  b}'  them ; 
spent  the  income  which  was  settled  on  his  mother  and  her  chil- 
dren, and  ^ave  of  it  liberall}'  to  poor  acquaintances.  To  the 
remonstrances  of  old  friends  he  replied  that  he  had  a  right  to 
do  as  he  chose  with  his  own  ;  that  other  men  who  were  poor 
might  work,  but  that  he  had  enough  to  live  on,  without  grind- 
ing over  classics  and  mathematics.  He  was  implicated  in 
more  rows  than  one  ;  his  tutors  saw  him  not,  but  he  and  the 
proctors  became  a  great  deal  too  well  acquainted.  If  I  were 
to  give  a  history  of  Mr.  Philip  Firmin  at  the  universit}',  it 
would  be  the  stor}'  of  an  Idle  Apprentice,  of  whom  his  pastors 
and  masters  were  justified  in  prophesying  evil.  He  was  seen 
on  lawless  London  excursions,  when  his  father  and  tutor  sup- 
posed him  unwell  in  his  rooms  in  college.  He  made  acquaint- 
ance with  jolly  companions,  with  whom  his  father  grieved  that 
he  should  be  intimate.  He  cut  the  astonished  uncle  Twysden 
in  London  Street,  and  blandly  told  him  that  he  must  be  mis- 
taken—  he  one  Frenchman,  he  no  speak  English.  He  stared 
the  master  of  his  own  college  out  of  countenance,  dashed  back 
to  college  with  a  Turpin-like  celerit_y,  and  was  in  rooms  with  a 
ready-proved  alibi  when  inquiries  were  made.  I  am  afraid 
there  is  no  doubt  that  Phil  screwed  up  his  tutor's  door ; 
Mr.  Okes  discovered  him  in  the  act.     He  had  to  go  down,  the 

10 


146  THE   ADVENTURES  OF   PHILIP 

3'oung  prodigal.  I  wish  I  couM  say  he  was  repentant.  But 
he  appeared  before  his  father  with  the  utmost  nonchalance  ; 
said  that  he  was  doing  no  good  at  the  university,  and  should 
be  much  better  away,  and  then  went  abroad  on  a  dashing  tour 
to  France  and  Italy,  whither  it  is  by  no  means  our  business 
to  follow  him.  Something  had  poisoned  the  generous  blood. 
The  once  kindly  honest  lad  was  wild  and  reckless.  He  had 
money  in  sufficienc}',  his  own  horses  and  equipage,  and  free 
quarters  in  his  father's  house.  But  father  and  son  scarce  met, 
and  seldom  took  a  meal  together.  "  I  know  his  haunts,  but 
I  don't  know  his  friends,  Pendennis,"  the  elder  man  said.  "  I 
don't  think  they  ai-e  vicious,  so  much  as  low.  I  do  not  charge 
him  with  vice,  mind  you  ;  but  with  idleness,  and  a  fatal  love 
of  low  compan}^  and  a  frantic,  suicidal  determination  to  fling 
his  chances  in  life  away.  Ah,  think  where  he  might  be,  and 
where  he  is  !  " 

Where  he  was?  Do  not  be  alarmed.  Philip  was  only 
idling.  Philip  might  have  been  much  more  industriousl}-,  more 
profitably,  and  a  great  deal  more  wickedly  employed.  What 
is  now  called  Bohemia  had  no  name  in  Philip's  young  days, 
though  many  of  us  knew  the  country  ver}'  well.  A  pleasant 
land,  not  fenced  with  drab  stucco,  like  T3burnia  or  Belgravia ; 
not  guarded  b^'  a  huge  standing  armj^  of  footmen  ;  not  echo- 
ing with  noble  chariots  ;  not  replete  with  polite  chintz  drawing- 
rooms  and  neat  tea-tables  ;  a  land  over  which  hangs  an  end- 
less fog,  occasioned  by  much  tobacco  ;  a  land  of  chambers, 
billiard-rooms,  supper- rooms,  oysters  ;  a  land  of  song ;  a  land 
where  soda-water  flows  freelj-  in  the  morning ;  a  land  of  tin- 
dishcovers  from  taverns,  and  frothing  porter ;  a  land  of  lotos- 
eating  (with  lots  of  cayenne  pepper),  of  pulls  on  the  river, 
of  delicious  reading  of  novels,  magazines,  and  saunterings 
in  many  studios  ;  a  land  where  men  call  each  other  by  their 
Christian  names  ;  where  most  are  poor,  where  almost  all  are 
^i-oung,  and  where,  if  a  few  oldsters  do  enter,  it  is  because 
they  have  preserved  more  tenderly'  and  carefully  than  other 
folks  their  youthful  spirits,  and  the  delightful  capacit}'  to  be 
idle.  I  have  lost  my  way  to  Bohemia  now,  but  it  is  certain 
that  Prague  is  the  most  picturesque  city  in  the  world. 

Having  long  lived  there,  and  indeed  only  latel}'  quitted  the 
Bohemian  land  at  the  time  whereof  I  am  writing,  I  could  not 
quite  participate  in  Dr.  Firmin's  indignation  at  his  son  persist- 
ing in  his  bad  courses  and  wild  associates.  When  Firmin  had 
been  wild  himself,  he  had  fought,  intrigued,  and  gambled  in 
good    company.      Phil  chose  his  friends  amongst   a   banditti 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  147 

never  heard  of  in  fashionable  quarters.  Perhaps  he  liked  to 
play  the  prince  in  the  midst  of  these  associates,  and  was  not 
averse  to  the  flattery  which  a  full  purse  brought  him  among 
men  most  of  whose  pockets  had  a  meagre  lining.  He  had  not 
emigrated  to  Bohemia,  and  settled  there  altogether.  At  school 
and  in  his  brief  university  career  he  had  made  some  friends 
who  lived  in  the  world,  and  with  whom  he  was  still  familiar. 
"These  come  and  knock  at  my  front  door,  my  father's  door," 
he  would  say,  with  one  of  his  old  laughs  ;  "  the  Bandits,  who 
have  the  signal,  enter  only  by  the  dissecting  room.  I  know 
which  are  the  most  honest,  and  that  it  is  not  always  the  poor 
Freebooters  who  best  deserve  to  be  hanged." 

Like  many  a  3'oung  gentleman  who  has  no  intention  of  pur- 
suing legal  studies  seriously,  Philip  entered  at  an  inn  of  court, 
and  kept  his  terms  dulj',  though  he  vowed  that  his  conscience 
would  not  allow  him  to  practise  (I  am  not  defending  the  opin- 
ions of  this  squeamish  moralist  —  only  stating  them).  His 
acquaintance  here  la}-  amongst  the  Temple  Bohemians.  He  had 
part  of  a  set  of  chambers  in  Parchment  Buildings,  to  be  sure, 
and  you  might  read  on  a  door,  "  Mr.  Cassid}-,  Mr.  P.  Firmin, 
Mr.  Van  John ;  '  but  were  these  gentlemen  likely  to  advance 
Philip  in  life  ?  Cassidj'  was  a  newspaper  reporter,  and  3'Oung 
Van  John  a  betting-man  who  was  always  attending  races.  Dr. 
Firmin  had  a  horror  of  newspaper-men,  and  considered  they 
belonged  to  the  dangerous  classes,  and  treated  them  with  a 
distant  affabilit3\ 

"  Look  at  the  governor,  Pen,"  Philip  would  say  to  the  pres- 
ent chronicler.  "He  always  watches  you  with  a  secret  sus- 
picion, and  has  never  got  over  his  wonder  at  your  being  a 
gentleman.  I  like  him  when  he  does  the  Lord  Chatham  busi- 
ness, and  condescends  towards  j^ou,  and  gives  you  his  hand  to 
kiss.  He  considers  he  is  your  better,  don't  you  see?  Oh,  he 
is  a  paragon  of  a  pere  noble,  the  governor  is  !  and  I  ought  to 
be  a  3'oung  Sir  Charles  Grandison."  And  the  3'oung  scape- 
grace would  imitate  his  father's  smile,  and  the  doctor's  manner 
of  laying  his  hand  to  his  breast  and  putting  out  his  neat  right 
leg,  all  of  which  movements  or  postures  were,  I  own,  rather 
pompous  and  affected. 

Whatever  the  paternal  faults  were,  3'ou  will  sa3'  that  Philip 
was  not  the  man  to  criticise  them  ;  nor  in  this  matter  shall  I 
attempt  to  defend  him.  M3'  wife  has  a  little  pensioner  whom 
she  found  wandering  in  the  street,  and  singing  a  little  artless 
song.  The  child  could  not  speak  yet  —  onl}-  warble  its  little 
song ;  and  had  thus  stra3'ed  awa}'  from  home,  and  never  once 


148  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

knew  of  her  danger.  We  kept  her  for  a  while,  until  the  police 
found  her  parents.  Our  servants  bathed  her,  and  dressed  her, 
and  sent  her  home  in  such  neat  clothes  as  the  poor  little  wretch 
had  never  seen  until  fortune  s6nt  her  in  the  wa^^  of  those  good- 
natured  folks.  She  pays  them  frequent  visits.  When  she  o-oes 
awa}^  from  us  she  is  alwaj's  neat  and  clean  ;  when  she  comes  to 
us,  she  is  in  rags  and  dirt}^ :  a  wicked  little  slattern  !  And 
pray,  whose  duty  is  it  to  keep  her  clean  ?  and  has  not  the  parent 
in  this  case  forgotten  to  honor  her  daughter?  Suppose  there 
is  some  reason  which  prevents  Philip  from  loving  his  father  — 
that  the  doctor  has  neglected  to  cleanse  the  l)03''s  heart,  and  by 
carelessness  and  indifference  has  sent  him  erring  into  the  world. 
If  so,  woe  be  to  that  doctor !  If  I  take  my  little  son  to  the 
tavern  to  dinner,  shall  I  not  assuredly  pay  ?  If  I  suft'er  him  in 
tender  youth  to  go  astray,  and  harm  comes  to  him,  whose  is 
the  fault? 

Perhaps  the  very  outrages  and  irregularities  of  which  Phil's 
father  complained,  were  in  some  degree  occasioned  by  the 
elder's  own  faults.  He  was  so  laboriously  obsequious  to  great 
men,  that  the  son  in  a  rage  defied  and  avoided  them.  He  was 
so  grave,  so  polite,  so  complimentary,  so  artificial,  that  Phil, 
in  revolt  at  such  hypocris}',  chose  to  be  frank,  C3'nical,  and 
familiar.  The  grave  old  bigwigs  whom  the  doctor  loved  to 
assemble,  bland  and  solemn  men  of  the  ancient  school,  who 
dined  solemnl}'  with  each  other  at  their  solemn  old  houses  — 
such  men  as  old  Lord  Botley,  Baron  Bumpsher,  Cricklade, 
(who  pubhshed  "Travels  in  Asia  Minor,"  4to,  1804,)  the 
Bishop  of  St.  Bees,  and  the  like  —  wagged  their  old  heads 
sadly  when  thc}^  collogued  in  clubs,  and  talked  of  poor  Firmin's 
scapegrace  of  a  son.  He  would  come  to  no  good ;  he  was 
giving  his  good  father  much  pain  ;  he  had  been  in  all  sorts  of 
rows  and  disturbances  at  the  university,  and  the  Master  of 
Boniface  reported  most  unfavorably  of  him.  And  at  the  sol- 
emn dinners  in  Old  Parr  Street  —  the  admirable,  costl}',  silent 
dinners  —  he  treated  these  old  gentlemen  with  a  familiarity 
which  caused  the  old  heads  to  shake  witii  surprise  and  choking 
indignation.  Lord  Botley  and  Baron  Bumpsher  had  proposed 
and  seconded  Firmin's  boy  at  the  Megatherium  club.  The 
pallid  old  boys  toddled  away  in  alarm  when  he  made  his  ap- 
pearance there.  He  brought  a  smell  of  tobacco-smoke  with 
him.  He  was  capable  of  smoking  in  the  drawing-room  itself. 
They  trembled  before  Philip,  who,  for  his  part,  used  to  relish 
their  senile  auger ;  and  loved,  as  he  called  it,  to  tie  all  their 
pigtails  together. 


ON  HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  149 

In  no  place  was  Philip  seen  or  heard  to  so  little  advantage 
as  in  his  father's  house.  "  I  feel  like  a  humbug  myself  amongst 
those  old  humbugs,"  he  would  sa,y  to  me.  "  Their  old  jokes, 
and  their  old  compliments,  and  their  virtuous  old  conversation 
sicken  me.  Are  all  old  men  humbugs,  I  wonder?"  It  is  not 
pleasant  to  hear  misanthropy  from  young  lips,  and  to  find  eyes 
that  are  scarce  twenty  years  old  already  looking  out  with  dis- 
trust on  the  world. 

In  other  houses  than  his  own  I  am  bound  to  say  Philip  was 
much  more  amiable,  and  he  carried  with  him  a  splendor  of 
ga^'ety  and  cheerfulness  which  brought  sunshine  and  welcome 
into  many  a  room  which  he  frequented.  I  have  said  that 
many  of  his  companions  were  artists  and  journalists,  and  their 
clubs  and  haunts  were  his  own.  Ridley  the  Academician  had 
Mrs.  Brandon's  rooms  in  Thornhaugh  Street,  and  Philip  was 
often  in  J.  J.'s  studio,  or  in  the  widow's  little  room  below. 
He  had  a  very  great  tenderness  and  affection  for  her ;  her 
presence  seemed  to  purify  him  ;  and  in  her  company  the  bois- 
terous, reckless  young  man  was  invariably  gentle  and  respect- 
ful. Her  e^'es  used  to  fill  with  tears  when  she  spoke  about 
him  ;  and  when  he  was  present,  followed  and  watched  him  with 
sweet  motherly  devotion.  It  was  j^Jeasant  to  see  him  at  her 
homely  little  fireside,  and  hear  his  jokes  and  prattle,  with  a 
fatuous  old  father,  who  was  one  of  Mrs.  Brandon's  lodgers. 
Philip  would  play  cribbage  for  hours  with  this  old  man,  frisk 
about  him  with  a  hundred  harmless  jokes,  and  walk  out  by  his 
invalid  chair  when  the  old  captain  went  to  sun  himself  in  the 
New  Road.  He  was  an  idle  fellow,  Philip,  that's  the  truth. 
He  had  an  agreeable  perseverance  in  doing  nothing,  and  would 
pass  half  a  da}^  in  perfect  contentment  over  his  pipe,  watching 
Ridley  at  his  easel.  J.  J.  painted  that  charming  head  of 
Philip  which  hangs  in  Mrs.  Brandon's  little  room  —  with  the 
fair  hair,  the  tawny  beard  and  whiskers,  and  the  bold  blue 
eyes. 

Phil  had  a  certain  after-supper  song  of  "  Garryowen  na 
Gloria,"  which  it  did  you  good  to  hear,  and  which,  when  sung 
at  his  full  pitch,  you  might  hear  for  a  mile  round.  One  night 
I  had  been  to  dine  in  Russell  Square,  and  was  brought  home  in 
his  carriage  b}^  Dr.  Firmin,  who  was  of  the  party.  As  we 
came  through  Soho,  the  windows  of  a  certain  club-room  called 
the  "Haunt"  were  open,  and  we  could  hear  Philip's  song 
booming  through  the  night,  and  especially  a  certain  wild-Irish 
war-whoop  with  which  it  concluded,  amidst  universal  applause 
and  enthusiastic  battering  of  glasses. 


150  THE  ADVENTURES  OF   PHILIP 

The  poor  father  sank  back  in  the  carriage  as  though  a  blow 
had  struck  him.  "  Do  you  hear  his  voice?"  he  groaned  out. 
"Those  are  his  haunts.  My  son,  who  might  go  anyivhere, 
prefers  to  be  captain  in  a  pothouse,  and  sing  songs  in  a  tap- 
room !  " 

I  tried  to  make  the  best  of  the  case.  I  knew  there  was  no 
harm  in  the  place  ;  that  clever  men  of  considerable  note  fre- 
quented it.  But  the  wounded  father  was  not  to  be  consoled  by 
such  commonplaces  ;  and  a  deep  and  natural  grief  oppressed 
him  in  consequence  of  the  faults  of  his  son. 

What  ensued  by  no  means  surprised  me.  Among  Dr.  Fir- 
min's  patients  was  a  maiden  lady  of  suitable  age  and  large 
fortune,  who  looked  upon  the  accomplished  doctor  with  favora- 
ble eyes.  That  he  should  take  a  companion  to  cheer  him  in 
his  solitude  was  natural  enough,  and  all  his  friends  concurred 
in  thinking  that  he  should  marry.  Ever}^  one  had  cognizance 
of  the  quiet  little  courtship,  except  the  doctor's  son,  between 
whom  and  his  father  there  were  only  too  man^^  secrets. 

Some  man  in  a  club  asked  Philip  whether  he  should  condole 
with  him  or  congratulate  him  on  his  father's  approaching  mar- 
riage? His  what?  The  3'ounger  Firmin  exhibited  the  greatest 
surprise  and  agitation  on  hearing  of  this  match.  He  ran  home  : 
he  awaited  his  father's  return.  When  Dr.  Firmin  came  home 
and  betook  himself  to  his  study,  Philip  confronted  him  there. 
"  This  must  be  a  lie,  sir,  which  I  have  heard  to-day,"  the 
3'oung  man  said,  fiercely. 

"'a  lie!  what  lie,  Philip?"  asked  the  father.  They  were 
both  very  resolute  and  courageous  men. 

"  That  you  are  going  to  marry  Miss  Benson." 

"  Do  you  make  my  house  so  happy,  that  I  don't  need  any 
other  companion?  "  asked  the  father. 

"  That's  not  the  question,"  said  Philip,  hotly.     "  You  can't 
and  mustn't  marry  that  lady,  sir." 

' '  And  whj'  not,  sir  ?  " 

"  Because  in  the  eyes  of  God  and  Heaven  5-ou  are  married 
already,  sir.  And  I  swear  I  will  tell  Miss  Benson  the  story 
to-morrow,  if  3'ou  persist  in  your  plan." 

"  So  j'ou  know  that  story?  "  groaned  the  father. 

"  Yes.     God  forgive  you,"  said  the  son. 

"It  was  a  fault  of  my  youth  that  has  been  bitterly  re- 
pented." 

"  A  fault !  —  a  crime  !  "  said  Philip. 

"Enough,  sir!  Whatever  my  fault,  it  is  not  for  you  to 
charge  me  with  it." 


ON  HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  151 

' '  If  3-ou  won't  guard  j'our  own  honor,  I  must.  I  shall  go 
to  Miss  Benson  now." 

'  •  If  you  go  out  of  this  house  you  don't  pretend  to  return 
to  it." 

"  Be  it  so.     Let  us  settle  our  accounts,  and  part,  sir." 

"  Philip,  Philip  !  3-ou  break  my  heart,"  cried  the  father. 

"  You  don't  suppose  mine  is  very  light,  sir,"  said  the  son. 

Philip  never  had  Miss  Benson  for  a  mother-in-law.  But 
father  and  son  loved  each  other  no  better  after  their  dispute. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


Brandon's. 


Thornhaugh  Street  is  but  a  poor  place  now,  and  the 
houses  look  as  if  they  had  seen  better  da3-s :  but  that  house 
with  the  cut  centre  drawing-room  window,  which  has  the  name 
of  Brandon  on  the  door,  is  as  neat  as  any  house  in  the  quarter, 
and  the  brass  plate  always  shines  like  burnished  gold.  About 
Easter  time  many  fine  carriages  stop  at  that  door,  and  splendid 
people  walk  in,  introduced  by  a  tid}^  little  maid,  or  else  by  an 
athletic  Italian,  with  a  glossy  black  beard  and  gold  earrings,  who 
conducts  them  to  the  drawing-room  floor,  where  Mr.  Kidley, 
the  painter,  lives,  and  where  his  pictures  are  privately  exhibited 
before  they  go  to  the  Royal  A  cade  m}-. 

As  the  carriages  drive  up,  you  will  often  see  a  red-faced 
man,  in  an  olive-green  wig,  smiling  blandly  over  the  blinds  of 
the  parlor,  on  the  ground-floor.  That  is  Captain  Gann,  the 
father  of  the  lady  who  keeps  the  house.  I  don't  know  how  he 
came  by  the  rank  of  captain,  but  he  has  borne  it  so  long  and 
gallantly  that  there  is  no  use  in  an}'  longer  questioning  the  title. 
Fie  does  not  claim  it,  neither  does  he  deny  it.  But  the  wags 
who  call  upon  Mrs.  Brandon  can  always,  as  the  phrase  is, 
";  draw"  her  father,  b}'  speaking  of  Prussia,  France,  Waterloo, 
or  battles  in  general,  until  the  Little  Sister  says,  "  Now,  never 
mind  about  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  papa  "  (she  says  Pa  —  her  A's 
are  irregular  —  I  can't  help  it)  —  "  never  mind  about  Waterloo, 
papa;  3'ou've  told  them  all  about  it.  And  don't  go  on,  Mr. 
Beans,  don't,  please^  go  on  in  that  way." 

Young  Beans  has  already  drawn  "Captain  Gann  (assisted 
b}'  Shaw,  the  Life-Guardsman)  killing  twenty-four  French  cui- 


152  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

rassiers  at  "Waterloo."  "Captain  Gann  defending  Hougouniont." 
"  Captain  Gann,  called  upon  by  Napoleon  Buonaparte  to  lay 
down  his  arms,  saying,  'A  captain  of  militia  dies,  but  never 
surrenders.'  "  ''  The  Duke  of  Wellington,  pointing  to  the  ad- 
vancing Old  Guard,  and  saying,  '  Up,  Gann,  and  at  them.' " 
And  these  sketches  are  so  droll  that  even  the  Little  Sister, 
Gann's  own  daughter,  can't  help  laughing  at  them.  To  be 
sure,  she  loves  fun,  the  Little  Sister ;  laughs  over  droll  books  ; 
laughs  to  herself,  in  her  little  quiet  corner  at  work ;  laughs 
over  pictures  ;  and,  at  the  right  place,  laughs  and  S3'mpathizes 
too.  Ridley  says,  he  knows  few  better  critics  of  pictures  than 
Mrs.  Brandon.  She  has  a  sweet  temper,  a  merry  sense  of 
humor,  that  makes  the  cheeks  dimple  and  the  eyes  shine  ;  and 
a  kind  heart,  that  has  been  sorely  tried  and  wounded,  but  is 
still  soft  and  gentle.  Fortunate  are  they  whose  hearts  so  tried 
by  suffering,  yet  recover  their  health.  Some  have  illnesses 
from  which  there  is  no  recovery,  and  drag  through  life  after- 
wards, maimed  and  invalided. 

But  this  Little  Sister,  having  been  subjected  in  3'outh  to  a 
dreadful  trial  and  sorrow,  was  saved  out  of  them  b}^  a  kind 
Providence,  and  is  now  so  thoroughly  restored  as  to  own  that  she 
is  happy,  and  to  thank  God  that  she  can  be  grateful  and  useful. 
When  poor  Montfitchet  died,  she  nursed  him  through  his  illness 
as  tenderly  as  his  good  wife  herself.  In  the  days  of  her  own  chief 
grief  and  misfortune,  her  father,  who  was  under  the  domination 
of  his  wife,  a  cruel  and  blundering  woman,  thrust  out  poor  little 
Caroline  from  his  door,  when  she  returned  to  it  the  broken- 
hearted victim  of  a  scoundrel's  seduction ;  and  when  the  old 
captain  was  himself  in  want  and  houseless,  she  had  found  him, 
sheltered,  and  fed  him.  And  i<^^  was  from  that  da}'  her  wounds 
had  begun  to  heal,  and,  from  gratitude  for  this  immense  piece  of 
good  fortune  vouchsafed  to  her,  that  her  happiness  and  cheer- 
fulness returned.  Returned  ?  There  was  an  old  servant  of  the 
family,  who  could  not  sta}'  in  the  house  because  she  was  so 
abominably  disrespectful  to  the  captain,  and  this  woman  said 
she  had  never  known  Miss  Caroline  so  cheerful  nor  so  happy, 
nor  so  good-looking  as  she  was  now. 

So  Captain  Gann  came  to  live  with  his  daughter,  and  pat- 
ronized her  with  much  dignity.  He  had  a  very  few  yearly 
pounds,  which  served  to  pay  his  club  expenses,  and  a  portion 
of  his  clothes.  His  club,  I  need  not  say,  was  at  the  "Ad- 
miral Bj'ng,"  Tottenham  Court  Road,  and  here  the  captain  met 
frequently  a  pleasant  little  society,  and  bragged,  unceasingly 
about  his  former  prosperity. 


ON   HIS  WAY   THROUGH   THE  WOELD.  153 

I  have  heard  that  the  countr^'-house  in  Kent,  of  which  he 
boasted,  was  a  shabby  little  lodging-house  at  Margate,  of  which 
the  furniture  was  sold  in  execution  ;  but  if  it  had  been  a  palace 
the  captain  would  not  have  been  out  of  place  there,  one  or  two 
people  still  rather  fondly  thought.  His  daughter,  amongst 
others,  liad  tried  to  fancy  all  sorts  of  good  of  her  father,  and 
especially  that  he  was  a  man  of  remarkably  good  manners. 
But  she  had  seen  one  or  two  gentlemen  since  she  knew  the 
poor  old  father  —  gentlemen  with  rough  coats  and  good  hearts, 
like  Dr.  Goodenough  ;  gentlemen  with  superfine  coats  and  su- 
perfine double-milled  manners,  like  Dr.  Firmin,  and  hearts  — 
well,  never  mind  about  that  point ;  gentlemen  of  no  A's,  like 
the  good,  dear,  faithful  benefactor  who  had  rescued  her  at  the 
brink  of  despair ;  men  of  genius,  like  Ridley  ;  great  hearty, 
generous,  honest  gentlemen,  like  Philip  ;  —  and  this  illusion 
about  Pa,  I  suppose,  had  vanished  along  with  some  other  fan- 
cies of  her  poor  little  maiden  youth.  The  truth  is,  she  had  an 
understanding  with  the  "Admiral  Byng :  "  the  landlady  was 
instructed  as  to  the  supplies  to  be  furnished  to  the  captain  ; 
and  as  for  his  stories,  poor  Caroline  knew  them  a  great  deal  too 
well  to  believe  in  them  any  more. 

I  would  not  be  understood  to  accuse  the  captain  of  habitual 
inebriety.  He  was  a  generous  officer,  and  his  delight  was, 
when  in  cash,  to  order  "  glasses  round  "  for  the  company  at  the 
club,  to  whom  he  narrated  the  history  of  his  brilliant  early  days, 
when  he  lived  in  some  of  the  tiptop  society  of  this  cit}',  sir  — 
a  society  in  which,  we  need  not  say,  the  custom  always  is  for 
gentlemen  to  treat  other  gentlemen  to  rum- and- water.  Never 
mind  —  I  wish  we  were  all  as  happy  as  the  captain.  I  see  his 
jolly  face  now  before  me  as  it  blooms  tlirough  the  window  in 
Thornhaugh  Street,  and  the  wave  of  the  somewhat  dingy  hand 
that  sweeps  me  a  gracious  recognition. 

The  clergyman  of  the  neighboring  chapel  was  a  very  good 
friend  of  the  Little  Sister,  and  has  taken  tea  in  her  parlor ;  to 
which  circumstance  the  captain  frequently  alluded,  pointing  out 
the  very  chair  on  which  the  divine  sat.  Mr.  Gann  attended 
his  ministrations  regularl}'  every  Sunday,  and  brought  a  rich, 
though  somewhat  worn,  bass  voice  to  bear  upon  the  anthems 
and  hymns  at  the  chapel.  His  style  was  more  florid  than  is 
general  now  among  church  singers,  and,  indeed,  had  been 
acquii-ed  in  a  former  age  and  in  the  performance  of  rich  Bac- 
chanalian chants,  such  as  delighted  the  contemporaries  of  our 
Incledons  and  Brahams.  With  a  very  little  entreaty,  the  cap- 
tain could  be  induced  to  sing  at  the  club  ;  and  I  must  own  that 


154  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

Phil  Firmin  would  draw  the  captain  out,  and  extract  from  him 
a  song  of  ancient  days  ;  but  this  must  be  in  the  absence  of  his 
daughter,  whose  little  face  wore  an  air  of  such  extreme  terror 
and  disturbance  when  her  father  sang,  that  he  presently  ceased 
from  exercising  his  musical  talents  in  her  hearing.  He  hung 
up  his  lyre,  whereof  it  must  be  owned  that  time  had  broken 
many  of  the  once  resounding  chords. 

With  a  sketch  or  two  contributed  by  her  lodgers  —  with  a  few 
gimcracks  from  the  neighboring  Wardour  Street  presented  by 
others  of  her  friends  —  with  the  chairs,  tables,  and  bureaus  as 
bright  as  beeswax  and  rubbing  could  make  them  —  the  Little 
Sister's  room  was  a  cheer}-  little  place,  and  received  not  a  little 
company.  She  allowed  Pa's  pipe.  "  It's  company  to  him," 
she  said.  "A  man  can't  be  doing  much  harm  when  he  is 
smoking  his  pipe."  And  she  allowed  Phil's  cigar.  Anything 
was  allowed  to  Pliil,  the  other  lodgers  declared,  who  professed 
to  be  quite  jealous  of  Philip  Firmin.  She  had  a  verj-  few  books. 
"  When  I  was  a  girl  I  used  to  be  always  reading  novels,"  she 
said;  "but,  la,  they're  mostly  nonsense.  There's  Mr.  Pen- 
dennis,  who  comes  to  see  Mr.  Ridley.  I  wonder  how  a  married 
man  can  go  on  writing  about  love,  and  all  that  stuff!  "  And, 
indeed,  it  is  rather  absurd  for  elderly  fingers  to  be  still  twang- 
ing Dan  Cupid's  toy  bow  and  arrows.  Yesterday  is  gone  — 
3'es,  but  very  well  remembered  ;  and  we  think  of  it  the  more 
now  we  know  that  To-morrow  is  not  going  to  bring  us  much. 

Into  Mrs.  Brandon's  parlor  Mr.  Ridley's  old  father  would 
sometimes  enter  of  evenings,  and  share  the  bit  of  bread  and 
cheese,  or  the  modest  supper  of  Mrs.  Brandon  and  the  captain. 
The  homel}'  little  meal  has  almost  vanished  out  of  our  life  now, 
but  in  former  days  it  assembled  many  a  famil}^  round  its  kindly 
board.  A  little  modest  supper-tray  —  a  little  quiet  prattle  — 
a  little  kindly  glass  that  cheered  and  never  inebriated.  I  can 
see  friendl}^  faces  smiling  round  such  a  meal,  at  a  period  not  far 
gone,  but  how  distant !  I  wonder  whether  there  are  any  old 
folks  now,  in  old  quarters  of  old  country  towns,  who  come  to 
each  other's  houses  in  sedan-chairs,  at  six  o'clock,  and  pla}'  at 
quadrille  until  supper-tra}'  time?  Of  evenings  Ridley  and  the 
captain,  I  say,  would  have  a  solemn  game  at  cribbage,  and 
the  Little  Sister  would  make  up  a  jug  of  something  good  for  the 
two  oldsters.  She  liked  Mr.  Ridle}'  to  come,  for  he  always 
treated  her  father  so  respectful,  and  w^as  quite  the  gentleman. 
And  as  for  Mrs.  Ridley.  Mv.  R.'s  "  good  lady,"  —  was  she  not 
also  svateful  to  the  Little  Sister  for  having  nursed  her  son 
during  his  malady  ?    Through  their  connection  they  were  enabled 


The  Old  Fogies. 


ON  HIS  WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  155 

to  procure  Mrs.  Brandon  many  valuable  friends  ;  and  alwa3's 
were  pleased  to  pass  an  evening  with  the  captain,  and  were  as 
civil  to  him  as  they  could  have  been  had  he  been  at  the  very 
height  of  his  prosperity'  and  splendor.  M}-  private  opinion  of 
the  old  captain,  j'ou  see,  is  that  he  was  a  worthless  old  captain, 
but  most  fortunate  in  his  earl}-  ruin,  after  which  he  had  lived 
very  much  admired  and  comfortable,  sufficient  whiskey  being 
almost  alwaj'S  provided  for 'him. 

Old  Mr.  Ridley's  respect  for  her  father  afforded  a  most 
precious  consolation  to  the  Little  Sister.  Ridley  liked  to  have 
the  paper  read  to  him.  He  was  never  quite  eas}^  with  print, 
and  to  his  last  da3-s,  manj'  words  to  be  met  with  in  newspapers 
and  elsewhere  used  to  occasion  the  good  butler  much  intellectual 
trouble.  The  Little  Sister  made  his  lodgers'  bills  out  for  him 
(Mr.  R.,  as  well  as  the  captain's  daughter,  strove  to  increase  a 
small  income  b}^  the  letting  of  furnished  apartments) ,  or  the 
captain  himself  would  take  these  documents  in  charge  ;  he  wrote 
a  noble  mercantile  hand,  rendered  now  somewhat  shaky  by 
time,  but  still  ver}'  fine  in  flourishes  and  capitals,  and  very  much 
at  worth}'  Mr.  Ridley's  service.  Time  was,  when  his  son  was 
a  bo}',  that  J.  J.  himself  had  prepared  these  accounts,  which 
neither  his  father  nor  his  mother  were  ver}^  competent  to 
arrange.  "  We  were  not,  in  oar  30ung  time,  Mr.  Gann," 
Ridle}' remarked  to  his  friend,  "  brought  up  to  much  scholar- 
ship ;  and  very  little  book-learning  was  given  to  persons  in  my 
rank  of  life.  It  was  necessary  and  proper  for  you  gentlemen, 
of  course,  sir."  "Of  course,  Mr.  Ridley,"  winks  the  other 
veteran  over  his  pipe.  "  But  I  can't  go  and  ask  my  son  John 
James  to  keep  his  old  father's  books  now  as  he  used  to  do  — 
which  to  do  so  is,  on  the  part  of  you  and  Mrs.  Brandon,  the 
part  of  true  friendship,  and  I  value  it,  sir,  and  so  do  my  son 
John  James  reckonize  and  value  it,  sir."  Mr.  Ridley  had  served 
gentlemen  of  the  lonne  ecole.  No  nobleman  could  be  more 
courtly  and  grave  than  he  was.  In  Mr.  Gann's  manner  there 
was  more  humorous  playfulness,  which  in  no  way,  however, 
diminished  the  captain's  high  breeding.  As  he  continued  to  be 
intimate  with  Mr.  Ridley,  he  became  loftier  and  more  majestic. 
I  think  each  of  these  elders  acted  on  the  other,  and  for  good  ; 
and  I  hope  Ridley's  opinion  was  correct,  that  Mr.  Gann  was 
ever  the  gentleman.  To  see  these  two  good  fogies  together 
was  a  spectacle  for  edification.  Their  tumblers  kissed  each 
other  on  the  table.  Their  elderly  friendship  brought  comfort 
to  themselves  and  their  families.  ,  A  little  matter  of  money 
once  created  a  coolness  between  the  two  old  gentlemen.     Biit 


156  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

the  Little  Sister  paid  the  outstanding  account  between  her  father 
and  Mr.  Ridley  :  there  never  was  any  further  talk  of  pecuniary 
loans  between  them  ;  and  when  they  went  to  the  ' '  Admiral 
Byng,"  each  paid  for  himself. 

Phil  often  heard  of  that  nightly  meeting  at  the  "  Admiral's 
Head,"  and  longed  to  be  of  the  company.  But  even  when  he 
saw  the  old  gentlemen  in  the  Little  Sister's  parlor,  they  felt 
dimly  that  he  was  making  fun  of  them.  The  captain  would  not 
have  been  able  to  brag  so  at  ease  had  Phil  been  continually 
watching  him.  "  I  have  'ad  the  honor  of  waiting  on  your 
worth}'  father  at  my  Lord  Todmorden's  table.  Our  little  club 
ain't  no  place  for  you,  Mr.  Philip,  nor  for  my  son,  though  he's 
a  good  son,  and  proud  me  and  his  mother  is  of  him,  which  he 
have  never  gave  us  a  moment's  pain,  except  when  he  was  ill, 
since  he  have  came  to  man's  estate,  most  thankful  am  I,  and 
with  my  hand  on  my  heart,  for  to  be  able  to  say  so.  But  what 
is  good  for  me  and  Mr.  Gann,  won't  suit  you  young  gentlemen. 
Fou  ain't  a  tradesman,  sir,  else  I'm  mistaken  in  the  familj',  which 
I  thought  the  Ringwoods  one  of  the  best  in  England,  and  the 
Firmins,  a  good  one  likewise."  Mr.  Ridley  liked  the  sound  of 
his  own  voice.  At  the  festive  meetings  of  the  club,  seldom  a 
night  passed  in  which  he  did  not  compliment  his  brother  B3'ngs 
and  air  his  own  orator^-.  Under  this  reproof  Phil  blushed,  and 
hung  his  conscious  head  with  shame.  "  Mr.  Ridley,"  says  he, 
"  3'ou  shall  find  I  won't  come  where  I  am  not  welcome  ;  and  if  I 
come  to  annoy  you  at  the  '  Admiral  Byng,'  may  I  be  taken  out  on 
the  quarterdeck  and  shot."  On  which  Mr.  Ridley  pronounced 
Philip  to^be  a  "  most  sing'lar,  astrornar^-,  and  ascentric  young 
man.  A  good  heart,  sir.  Most  generous  to  relieve  distress. 
Fine  talent,  sir ;  but  I  fear  —  I  fear  they  won't  come  to  much 
good,  Mr.  Gann  —  saving  your  presence,  Mrs.  Brandon,  m'm, 
which,  of  course,  3'ou  always  stand  up  for  him." 

When  Philip  Firmin  had  had  liis  ^jipe  and  his  talk  with  the  Lit- 
tle Sister  in  her  parlor,  he  would  ascend  and  smoke  his  second, 
third,  tenth  pipe  in  J.  J.  Ridle^-'s  studio.  He  would  pass  hours 
before  J.  J.'s  easel,  pouring  out  talk  about  politics,  about 
religion,  about  poetr\',  about  women,  about  the  dreadful  slav- 
ishness  and  meanness  of  the  world  ;  unwearied  in  talk  and 
idleness,  as  placid  J.  J.  was  in  listening  and  labor.  The 
painter  had  been  too  busy  in  life  over  his  easel  to  read  many 
books.  His  ignorance  of  literature  smote  him  with  a  frequent 
shame.  He  admired  book-writers,  and  3'oung  men  of  the  uni- 
versity who  quoted  their  Gj'cek  and  their  Plorace  glibl3^  He 
listened  with  deference  to  their  talk  on  such  matters  ;  no  doubt 


ON   HIS   WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  157 

got  good  hints  from  some  of  them  ;  was  always  secretl}'  pained 
and  surprised  wlien  the  universit}'  gentlemen  were  beaten  in 
argument,  or  loud  and  coarse  in  conversation,  as  sometimes 
thej'  would  be.  "  J.  J.  is  a  very  clever  fellow  of  course,"  Mr. 
Jarman  would  sa}'  of  him,  "  and  the  luckiest  man  in  Europe. 
He  loves  painting,  and  he  is  at  work  all  day.  He  loves  toady- 
ing fine  people,  and  he  goes  to  a  tea-party  ever}-  night."  You 
all  knew  Jarman  of  Charlotte  Street,  the  miniature-painter? 
He  was  one  of  the  kings  of  the  "  Haunt."  His  tongiie  spared 
no  one.  He  envied  all  success,  and  the  sight  of  prosperity  made 
him  furious  :  but  to  the  unsuccessful  he  was  kind  ;  to  the  poor 
eager  with  help  and  prodigal  of  compassion  ;  and  that  old  talk 
about  nature's  noblemen  and  the  glory  of  labor  was  very  fiercely 
and  eloquentl}'  waged  by  him.  His  friends  admired  him :  he 
was  the  soul  of  independence,  and  thought  most  men  sneaks 
who  wore  clean  linen  and  frequented  gentlemen's  society  :  but 
it  must  be  owned  his  landlords  had  a  bad  opinion  of  him,  and 
I  have  heard  of  one  or  two  of  his  pecuniary  transactions  which 
certainly  were  not  to  Mr.  Jarman's  credit.  Jarman  was  a 
man  of  remarkable  humor.  He  was  fond  of  the  widow,  and 
would  speak  of  her  goodness,  usefulness,  and  honest}^  with 
teai's  in  his  e3-es.  She  was  poor  and  struggling  yet.  Had  she 
been  wealthy  and  pi'osperous,  Mr.  Jarman  would  not  have  been 
so  alive  to  her  merit. 

We  ascend  to  the  room  on  the  first-floor,  where  the  centre 
window  has  been  heightened,  so  as  to  afford  an  upper  light,  and 
under  that  stream  of  radiance  we  behold  the  head  of  an  old 
friend,  Mr.  J.  J.  Ridle}',  the  R.  Academician.  Time  has 
somewhat  thinned  his  own  copious  locks,  and  prematurely 
streaked  the  head  with  silver.  His  face  is  rather  wan  ;  the 
eager,  sensitive  hand  which  poises  brush  and  palette,  and 
quivers  over  the  picture,  is  ver}'  thin  :  round  his  eyes  are  many 
lines  of  ill  health  and,  perhaps,  care,  but  the  eyes  are  as  bright 
as  ever,  and,  when  they  look  at  the  canvas  or  the  model  which 
he  transfers  to  it,  clear,  and  keen,  and  happ3^  He  has  a  very 
sweet  singing  voice,  and  warbles  at  his  work,  or  whistles  at  it, 
smiling.  He  sets  his  hand  little  feats  of  skill  to  perform,  and 
smiles  with  a  boyish  pleasure  at  his  own  matchless  dexterity. 
I  have  seen  him,  with  an  old  pewter  mustard-pot  for  a  model, 
fashion  a  splendid  silver  flagon  in  one  of  his  pictures  ;  paint 
the  hair  of  an  animal,  the  folds  and  flowers  of  a  bit  of  brocade, 
and  so  forth,  with  a  perfect  delight  in  the  work  he  w'as  per- 
forming:  a  delight  lasting  from  morning  till  sundown,  during 
which  time  he  was  too  busy  to  touch  the  biscuit  and  glass  of 


158  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

water  which  was  prepared  for  his  frugal  hineheon.  He  is 
greedy  of  the  last  miaiite  of  light,  and  never  can  be  got  from 
his  darling  pictures  without  a  regret.  To  be  a  painter,  and  to 
have  your  hand  in  perfect  command,  I  hold  to  be  one  of  life's 
summa  bona.  The  happ}'  mixture  of  hand  and  head  work  must 
render  tiie  occupation  supremely  pleasant.  In  the  day's  work 
must  occur  endless  delightful  difficulties  and  occasions  for  skill. 
Over  the  details  of  that  armor,  that  drapery,  or  what  not,  the 
sparkle  of  that  eye,  the  downy  blush  of  that  cheek,  the  jewel 
on  that  neck,  tliei-e  are  battles  to  be  fought  and  victories  to  be 
won.  Each  day  there  must  occur  critical  moments  of  supreme 
struggle  and  triumph,  when  struggle  and  victory  must  be  both 
invigorating  and  exquisitely  pleasing — as  a  burst  across  coun- 
try is  to  a  fine  rider  perfectly  mounted,  who  knows  that  lais 
courage  and  his  horse  will  never  fail  him.  There  is  the  ex- 
citement of  the  game,  and  the  gallant  delight  in  winning  it. 
Of  this  sort  of  admirable  reward  for  their  labor,  no  men,  I 
think,  have  a  greater  share  than  painters  (perhaps  a  violin- 
player  perfectly  and  t]-iumpliantly  performing  his  own  beautiful 
composition  may  be  equally  happy).  Here  is  occupation:  here 
is  excitement :  here  is  struggle  and  victor}' :  and  here  is  profit. 
Can  man  ask  more  from  fortune  ?  Dukes  and  Rothschilds  may 
be  envious  of  such  a  man. 

Though  Ridley  has  had  his  trials  and  troubles,  as  we  shall 
presently  learn,  his  art  has  mastered  them  all.  Black  Care 
may  have  sat  in  crupper  on  that  Pegasus,  but  has  never  un- 
horsed the  rider.  In  certain  minds,  art  is  dominant  and  supe- 
rior to  alLbeside —  stronger  than  love,  stronger  than  hate,  or 
care,  or  penury.  As  soon  as  the  fever  leaves  the  hand  free,  it 
is  seizing  and  fondhng  the  pencil.  Love  ma}'  frown  and  be 
false,  but  the  other  mistress  never  will.  vShe  is  always  true : 
always  new :  always  the  friend,  companion,  inestimable  con- 
soler. So  John  James  Ridle}'  sat  at  his  easel  from  breakfast 
till  sundown,  and  never  left  his  work  quite  willingly.  I  wonder 
are  men  of  other  trades  so  enamored  of  theirs  ;  whether  lawyers 
cling  to  the  last  to  their  darling  reports  ;  or  writers  prefer  their 
desks  and  inkstands  to  society,  to  friendship,  to  dear  idleness? 
I  have  seen  no  men  in  life  loving  their  profession  so  much 
as  painters,  except,  perhaps,  actors,  who,  when  not  engaged 
themselves,  always  go  to  the  play. 

Before  this  bus}-  easel  Phil  would  sit  for  hours,  and  pour 
out  endless  talk  and  tobacco-smoke.  His  presence  was  a  de- 
light to  Ridley's  soul ;  his  face  a  sunshine  ;  his  voice  a  cordial. 
Weakl}'-  himself,  and  almost  infirm  of  bod}',  with  sensibilities 


ON  HIS   WAY  THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  159 

tremulouslj'  keen,  the  painter  most  admired  amongst  men 
strength,  health,  good  spirits,  good  breeding.  Of  these,  in 
his  youth,  Phihp  had  a  wealth  of  endowment ;  and  I  hope 
these  precious  gifts  of  fortune  have  not  left  him  in  his  maturer 
age.  I  do  not  sa}'  that  with  all  men  Philip  was  so  popular. 
There  are  some  who  never  can  pardon  good  fortune,  and  in  the 
company  of  gentlemen  are  on  the  watch  for  offence  ;  and,  no 
doubt,  in  his  course  through  life,  poor  downright  Phil  trampled 
upon  corns  enough  of  those  who  met  him  in  his  wa}'.  "  Do 
you  know  why  Ridle^^  is  so  fond  of  Firmin?"  asked  Jar- 
man.  "Because  Firrain's  father  hangs  on  to  the  nobility  by 
the  pulse,  whilst  Ridley,  3'ou  know,  is  connected  with  them 
through  the  sideboard."  So  Jarman  had  the  double  horn  for 
his  adversary :  he  could  despise  a  man  for  not  being  a  gentle- 
man, and  insult  him  for  being  one.  I  have  met  with  people  in 
the  world  with  whom  the  latter  otfeuce  is  an  unpardonable 
crime  —  a  cause  of  ceaseless  doubt,  division,  and  suspicion. 
What  more  common  or  natural,  Bufo,  than  to  hate  another  for 
being  what  j'ou  are  not?  The  story  is  as  old  as  frogs,  bulls, 
and  men. 

Then,  to  be  sure,  besid'es  your  enviers  in  life,  there  are  your 
admirers.  Beyond  wit,  which  he  understood  —  beyond  genius, 
which  he  had  —  Ridle}'  admired  good  looks  and  manners,  and 
alwaj-s  kept  some  simple  hero  whom  he  loved  secretly  to  cherish 
and  worship.  He  loved  to  be  amongst  beautiful  women  and 
aristocratical  men.  Philip  Firmin,  with  his  republican  notions 
and  downright  bluntness  of  behavior  to  all  men  of  rank  superior 
to  him,  had  a  grand  high  manner  of  his  own;  and  if  he  had 
scarce  twopence  in  his  pocket,  would  have  put  his  hands  in 
them  with  as  much  independence  as  the  greatest  dandy  who 
ever  sauntered  on  Pall  Mall  pavement.  Wliat  a  coolness  the 
fellow  had !  Some  men  may,  not  unreasonabl}-,  have  thought 
it  impudence.  It  fascinated  Ridley.  To  be  such  a  man  ;  to 
have  such  a  figure  and  manner ;  to  be  able  to  look  society'  in 
the  face,  slap  it  on  the  shoulder,  if  you  were  so  minded,  and 
hold  it  by  the  button  —  wliat  would  not  Ridley  give  for  such 
powers  and  accomplishments?  You  will  please  to  bear  in 
mind,  I  am  not  saying  that  J.  J.  was  right,  only  that  he  was 
as  he  was.  I  hope  we  shall  have  nobody  in  this  story  without 
his  little  faults  and  peculiarities.  Jarman  was  quite  right  when 
he  said  Ridlc}-  loved  fine  company.  I  believe  his  pedigree  gave 
him  secret  anguishes.  He  would  rather  have  been  gentleman 
than  genius  ever  so  great ;  but  let  you  and  me,  who  have  no 


160  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

weaknesses  of  our  own,  try  and  look  charitably  on  this  con- 
fessed foible  of  my  friend. 

J.  J.  never  thought  of  rebuking  Philip  for  being  idle.  Phil 
was  as  the  lilies  of  the  field,  in  the  painter's  opinion.  He  was 
not  called  upon  to  toil  or  spin  ;  but  to  take  his  ease,  and  grow 
and  bask  in  sunshine,  and  be  arra\'ed  in  glory.  The  little 
clique  of  painters  knew  what  Firmin's  means  were.  Thirty 
thousand  pounds  of  his  own.  Thirty-  thousand  pounds  down, 
sir ;  and  the  inheritance  of  his  father's  immense  fortune  !  A 
splendor  emanated  from  this  gifted  young  man.  His'opinions, 
his  jokes,  his  laughter,  his  song,  had  the  weight  of  thirtj^ 
thousand  down,  sir;  and  &c.  &c.  What  call  had  he  to  work? 
Would  you  set  a  3'oung  nobleman  to  be  an  apprentice  ?  Philip 
was  free  to  be  as  idle  as  an}'  lord,  if  he  liked.  He  ought  to 
wear  fine  clothes,  ride  fine  horses,  dine  off  plate,  and  diink 
champagne  every  day.  J.  J.  would  work  quite  cheerfully  till 
sunset,  and  have  an  eightpeun}'  plate  of  meat  in  Wardour 
Street,  and  a  glass  of  porter  for  his  humble  dinner.  At  the 
"  Haunt,"  and  similar  places  of  Bohemian  resort,  a  snug  place 
near  the  fire  was  always  found  for  Firmin.  Fierce  republican 
as  he  was,  Jarman  had  a  smile  for  his  lordship,  and  used  to 
adopt  particularly  dandified  airs  when  he  had  been  invited  to 
Old  Parr  Street  to  dinner.  I  dare  say  Philip  liked  flatter}'. 
I  own  that  he  was  a  little  weak  in  this  respect,  and  that  j'ou 
and  I,  my  dear  sir,  are,  of  course,  far  his  superiors.  J.  J., 
who  loved  him,  would  have  had  him  follow  his  aunt's  and 
cousin's  advice,  and  live  in  better  company  ;  but  I  think  the 
painter  would  not  have  liked  his  pet  to  soil  his  hands  with  too 
much  work,  and  rather  admired  Mr.  Phil  for  being  idle. 

The  Little  Sister  gave  him  advice,  to  be  sure,  both  as  to 
the  company  he  should  keep  and  the  occupation  which  was 
wholesome  for  him.  But  when  others  of  his  acquaintance 
hinted  that  his  idleness  would  do  him  harm,  she  would  not 
hear  of  their  censure.  "  Wh}'  should  he  work  if  he  don't 
choose?"  she  asked.  "He  has  no  call  to  be  scribbling  and 
scrabbling.  You  wouldn't  have  Mm  sitting  all  day  painting 
little  dolls'  heads  on  canvas,  and  working  like  a  slave.  A 
pretty  idea,  indeed !  His  uncle  will  get  him  an  appointment. 
That's  the  thing  /^e  should  have.  Lie  should  be  secretar}'  to  an 
ambassador  abroad,  and  he  will  be  !  "  In  fact  Phil,  at  this 
period,  used  to  announce  his  wish  to  enter  the  diplomatic  ser- 
vice, and  his  hope  tliat  Lord  Ringwood  would  further  his  views 
in  that  respect.  Meanwhile  he  was  the  king  of  Thornhaugh 
Street.     He  might  be  as  idle  as  he  chose,  and  Mrs.  Brandon 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  161 

had  always  a  smile  for  him.     He  might  smoke  a  great  deal  too 
much,  but  she  worked  dalnt}'  little  cigar-cases  for  him.     She 
hemmed  his  fine  cambric  pocket-handkerchiefs,  and  embroidered 
his  crest  at  the  corners.     She  worked  him  a  waistcoat  so  splen- 
did that  he  almost  blushed  to  wear  it,  gorgeous  as  he  was  in 
apparel  at  this  period,  and  sumptuous  in  chains,  studs,  and 
haberdasher^'.     I  fear  Dr.  Firmin,  sighing  out  his  disapi)ointed 
hopes  in  respect  of  his  son,  has  rather  good  cause  for  his  dis- 
satisfaction.     But   of  these   remonstrances   the   Little    Sister 
would  not  hear.      "Idle,  why  not?      Wlw  should  he  work? 
Bo3's  will  be  bo3'S.     I  dare  sa}'  his  grumbling  old  Pa  was  not 
better  than  Pliilip  when  he  was  young !  "     And  this  she  spoke 
with  a  heightened  color  in  her  little  face,  and  a  defiant  toss  of 
her  head,  of  which  I  did  not  understand  all  the  significance 
then  ;  but  attributed  her  eager  partisanship  to  that  admirable 
injustice  which  belongs  to  all  good  women,  and  for  which  let 
us  be  daily  thankful.     I  know,  dear  ladies,  you  are  angry  at 
this  statement.     But,  even  at  the  risk  of  displeasing  you,  we 
must  tell  the  truth.     You  would  wish  to  represent  3-ourselves 
as  equitable,  logical,  and  strictlj'  just.      So,  I  dare  say  Dr. 
Johnson  would  have  liked  Mrs.  Thrale  to  say  to  him,   "Sir, 
your  manners  are  graceful ;  3'our  person  elegant,  cleanl3',  and 
eminentl3^  pleasing;  3-our  appetite  small  (especially  for  tea), 
and  your  dancing  equal  to  the  Violetta's  ; "  which,  you  per- 
ceive,   is   merely   ironical.      Women    equitable,    logical,    and 
strictly  just !      Mercy   upon   us !      If  the3-   were,    population 
would  cease,  the  world  would  be  a  howling  wilderness.     Well, 
in  a  word,  this  Little  Sister  petted  and  coaxed  Philip  Firmin 
in  such  an  absurd  wa3^  that  every  one  remarked  it  —  those  who 
had  no  friends,  no  sweethearts,  no  mothers,  no  daughters,  no 
wives,  and  those  who  were  petted,  and  coaxed,  and  spoiled  at 
home  themselves  ;  as  I  trust,  dearly  beloved,  is  your  case. 

Now,  again,  let  us  admit  that  Philip's  father  had  reason  to 
be  angry  with  the  boy,  and  deplore  his  son's  taste  for  low  com- 
pan3- ;  but  excuse  the  3'oung  man,  on  the  other  hand,  somewhat 
for  his  fierce  revolt  and  profound  distaste  at  much  in  his  home 
circle  which  annoyed  him.  "  By  heaven  !  "  he  would  roar  out, 
pulling  liis  hair  and  whiskers,  and  with  man3'  fierce  ejaculations, 
according  to  his  wont,  "the  solemnity  of  those  humbugs  sick- 
ens me  so,  that  I  should  like  to  crown  the  old  bishop  with  the 
soup-tureen,  and  box  Baron  Bumpsher's  ears  with  the  saddle 
of  mutton.  At  my  aunt's,  the  huml)ug  is  just  the  same.  It's 
better  done,  perhaps  ;  but  oh,  Pendennis  !  if  you  could  but 
know  the  pangs  which  tore  into  my  heart,  sir,  the  vulture  which 

11 


1G2  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

gnawed  at  this  confounded  liver,  when  I  saw  women  —  women 
who  ought  to  be  pure  —  women  who  ought  to  be  like  angels  — 
women  who  ought  to  know  no  art  but  that  of  coaxing  our  griefs 
awa}'  and  soothing  our  sorrows  —  fawning,  and  cringing,  and 
scheming ;  cold  to  this  person,  humble  to  that,  flattering  to  the 
rich,  and  indifferent  to  the  humble  in  station.  I  tell  jou  I  have 
seen  all  this,  Mrs.  Pendennis  !  I  won't  mention  names,  but  I 
have  met  with  those  who  have  made  me  old  before  my  time  — 
a  hundred  years  old !  The  zest  of  life  is  passed  from  me " 
(here  Mr.  Phil  would  gulp  a  bumper  from  the  nearest  decanter 
at  hand).  "  But  if  I  like  what  your  husband  is  pleased  to  cali 
low  society,  it  is  because  I  have  seen  the  other.  I  have  dangled 
about  at  line  parties,  and  danced  at  fashionable  balls.  I  have 
seen  mothers  bring  their  virgin  daughters  up  to  battered  old 
rakes,  and  read^'  to  sacrifice  their  innocence  for  fortune  or  a 
title.  The  atmosphere  of  those  polite  drawing-rooms  stifles  me. 
I  can't  bow  the  knee  to  the  horrible  old  Mammon.  I  walk 
about  in  the  crowds  as  lonely  as  if  1  was  in  a  wildei'ness  ;  and 
don't  begin  to  breathe  freely  until  I  get  some  honest  tobacco 
to  clear  the  air.  As  for  your  husband"  (meaning  the  writer 
of  this  memoir),  "  he  cannot  help  himself;  he  is  a  worldling,  of 
the  earth,  earth}'.  If  a  duke  were  to  ask  him  to  dinner  to-mor- 
row, the  parasite  owns  that  he  would  go.  Allow  me,  m}-  friends, 
my  freedom,  my  rough  companions,  in  their  work-day  clothes. 
I  don't  hear  such  lies  and  flatteries  come  from  behind  pi[)es.  as 
used  to  pass  from  above  white  chokers  when  I  was  in  the  world." 
And  he  would  tear  at  his  cr-avat,  as  though  the  mere  thought  of 
the  world's  conventionality  wellnigh  strangled  him. 

This,  to  be  sure,  was  in  a  late  stage  of  his  career,  but  I  take 
up  the  biography  here  and  there,  so  as  to  give  the  best  idea  I 
may  of  ni}-  friend's  character.  At  this  time  —  he  is  out  of  the 
country  just  now,  and  besides,  if  he  saw  his  own  likeness  staring 
him  in  the  face,  I  am  confident  he  would  not  know  it  —  Mr. 
Philip,  in  some  things,  was  as  obstinate  as  a  mule,  and  in  others 
as  weak  as  a  woman.  He  had  a  cliildish  sensibility  for  what 
was  tender,  helpless,  pretty,  or  pathetic  ;  and  a  mighty  scorn 
of  imposture,  wherever  he  found  it.  He  had  many  good  pur- 
poses, which  were  often  very  vacillating,  and  were  but  seldom 
performed.  He  had  a  A-ast  number  of  evil  habits,  whereof,  3'ou 
know,  idleness  is  said  to  be  tlie  root.  Many  of  these  evil  pro- 
pensities he  coaxed  and  cuddled  with  much  care  ;  and  though 
he  roared  out  peccavi  most  frankly  when  charged  with  his  sins, 
this  criminal  would  fall  to  peccation  very  soon  after  promising 
ijmendment.    What  he  liked  he  would  have.     What  he  disliked 


ON   HIS  WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  163 

he  could  with  the  greatest  difficulty  be  found  to  do.  He  liked 
good  dinners,  good  wine,  good  horses,  good  clothes,  and  late 
hours  ;  and  in  all  these  comforts  of  life  (or  any  others  which  he 
fancied,  or  which  were  within  his  means)  he  indulged  himself 
with  perfect  freedom.  He  hated  hypocrisy  on  his  own  part, 
and  hypocrites  in  general.  He  said  everything  that  came  into 
his  mind  about  tilings  and  people  ;  and,  of  course,  was  often 
wrong  and  often  prejudiced,  and  often  occasioned  howls  of  in- 
dignation or  malignant  whispers  of  hatred  b}'  his  free  speaking. 
He  believed  evervthing  that  was  said  to  him  until  his  informant 
had  misled  him  once  or  twice,  after  which  he  would  believe 
nothing.  And  here  3"ou  will  see  that  his  impetuous  credulity 
was  as  absurd  as  the  subsequent  obstinac}'  of  his  unbelief.  My 
dear  young  friend,  the  profitable  way  in  life  is  the  middle  v^ay. 
Don't  quite  believe  anybody',  for  he  ma}'  mislead  you  ;  neither 
disbelieve  him,  for  that  is  uncomplimentar}-  to  your  friend. 
Black  is  not  so  ver^^  black  ;  and  as  for  white,  bon  Dieu!  in  our 
climate  what  paint  will  remain  white  long?  If  Philip  was  self- 
indulgent,  I  suppose  other  people  are  self-indulgent  likewise : 
and  besides,  you  know%  j'our  faultless  heroes  have  ever  so  long 
gone  out  of  fashion.  To  be  young,  to  be  good-looking,  to  be 
healtliy,  to  be  hungr}'  three  times  a  da}',  to  have  plenty  of  money, 
a  great  alacrity  of  sleeping,  and  nothing  to  do  —  all  these,  I  dare 
say,  are  very  dangerous  temptations  to  a  man,  but  I  think  I  know 
some  wiio  would  like  to  undergo  the  dangers  of  the  trial.  Sup- 
pose there  be  holidays,  is  there  not  work-time  too?  Suppose 
to-day  is  feast-day  ;  may  not  tears  and  repentance  come  to-mor- 
row? Such  times  are  in  store  for  Master  Phil,  and  so  please 
to  let  him  have  rest  and  comfort  for  a  chapter  or  two. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

IMPLETUR  VETERIS  BACCHI. 

That  time,  that  merry  time,  of  Brandon's,  of  Bohemia,  of 
oysters,  of  idleness,  of  smoking,  of  song  at  night  and  profuse 
soda-water  in  the  morning,  of  a  pillow^,  lonely  and  bachelor  it 
is  true,  but  with  few  cares  for  bedfellows,  of  plenteous  pocket- 
money,  of  ease  for  to-day  and  little  heed  for  to-morrow,  was 
often  remembered  by  Philip  in  after  days.  Mr.  Phil's  views  of 
life  were  not  very  exalted,  were  they  ?     The  fruits  of  this  world, 


164  THE  ADVENTURES  OF   PHILIP 

which  he  devoured  with  such  gusto,  I  must  own  were  of  the 
common  kitchen-garden  sort ;  and  the  lazy  rogue's  ambition 
went  no  farther  than  to  stroll  along  the  sunshiny  wall,  eat  his 
fill,  and  then  repose  comfortably  in  the  arbor  under  the  arched 
vine.  Wh}'  did  Phil's  mother's  parents  leave  her  tliirty  thousand 
pounds  ?  I  dare  say  some  misguided  people  would  be  glad  to 
do  as  much  for  their  sons  ;  but,  if  I  have  ten,  I  am  determined 
they  shall  either  have  a  hundred  thousand  apiece,  or  else  bare 
bread  and  cheese.  "  Man  was  made  to  labor,  and  to  be  lazy," 
Phil  would  affirm  with  his  usual  energy  of  expression.  "  When 
the  Indian  warrior  goes  on  the  hunting  path,  he  is  sober,  active, 
indomitable.  No  dangers  fright  him,  and  no  labors  tire.  He 
endures  the  cold  of  the  winter  ;  he  couches  on  the  forest  leaves  ; 
he  subsists  on  frugal  roots  or  the  casual  spoil  of  his  bow. 
When  he  returns  to  his  village,  he  gorges  to  repletion  ;  he  sleeps, 
perhaps,  to  excess.  When  the  game  is  devoured,  and  the  fire- 
water exhausted,  again  he  sallies  forth  into  the  wilderness  ;  he 
outclimbs  the  'possum  and  he  throttles  the  bear.  I  am  the 
Indian  :  and  this  '  Haunt'  is  my  wigwam  !  Barbara  my  squaw, 
bring  me  oysters  ;  bring  me  a  jug  of  the  frothing  black  beer  of 
the  pale-faces,  or  I  will  hang  up  thy  scalp  on  my  tent-pole  ! " 
And  old  Barbara,  the  good  old  attendant  of  this  "  Haunt"  of 
Bandits,  would  sa}',  "Law,  Mr.  Philip,  how  you  do  go  on,  to 
be  sure!"  Where  is  the  "Haunt"  now?  and  where  are  the 
merry  men  all  who  there  assembled  ?  The  sign  is  down  ;  the 
song  is  silent ;  the  sand  is  swept  from  the  floor ;  the  pipes  are 
broken,  and  the  ashes  are  scattered. 

A  lit-tle  more  gossip  about  his  merr}'  days,  and  we  have  done. 
He,  Philip,  was  called  to  the  bar  in  due  course,  and  at  his  call- 
supper  we  assembled  a  dozen  of  his  elderly  and  youthful  friends. 
Tlie  chambers  in  Parchment  Buildings  were  given  up  to  him  for 
this  da}' .  Mr.  Van  John,  I  think,  was  away  attending  a  steeple- 
chase ;  but  Mr.  Cassidy  was  with  us,  and  several  of  Philip's 
acquaintances  of  school,  college,  and  the  world.  There  was 
Philip's  father,  and  Philip's  uncle  Twysden,  and  I,  Phil's  revered 
and  respectable  school  senior,  and  others  of  our  ancient  semi- 
nary. There  was  Burroughs,  the  second  wrangler  of  his  year, 
great  in  metaphysics,  greater  with  the  knife  and  fork.  There 
was  Stackpole.  Eblana's  favorite  child  —  the  glutton  of  all  learn- 
ing, the  master  of  man}-  languages,  who  stuttered  and  blushed 
when  he  spoke  his  own.  There  was  Pinkerton,  who,  albeit  an 
ignoramus  at  the  university,  was  already  winning  prodigious 
triumphs  at  the  Parliamentary  bar,  and  investing  in  Consols  to 
the  admiration  of  all  his  contemporaries.     There  was  Rosebury 


ON  HIS  WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  165 

the  beautiful,  the  May-Fair  pet  and  delight  of  Almack's,  the  cards 
on  whose  mantel-piece  made  all  men  open  the  eyes  of  wonder, 
and  some  of  us  dart  the  scowl  of  env}-.  There  was  m}^  Lord 
Egham,  Lord  Ascot's  noble  son.  There  was  Tom  Dale,  who, 
having  carried  on  his  university  career  too  splendidl}',  had  come 
to  grief  in  the  midst  of  it  and  was  now  meekly  earning  his  bread  in 
the  reportei's'  galler}',  alongside  of  Cassidy.  There  was  Mac- 
bride,  who,  having  thrown  up  his  fellowship  and  married  his 
cousin,  was  now  doing  a  brave  battle  with  povert\",  and  making 
literature  feed  him  until  law  should  reward  him  more  splendidl3^ 
There  was  Hay  thorn,  the  country  gentleman,  who  ever  remem- 
bered his  old  college  chums,  and  kept  the  memor}'  of  that  friend- 
ship up  by  constant  reminders  of  pheasants  and  game  in  the 
season.  There  were  Raby  and  Maynard  from  the  Guards'  Club 
(Maynard  sleeps  now  under  Crimean  snows),  who  preferred 
arms  to  the  toga  ;  but  carried  into  their  military'  life  the  love 
of  their  old  books,  the  affection  of  their  old  friends.  Most  of 
these  must  be  mute  personages  in  our  little  drama.  Could  any 
chi'onicler  remember  the  talk  of  all  of  them  ? 

Several  of  the  guests  present  were  members  of  the  Inn  of 
Court  (the  Upper  Temple) ,  which  had  conferred  on  Philip  the 
degree  of  Barrister-at-Law.  He  had  dined  in  his  wig  and 
gown  (Blackmore's  wig  and  gown)  in  the  inn-hall  that  da}',  in 
company  with  other  members  of  his  inn  ;  and,  dinner  over,  we 
adjourned  to  Phil's  chambers  in  Parchment  Buildings,  where  a 
dessert  was  served,  to  which  Mr.  Firmin's  friends  were  con- 
voked. 

The  wines  came  from  Dr.  Firmin's  cellar.  His  servants 
were  in  attendance  to  wait  upon  the  compan3\  Father  and  son 
both  foved  splendid  hospitalities,  and,  so  far  as  creature  com- 
forts went,  Philip's  feast  was  richly  provided.  "A  supper,  I 
love  a  supper  of  all  things  !  And  in  order  that  I  might  enjoy 
yours,  I  only  took  a  single  mutton-chop  for  dinner  !  "  cried  Mr. 
Twysden,  as  he  greeted  Philip.  Indeed,  we  found  him,  as  we 
arrived  from  Hall,  already  in  the  chambers,  and  eating  the  3'oung 
barrister's  dessert.  "  He's  been  here  ever  so  long,"  sa^-s  Mr. 
Brice,  who  officiated  as  butler,  "pegging  awa}'  at  the  olives 
and  macaroons.  Shouldn't  wonder  if  he  has  pocketed  some." 
There  was  small  respect  on  the  part  of  Brice  for  Mr.  Twysden, 
whom  the  worthy  butler  frankly  pronounced  to  be  a  stingy 
'umbug.  Meanwhile,  Talbot  believed  that  the  old  man  re- 
spected him,  and  always  conversed  with  Brice,  and  treated  him 
with  a  cheerful  cordiality. 

The  outer  Philistines  quickly  arrived,  and  but  that  the  wine 


166  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

and  men  were  older,  one  might  have  fancied  oneself  at  a  college 
wine-party.  Mr.  Twysden  talked  for  the  whole  compan3^  He 
was  radiant.  He  felt  himself  in  high  spirits.  He  did  the  hon- 
ors of  Philip's  table.  Indeed,  no  man  was  more  hospitable 
with  other  folks'  wine.  Philip  himself  was  silent  and  nervous. 
I  asked  him  if  the  awful  ceremony,  which  he  had  just  under- 
gone, was  weighing  on  his  mind? 

He  was  looking  rather  anxiously  towards  the  door ;  and, 
knowing  somewhat  of  the  state  of  affairs  at  home,  I  thought 
that  probably  he  and  his  father  had  had  one  of  the  disputes 
which  of  late  da^'s  had  become  so  frequent  between  them. 

The  company'  were  nearly  all  assembled  and  busy  with  their 
talk,  and  drinking  the  doctor's  excellent  claret,  when  Price 
entering,  announced  Dr.  Firmin  and  Mr.  Tufton  Hunt. 

"  Hang  Mr.  Tufton  Hunt,"  Philip  was  going  to  say  ;  but  he 
started  up,  went  forward  to  his  father,  and  greeted  him  very 
respe(5tfull3'.  He  then  gave  a  bow  to  the  gentleman  introduced 
as  Mr.  Hunt,  and  they  found  places  at  the  table,  the  doctor 
taking  his  with  his  usual  handsome  grace. 

Tlie  conversation,  which  had  been  pretty  brisk  until  Dr. 
Firmin  came,  drooped  a  little  after  his  appearance.  "  We  had 
an  awful  row  two  da_ys  ago,"  Philip  whispered  to  me.  "We 
shook  hands  and  are  reconciled,  as  you  see.  Pie  M^on't  stay 
long.  Pie  will  be  sent  for  in  half  an  hour  or  so.  He  will  say 
he  has  been  sent  for  by  a  duchess,  and  go  and  have  tea  at  the 
club." 

Dr.  Firmin  bowed  and  smiled  sadly  at  me,  as  Philip  was 
speaking.  I  dare  say  I  blushed  somewhat  and  felt  as  if  the 
doctor  knew  what  his  son  was  saying  to  me.  He  presently 
engaged  in  conversation  with  Lord  Egham  ;  he  hoped  his  good 
father  was  well  ? 

"You  keep  him  so,  doctor.  You  don't  give  a  fellow  a 
chance,"  says  the  .young  lord. 

"  Pass  tiie  bottle,  you  young  men  !  Hey  !  We  intend  to  see 
you  all  out !  "  cries  Talbot  Twysden,  on  pleasure  bent  and  of 
the  frugal  mind. 

"  Well  said,  sir,"  says  the  stranger  introduced  as  Mr.  Hunt ; 
*'  and  right  good  wine.  Ha,  Firmin  !  I  think  I  know  the  tap  !  " 
and  he  smacked  his  lips  over  the  claret.  "  It's  your  twenty- 
five,  and  no  mistake." 

"  The  red-nosed  individual  seems  a  connoisseur,"  whispered 
Rosebury  at  my  side. 

The  stranger's  nose,  indeed,  was  somewhat  rosy.     And  to 
this  I  may  add  that  his  clothes  were  black,  his  face  pale,  and 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  167 

not  well  shorn,  his  white  neck-cloth  ding}',  and  his  eyes  blood- 
shot. 

"  He  looks  as  if  he  had  gone  to  bed  in  his  clothes,  and 
carries  a  plentiful  flue  about  his  person.  Who  is  your  father's 
esteemed  friend?"  continues  the  wag,  in  an  under  voice. 

"  You  heard  his  name,  Rosebury,"  says  the  young  barrister, 
gloomily. 

"I  should  suggest  that  your  father  is  in  difficulties,  and 
attended  by  an  officer  of  the  sheriff  of  London,  or  perhaps 
subject  to  mental  aberration,  and  placed  under  the  control  of  a 
keeper." 

"Leave  me  alone,  do!"  groaned  Philip.  And  here  Tw3"s- 
den,  who  was  longing  for  an  opportunity  to  make  a  speech, 
bounced  up  from  his  chair,  and  stopped  the  facetious  barrister's 
further  remarks  by  his  own  eloquence.  His  discourse  was  in 
praise  of  Philip,  the  new-made  barrister.  "  What !  if  no  one  else 
will  give  that  toast,  3'our  uncle  will,  and  many  a  heartfelt  blessing 
go  ^ith  you  too,  my  boy  !  "  cried  the  little  man.  He  was  prodi- 
gal of  benedictions.  He  dashed  aside  the  tear-drop  of  emotion. 
He  spoke  with  perfect  fluencj^  and  for  a  considerable  period. 
He  really  made  a  good  speech,  and  was  greeted  with  deserved 
cheers  when  at  length  he  sat  down. 

Phil  stammered  a  few  words  in  reply  to  his  uncle's  voluble 
compliments  ;  and  then  Lord  Ascot,  a  young  nobleman  of  much 
familiar  humor,  proposed  Phil's  father,  his  health,  and  song. 
The  physician  made  a  neat  speech  from  behind  his  ruffled  shirt. 
He  was  agitated  b}'-  the  tender  feelings  of  a  paternal  heart,  he 
said,  glancing  benignl}-  at  Phil,  who  was  cracking  filberts.  To 
see  his  son  happy  ;  to  see  him  surrounded  by  such  friends  ;  to 
know  him  embarked  this  day  in  a  profession  which  gave  the 
greatest  scope  for  talents,  the  noblest  reward  for  industry,  was 
a  proud  and  happy  luoment  to  him,  Dr.  Firniin.  What  has  the 
poet  observed?  ^'Ingenuas  dididsse  Jtdeliter  artes  "  (hear,  hear  !) 
'■'■  emollit  mores  " — 3'es,  '•'•  emollit  mores."  He  drank  a  bumper 
to  the  3'oung  barristei-  (he  waved  his  ring,  with  a  thimbleful  of 
wine  in  his  glass).  He  pledged  the  young  friends  whom  he  saw 
assembled  to  cheer  his  son  on  his  onward  path.  He  thanked 
them  with  a  father's  heart !  He  passed  his  emerald  ring  across 
his  e3'es  for  a  moment,  and  lifted  them  to  the  ceiling,  from 
which  quarter  he  requested  a  blessing  on  his  bo3'.  As  though 
"spirits"  approved  of  his  invocation,  immense  tliumps  came 
from  above,  along  with  the  plaudits  which  saluted  the  doctor's 
speech  from  t])e  gentlemen  round  the  table.  But  the  upper 
thumps  were  derisorj^,  and  came  from  Mr.  Buffers,  of  the  third 


168  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

floor,  who  cliose  this  method  of  mocking  our  harmless  little 
festivities. 

I  think  these  cheers  from  the  facetious  Buffers,  though 
meant  in  scorn  of  our  party,  served  to  enliven  it  and  make  us 
laugh.  Spite  of  all  the  talking,  we  were  dull ;  and  I  could  not 
but  allow  the  force  of  my  neighbor's  remark,  that  we  were  sat 
upon  and  smothered  by  the  old  men.  One  or  two  of  the 
younger  gentlemen  chafed  at  the  license  for  tobacco-smoking 
not  being  yet  accorded.  But  Philip  interdicted  this  amusement 
as  yet. 

"  Don't,"  he  said  ;  "  my  father  don't  like  it.  He  has  to  see 
patients  to-night ;  and  the}'  can't  bear  the  smell  of  tobacco  by 
their  bedsides." 

The  impatient  youths  waited  with  their  cigar-cases  by  their 
sides.  They  longed  for  the  withdrawal  of  the  obstacle  to  their 
happiness. 

"  He  won't  go,  I  tell  you.  He'll  be  sent  for,"  growled 
Philip  to  me.  « 

The  doctor  was  engaged  in  conversation  to  the  right  and 
left  of  him,  and  seemed  not  to  think  of  a  move.  But,  sure 
enough,  at  a  few  minutes  after  ten  o'clock,  Dr.  Firmin's  foot- 
man entered  the  room  with  a  note,  which  Firmin  opened  and 
read,  as  Philip  looked  at  me  with  a  grim  humor  in  his  face.  I 
think  Phil's  father  knew  that  we  knew  he  was  acting.  How- 
ever, he  went  through  the  comedy  quite  gravely. 

"A  plwsician's  time  is  not  his  own,"  he  said,  shaking  his 
handsome,  melancholy  head.  "  Good-by,  m}'  dear  lord  !  Pray 
remember  me  at  home  !  Good  night,  Philip,  my  boy,  and  good 
speed  to  3'ou  in  your  career  !     Pra}',  pray  don't  move." 

And  he  is  gone,  waving  the  fair  hand  and  the  broad- 
brimmed  hat,  with  the  beautiful  white  liniitg.  Phil  conducted 
him  to  the  door,  and  heaved  a  sigh  as  it  closed  upon  his  father 
—  a  sigh  of  relief,  I  think,  that  he  was  gone. 

"Exit  Governor.  What's  the  Latin  for  Governor?"  says 
Lord  Egham,  who  possessed  much  native  humor,  but  not  very 
profound  scholarship.  "  A  most  venerable  old  parent,  Firmin. 
That  hat  and  appearance  would  command  an}-  sum  of  money." 

"  Excuse  me,"  lisps  Rosebury,  "  but  why  didn't  he  take  his 
elderly  friend  with  him  —  the.  dilapidated  clerical  gentleman 
who  is  drinking  claret  so  freely?  And  also,  why  did  be  not  re- 
move 3'Our  avuncular  orator  ?  Mr.  Twj'sden,  j'our  interesting 
5'oung  neophyte  has  provided  us  with  an  excellent  specimen  of 
the  cheerful  produce  of  the  Gascon  grape." 

"  Well,  then,  now  the  old  gentleman  is  gone,  let  us  pass  the 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  169 

bottle  and  make  a  night  of  it.  Hey,  m}'  lord?"  cries  Twysden. 
"  Philip,  your  claret  is  good  !  I  sa}',  do  3^011  remember  some 
Chateau  Margaux  I  had,  which  Winton  liked  so?  It  must  be 
good  if  he  praised  it,  I  can  tell  3'ou.  I  imported  it  m^'sclf,  and 
gave  him  the  address  of  the  Bordeaux  merchant ;  and  he  said 
he  had  seldom  tasted  an}'  like  it.  Those  were  his  very  words. 
I  must  get  3'Ou  fellows  to  come  and  taste  it  some  day." 

' '  Some  day  !  What  day  ?  Name  it,  generous  Amphitr3'on  ! " 
cries  Rosebury. 

"  Some  da}^  at  seven  o'clock.     With  a  plain,  quiet  dinner 

—  a  clear  soup,  a  bit  of  fish,  a  couple  of  little  entrees,  and  a 
nice  little  roast.  That's  my  kind  of  dinner.  And  we'll  taste 
that  claret,  3'oung  men.  It  is  not  a  heav}"-  wine.  It  is  not  a 
first-class  wine.  I  don't  mean  even  to  sa3'  it  is  a  dear  wine, 
but  it  has  a  bouquet  and  a  pureness.  What,  3'ou  will  smoke, 
you  fellows  ?  " 

"  We  will  do  it,  Mr.  Tw3'sden.  Better  do  as  the  rest  of  us 
do.     Tr3'  one  of  these." 

The  little  man  accepts  the  proffered  cigar  from  the  3'Oung 
nobleman's  box,  lights  it,  hems  and  hawks,  and  lapses  into 
silence. 

"  I  thought  that  would  do  for  him,"  murmurs  the  facetious 
Egham.  "It  is  strong  enough  to  blow  his  old  head  off,  and  I 
wish  it  would.  That  cigar,"  he  continues,  "was  given  to  my 
father  b3'  the  Duke  of  Medina  Sidonia,  who  had  it  out  of  the 
Queen  of  Spain's  own  box.  She  smokes  a  good  deal,  but 
naturalh'  likes  'em  mild.     I  can  give  3'ou  a  stronger  one." 

"  Oh,  no.  I  dare  sa}'  this  is  ver3^  fine.  Thank  3'Ou  !  "  says 
poor  Talbot. 

"  Leave  him  alone,  can't  3- on  !  "  says  Philip.  "  Don't  make 
a  fool  of  him  before  the  young  men,  Egham." 

Philip  still  looked  very  dismal  in  the  midst  of  the  festivit3'. 
He  was  thinking  of  his  differences  with  his  absent  parent. 

We  might  all  have  been  easil3'  consoled,  if  the  doctor  had 
taken  awa3'  with  him  the  elderh'  companion  whom  he  had  in- 
troduced to  Phil's  feast.  He  could  not  have  been  ver3-  welcome 
to  our  host,  for  Phil  scowled  at  his  guest,  and  whispered, 
"  Hang  Hunt !  "  to  his  neighbor. 

"Hang  Hunt"  —  the  Reverend  Tufton  Hunt  was  his  name 

—  was  in  nowise  disconcerted  by  the  coolness  of  his  reception. 
He  drank  his  wine  ver3^  freel3' ;  addressed  himself  to  his  neigh- 
bors affabl3' ;  and  called  out  a  loud  "  Hear,  hear  !"  to  Twysden, 
when  that  gentleman  announced  his  intention  of  making  a  night 
of  it.     As  Mr.  Hunt  warmed  with  wine  he  spoke  to  the  table. 


170  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

He  talked  a  great  deal  about  the  Ringwood  famUy,  had  been 
very  intimate  at  Wingate,  in  old  days,  as  he  told  Mr.  Twysden, 
and  an  intimate  friend  of  poor  Cinqbars,  Lord  Ringwood's  only 
son.  Now,  the  memory  of  the  late  Lord  Cinqbars  was  not  an 
agreeable  recollection  to  the  relatives  of  the  house  of  Ring- 
wood.  He  was  in  life  a  dissipated  and  disreputable  young 
lord.  His  name  was  seldom  mentioned  in  his  family  ;  never  bj^ 
his  father,  with  whom  he  had  had  many  quarrels. 

"  You  know  I  introduced  Cinqbars  to  your  father,  Philip?  " 
calls  out  the  dingy  clerg3'man.   , 

"  I  have  heard  you  mention  the  fact,"  says  Philip. 

"  They  met  at  a  wine  in  my  rooms  at  Corpus.  Brummell 
Firmin  we  used  to  call  your  father  in  those  days.  He  was  the 
greatest  buck  in  the  university  —  always  a  dressy  man,  kept 
hunters,  gave  the  best  dinners  in  Cambridge.  We  were  a  wild 
set.  There  was  Cinqbars,  Brand  Firmin,  Beryl,  Toplady, 
about  a  dozen  of  us,  almost  all  noblemen  or  fellow-commoners 
—  fellows  who  all  kept  their  horses  and  had  their  private 
servants." 

This  speech  was  addressed  to  the  company,  who  yet  did 
not  seem  much  edifled  hy  the  college  recollections  of  the  dingy 
elderly  man. 

"  Almost  all  Trinity  men,  sir!  We  dined  with  each  other 
week  about.  Many  of  them  had  their  tandems.  Desperate 
fellow  across  countr}^  A^our  father  was.  And  —  but  we  won't 
tell  tales  out  of  school,  he}' ?" 

"Na;  please  don't,  sir,"  said  Philip,  clenching  his  fists, 
and  biting  his  lips.  The  shabb}',  ill-bred,  swaggering  man  was 
eating  Philip's  salt ;  Phil's  lordly  ideas  of  hospitality  did  not 
allow  him  to  quarrel  with  the  guest  under  his  tent. 

"  When  he  went  out  in  medicine,  we  were  all  of  us  astonished. 
Wh}',  sir.  Brand  Firmin,  at  one  time,  was  the  greatest  swell 
in  the  university,"  continued  Mr.  Hunt,  "and  such  a  plucky 
fellow !  So  was  poor  Cinqbars,  though  he  had  no  stamina. 
He,  I,  and  Firmin,  fought  for  twenty  minutes  before  Cains' 
Gate  with  about  twenty  bargeman,  and  you  should  have  seen 
your  father  hit  out !  I  was  a  handy  one  in  those  days,  too, 
with  my  fingers.  We  learned  the  noble  art  of  self-defence  in 
my  time,  young  gentlemen  !  We  used  to  have  Glover,  the 
boxer,  down  from  London  who  gave  us  lessons.  Cinqbars  was 
a  pretty  sparrer  —  but  no  stamina.  Brandy  killed  him,  sir  — 
brandy  killed  him  !  Why,  this  is  some  of  j'our  governor's  wine  ! 
He  and  I  have  been  drinking  it  to-night  in  Parr  Street,  and 
talking  over  old  times." 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WOKLD.  171 

"  I  am  glad,  sir,  you  found  the  wine  to  your  taste,"  says 
Philip,  gravel}', 

"  I  did,  Philip  my  boy  !  And  when  your  father  said  he  was 
coming  to  your  wine,  I  said  Pd  come  too." 

"  1  wish  somebody  would  fling  him  out  of  window,"  groaned 
Philip. 

"A  most  potent,  grave,  and  reverend  senior,"  whispered 
Rosebury  to  me.  "  I  read  billiards,  Boulogne,  gambling- 
houses,  in  his  noble  lineaments.  Has  he  long  adorned  your 
family  circle,  Firmin?" 

"I  found  him  at  home  about  a  month  ago,  in  my  father's 
ante-room,  in  the  same  clothes,  with  a  pair  of  mangy  mous- 
taches on  his  face  ;  and  he  has  been  at  our  house  everj'  day 
since." 

'■'•  Echappe  de  Toulon^''  says  Rosebury,  blandh',  looking 
towards  the  stranger.  "  Gela  se  voit.  Homme  parfaitement 
distingue.  You  are  quite  right,  sir.  I  was  speaking  of  j'ou ; 
and  asking  our  friend  Philip  where  it  was  I  had  the  honor  of 
meeting  3'ou  abroad  last  year?  This  courtes}-,"  he  gently 
added,   "will  disarm  tigers." 

"I  was  abroad,  sir,  last  year,"  said  the  other,  nodding  his 
head. 

"  Three  to  one  he  was  in  Boulogne  gaol,  or  perhaps  officiat- 
ing f  naplain  at  a  gambling-house.  Stop,  I  have  it !  Baden 
Bad:n,  sir?" 

'  I  was  there,  safe  enough,"  says  the  clergyman.  "  It  is  a 
very  pretty  place  ;  but  the  air  of  the  Apres  kills  you.  Ha  !  ha  ! 
Your  father  used  to  shake,  his  elbow  when  he  was  a  youngster 
too,  Philip  !  I  can't  help  caUing  you  Philip.  I  have  known 
your  father  these  thirt}^  j'ears.  We  were  college  chums,  you 
know." 

"  Ah  !  what  would  I  give,"  sighs  Rosebury,  "  if  that  vener- 
able being  would  but  address  me  b}'  xay  Christian  name  !  Philip, 
do  something  to  make  3-our  part}^  go.  The  old  gentlemen  are 
throttling  it.  Sing  something,  somebody- !  or  let  us  drown  our 
melancholy  in  wine.  You  expressed  your  approbation  of  this 
claret,  sir,  and  claimed  a  previous  acquaintance  with  it?" 
•  ''I've  drunk  two  dozen  of  it  in  the  last  month,"  saj's  Mr. 
Hunt,  with  a  grin. 

"Two  dozen  and  four,  sir,"  remarks  Mr.  Brice,  putting  a 
fresh  bottle  on  the  table. 

"Well  said,  Brice!  I  make  the  Firmin  Arms  my  head- 
quarters ;  and  honor  the  landlord  with  a  good  deal  of  my  com- 
jjany,"  remark.'^  Mr.  Hunt. 


172  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

"  The  Firmin  Arms  is  honored  by  having  such  supporters  !  " 
says  Phil,  glaring,  and  with  a  heaving  chest.  At  each  moment 
he  was  growing  more  and  more  angry  with  that  parson. 

At  a  certain  stage  of  conviviality  Phil  was  fond  of  talking  of 
his  pedigree  ;  and,  though  a  professor  of  very  liberal  opinions, 
was  not  a  little  proud  of  some  of  his  ancestors. 

"  Oh,  come,  I  sa^' !    Sink  the  heraldry  !  "  cries  Lord  Egham. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  !  I  would  do  anything  to  obhge  30U,  but 
I  can't  help  being  a  gentleman  !  "  growls  Philip. 

'*  Oh,  I  sa}',  if  30U  intend  to  come  King  Richard  III.  over 
us  —  "  breaks  out  my  lord. 

"  Egham  !  your  ancestors  were  sweeping  counters  when  mine 
stood  by  King  Richard  in  that  righteous  fight !  "  shouts  Philip. 

That  monarch  had  conferred  lands  upon  the  Ringwood 
family.  Richard  III.  was  Philip's  battle-horse  ;  when  he  trot- 
ted it  after  dinner  he  was  splendid  in  his  chivalry. 

"Oh,  I  say!  If  you  are  to  saddle  White  Surre}^,  fight 
Bosworth  Field,  and  murder  the  kids  in  the  Tower !  "  continues 
Lord  Egham. 

"Serve  the  little  brutes  right!"  roars  Phil.  "They  were 
no  more  heirs  of  the  blood  royal  of  England  than  —  " 

"  I  dare  say !  Only  I'd  rather  have  a  song  now  the  old  boy 
is  gone.  I  sa}^  you  fellows,  chant  something,  do  now !  Bar 
all  this  row  about  Bosworth  Field  and  Richard  the  Third ! 
Always  does  it  when  he's  beer  on  board  —  always  does  it, 
give  you  my  honor ! "  whispers  the  young  nobleman  to  his 
neighbor. 

"I  am  a  fool!  I  am  a  fool!''  cries  Phil,  smacking  his 
forehead.  "There  are  moments  when  the  wrongs  of  my  race 
will  intervene.  It's  not  your  fault,  Mr.  What-d'ye-call-'im,  that 
you  alluded  to  my  arms  in  a  derisive  manner.  I  bear  you  no 
malice  !  Na}- ,  I  ask  your  pardon  !  Nay  !  I  pledge  you  in  this 
claret,  which  is  good,  though  it's  my  governor's.  In  our  house 
everything  isn't,  hum  —  Bosh!  it's  twenty-five  claret,  sir!  Eg- 
ham's  father  gave  him  a  pipe  of  it  for  saving  a  life  which  might 
be  better  spent ;  and  I  believe  the  apothecary  would  have  pulled 
you  through,  Egham,  just  as  well  as  my  governor.  But  the 
wine's  good !  Good !  Brice,  some  more  claret !  A  song ! 
Who  spoke  of  a  song  ?  Warble  us  something,  Tom  Dale  !  A 
song,  a  song,  a  song !  " 

Whereupon  the  exquisite  ditty  of  "  Moonlight  on  the  Tiles  " 
was  given  by  Tom  Dale  with  all  his  accustomed  humor.  Then 
pohteness  demanded  that  our  host  should  sing  one  of  his  songs, 
and  as  I  have  heard  him  perform  it  many  times,  I  have  the 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  173 

privilege  of  here  reprinting  it :  premising  that  the  tune  and 
chorus  were  taken  from  a  German  song-book,  which  used  to 
'  delight  us  melodious  3-outh  in  bygone  days.     Philip  accordingly 
lifted  up  his  great  voice  and  sang  :  — 

"DOCTOR    LUTHER. 

"  For  the  soul's  edification 
Of  this  decent  congregation. 
Worthy  people  !   by  your  grant, 
I  will  sing  a  holy  chant, 

I  will  sing  a  holy  chant. 
If  the  ditty  sound  but  oddly, 
'Twas  a  father  wise  and  godly, 
Sang  it  so  long  ago. 

Then  sing  as  Doctor  Luther  sang, 

As  Doctor  Luther  sang, 

Who  loves  not  wine,  woman,  and  song, 
,  He  is  a  fool  his  wliole  life  long. 

"  He  by  custom  patriarchal, 
Loved  to  see  tlie  beaker  sparkle. 
And  he  thought  the  wine  improved, 
Tasted  by  the  wife  he  loved. 

By  the  kindly  lips  he  loved. 
Friends  !  I  wish  this  custom  pious 
Duly  were  adopted  by  us, 
To  combine  love,  song,  wine ; 

And  sing  as  Doctor  Luther  sang, 

As  Doctor  Luther  sang. 

Who  loves  not  wine,  woman,  and  song, 

He  is  a  fool  his  whole  life  long. 

"  Who  refuses  this  our  credo, 
And  demurs  to  drink  as  we  do, 
Were  he  iioly  as  John  Knox, 
I'd  pronounce  him  heterodox, 

I'd  pronounce  iiim  heterodox. 
And  from  out  this  congregation, 
With  a  solemn  comniination, 
Banish  quick  the  heretic. 

Who  would  not  sing  as  Luther  sang, 

As  Doctor  Luther  sang, 

Who  loves  not  wine,  woman,  and  song,  * 

He  is  a  fool  his  whole  life  long." 

The  reader's  humble  servant  was  older  than  most  of  the 
party  assembled  at  this  symposium,  which  may  have  taken 
place  some  score  of  years  back  ;  but  as  I  listened  to  the  noise, 
the  fresh  laughter,  the  songs  remembered  out  of  old  university 
days,  the  talk  and  cant  phrases  of  the  old  school  of  which  most 


174  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

of  us  had  been  disciples,  dear  me,  I  felt  quite  young  again,  and 
when  certain  knocks  came  to  the  door  about  midnight,  enjoj-ed 
quite  a  refreshing  pang  of  anxious  interest  for  a  moment,  deem- 
ing the  proctors  were  rapping,  having  heard  our  shouts  in  the 
court  below.  The  late  comer,  however,  was  only  a  tavern 
waiter,  bearing  a  supper-tray ;  and  we  were  free  to  speechifj^, 
shout,  quarrel,  and  be  as  3'oung  as  we  liked,  with  nobod_y  to 
find  fault,  except,  perchance,  the  bencher  below,  who,  I  dare 
say,  was  kept  awajce  with  our  noise. 

When  that  supper  arrived,  poor  Talbot  Tw3'sden,  who  had 
come  so  far  to  enjoy  it,  was  not  in  a  state  to  partake  of  it. 
Lord  Eghani's  cigar  had  proved  too  much  for  him ;  and  the 
worth}'  gentleman  had  been  lying  on  a  sofa,  in  a  neighboring 
room,  for  some  time  past,  in  a  state  of  hopeless  collapse.  He 
had  told  us,  whilst  yet  ca^jable  of  speech,  what  a  love  and  re- 
gard he  had  for  Philip  ;  but  between  him  and  Philip's  father 
there  was  but  little  love.  The}^  had  had  that  worst  and  most 
iri'emediable  of  quarrels,  a  difference  about  twopence-halfpenny 
in  the  division  of  the  property  of  their  late  father-in-law.  Fir- 
min  still  thought  Twysden  a  shabby  curmudgeon  ;  and  Twysden 
considered  Firmin  an  unprincipled  man.  When  Mrs.  Firmin 
was  alive,  the  two  poor  sisters  had  had  to  regulate  their  affec- 
tions by  the  marital  orders,  and  to  be  warm,  cool,  moderate, 
freezing,  accoixling  to  their  husbands'  state  for  the  time  being. 
I  wonder  are  there  many  real  reconciliations?  Dear  Tomkins 
and  I  arc  reconciled,  I  know.  We  have  met  and  dined  at 
Jones's.  And  ah  !  how  fond  we  are  of  each  other  !  Oh,  ver}'^ ! 
So  with  Firmin  and  Twysden.  The}'  met,  and  shook  hands 
with  perfect  animosity.  So  did  Twysden  junior  and  Firmin 
junior.  Young  Twysden  was  the  elder,  and  thrashed  and 
bullied  Phil  as  a  boy,  until  the  latter  arose  and  pitched  his 
cousin  down  stairs.  MentaUy,  they  were  always  kicking  each 
other  down  stairs.  Well,  poor  Talbot  could  not  partake  of  the 
supper  when  it  came,  and  lay  in  a  piteous  state  on  the  neigh- 
boring sofa  of  the  absent  Mr.  Van  John. 

Who  would  go  home  with  him,  where  his  wife  must  be  anx- 
ious about  him?  I  agreed  to  convoy  him,  and  the  parson  said 
he  was  going  our  way,  and  would  accompany  us.  We  sup- 
ported this  senior  through  the  Temple,  and  put  him  on  the 
front  seat  of  a  cab.  The  cigar  had  disgi-acefull}'  overcome 
him  ;  and  any  lecturer  on  the  evils  of  smoking  might  have 
pointed  his  moral  on  the  helpless  person  of  this  wretched  gen- 
tleman. 

The  evening's  feasting  had  onlj'  imparted  animation  to  Mr. 


ON   HIS  WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  175 

Hunt,  and  occasioned  an  agreeable  abandon  in  his  talk,  I  had 
seen  the  man  before  in  Dr.  Firrain's  house,  and  own  that  his 
society  was  almost  as  odious  to  me  as  to  the  doctor's  son  Philip. 
On  all  subjects  and  persons,  Phil  was  accustomed  to  speak  his 
mind  out  a  great  deal  too  openly' ;  and  Mr.  Hunt  had  been  an 
object  of  special  dislike  to  him  ever  since  he  had  known  Hunt. 
I  tried  to  make  the  best  of  the  matter.  Few  men  of  kindly 
feeling  and  good  station  are  without  a  dependant  or  two.  Men 
start  together  in  the  race  of  life  ;  and  Jack  wins,  and  Tom  falls 
by  his  side.  The  successful  man  succors  and  reaches  a  friendly 
hand  to  the  unfortunate  competitor.  Remembiance  of  early 
times  gives  the  latter  a  sort  of  right  to  call  on  his  luckier  com- 
rade ;  and  a  man  finds  himself  pitting,  then  enduring,  then 
embracing  a  companion  for  whom,  in  old  da3s,  perhaps,  he 
never  had  had  any  regard  or  esteem.  A  prosperous  man  ought 
to  have  followers  :  if  he  has  none,  he  has  a  hard  heart. 

This  philosophizing  was  all  very  well.  It  was  good  for  a 
man  not  to  desert  the  friends  of  his  bo_yhood.  But  to  live  with 
such  a  cad  as  that  —  with  that  creature,  low,  servile,  swaggering, 
besotted  —  "How  could  his  father,  who  had  fine  tastes,  and 
loved  grand  company,  put  up  with  such  a  fellow  ?  "  asked  Phil. 
"  1  don't  know  when  the  man  is  the  more  odious :  when  he  is 
familiar,  or  when  he  is  respectful ;  when  he  is  paying  compli- 
ments to  my  father's  guests  in  Parr  Street,  or  telling  hideous 
old  stale  stories,  as  he  did  at  my  call-supper." 

The  wine  of  which  Mr.  Hunt  freely  partook  on  that  occasion 
made  him,  as  I  have  said,  communicative.  "  Not  a  bad  fellow, 
our  host,"  he  remarked,  on  his  part,  when  we  came  away 
together.  "  Bumptious,  good-looking,  speaks  his  mind,  hates 
me,  and  I  don't  care.  He  must  be  well  to  do  in  the  world, 
Master  Philip." 

I  said  I  hoped  and  thought  so. 

"  Brummell  Firmin  must  make  four  or  five  thousand  a  year. 
He  was  a  wild  fellow  in  my  time,  I  can  tell  30U  —  in  the  days 
of  the  wild  Prince  and  Poins  —  stuck  at  nothing,  spent  his 
own  money,  ruined  himself,  fell  on  his  legs  somehow,  and  mar- 
ried a  fortune.  Some  of  us  have  not  been  so  luck3\  1  had 
nobody  to  pay  my  debts.  I  missed  m}'  fellowship  by  idling  and 
dissipating  with  those  confounded  hats  and  silver-laced  gow'us. 
I  liked  good  company  in  those  days  —  always  did  when  I  could 
get  it.  If  you  were  to  write  my  adventures,  now,  3'ou  would 
have  to  tell  some  queer  stories.  I've  been  everj'where  ;  I've 
seen  high  and  low  —  'specially  low.  I've  tried  school-master- 
ing, bear-leading,   newspapering,  America,  West  Indies.     I've 


176  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

been  in  every  city  in  Europe.  I  haven't  been  as  lucky  as 
Brummell  Firmin.  He  rolls  in  his  coach,  he  does,  and  I  walk 
in  my  highlows.  Guineas  drop  into  his  palm  eveiy  day,  and 
are  uncommonly  scarce  in  mine,  I  can  tell  you ;  and  poor  old 
Tufton  Hunt  is  not  much  better  off  at  fifty  odd  than  he  was 
when  he  was  an  undergraduate  at  eighteen.  How  do  30U  do, 
old  gentleman?  Air  do  you  good?  Here  we  are  at  Beaunash 
Street ;  hope  you've  got  the  key,  and  missis  won't  see  you." 
A  large  butler,  too  well  bred  to  express  astonishment  at  any 
event  which  occurred  out  of  doors,  opened  Mr.  Tw^'sden's, 
and  let  in  that  lamentable  gentleman.  He  was  very  pale  and 
solemn.  He  gasped  out  a  few  words,  intimating  his  inten- 
tion to  fix  a  day  to  ask  us  to  come  and  dine  soon,  and 
taste  that  wine  that  Winton  liked  so.  He  waved  an  unsteady 
hand  to  us.  If  Mrs.  Twysden  was  on  the  stairs  to  see  the 
condition  of  her  lord,  I  hope  she  took  possession  of  the  candle. 
Hunt  grumbled  as  we  came  out:  "He  miglit  have  offered  us 
some  refreshment  after  bringing  him  all  that  wa}'  home.  It's 
only  half-past  one.  There's  no  good  in  going  to  bed  so  soon 
as  that.  Let  us  go  and  have  a  drink  somewhere.  I  know  a 
very  good  crib  ,close  by.  No,  you  won't?  I  say"  (here  he 
burst  into  a  laugh  which  startled  the  sleeping  street),  "I 
know  what  3'ou've  been  thinking  all  the  time  in  the  cab.  You 
are  a  swell, — you  are,  too!  You  have  been  thinking,  'This 
drearj'  old  parson  will  tr^'  and  borrow  money  from  me.'  But 
I  won't,  m}^  boy.  I've  got  a  banker.  Look  here  !  Fee,  faw, 
fum.  You  understand.  I  can  get  the  sovereigns  out  of  my 
medical  swell  in  Old  Parr  Street.  I  prescribe  bleeding  for 
him  —  I  drew  him  to-night.  He  is  a  very  kind  fellow,  Brum- 
mell Firmin  is.  He  can't  deny  such  a  dear  old  friend  any- 
thing. Bless  him  ! "  And  as  he  turned  away  to  some  mid- 
night haunt  of  his  own,  he  tossed  up  his  hand  in  the  air.  I 
heard  him  laughing  through  the  silent  street,  and  Policeman 
X,  tramping  on  his  beat,  turned  round  and  suspiciously  eyed 
him. 

Then  I  thought  of  Dr.  Firmin's  dark  melancholy  face  and 
eyes.  Was  a  benevolent  remembrance  of  old  times  the  bond 
of  union  between  these  men?  All  my  house  had.  long  been 
asleep,  when  I  opened  and  gently  closed  my  house-door.  By 
the  twinkling  night  lamp  I  could  dimly  see  child  and  mother 
softly  breathing.  Oh,  blessed  they  on  whose  pillow  no  remorse 
sits  !     Happy  you  who  have  escaped  temptation  ! 

I  may  have  been  encouraged  in  my  suspicions  of  the  dingy 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  177 

clerg3'man  by  Philip's  own  surmises  regarding  him,  which  were 
expressed  with  the  speaker's  usual  candor.  "  The  fellow  calls 
for  what  he  likes  at  the  '  Firmin  Arms,'  "  said  poor  Phil ;  "  and 
when  my  father's  bigwigs  assemble,  I  hope  the  reverend  gen- 
tleman dines  with  them.  I  should  like  to  see  him  hobnobbing 
with  old  Bnmpsher,  or  slapping  the  bishop  on  the  back.  He 
lives  in  Sligo  Street,  round  the  corner,  so  as  to  be  close  to  our 
house  and  yet  preserve  his  own  elegant  independence.  Other- 
wise, I  wonder  he  has  not  installed  himself  in  Old  Parr  Street, 
where  m}''  poor  mother's  bedroom  is  vacant.  The  doctor  does 
not  care  to  use  that  room.  I  remember  now  how  silent  they 
were  when  together,  and  how  terrified  she  always  seemed  before 
him.  Wliat  has  he  done?  I  know  of  one  affair  in  his  early 
life.  Does  this  Hunt  know  of  any  more  ?  They  have  been 
accomplices  in  some  conspiracy,  sir ;  I  dare  say  with  that 
young  Cinqbars,  of  whom  Hunt  is  for  ever  bragging :  the 
worthy  son  of  the  worth}-  Ringwood.  I  say,  does  wickedness 
run  in  the  blood?  M3'  grandfathers,  I  have  heard,  were  honest 
men.  Perhaps  they  were  only  not  found  out ;  and  the  family 
taint  will  show  in  me  some  day.  There  are  times  when  I  feel 
the  devil  so  strong  within  me,  that  I  think  some  day  he  must 
have  the  master3\  I'm  not  quite  bad  yet :  but  I  tremble  lest 
I  should  go.  Suppose  I  were  to  dix)wn,  and  go  down?  It's  not 
a  jollv  thing,  Pendennis,  to  have  such  a  father  as  mine.  Don't 
humbug  7ne  with  your  charitable  palliations  and  soothing  sur- 
mises. You  put  me  in  mind  of  the  world  then,  b}'  Jove,  j'ou 
do !  I  laugh,  and  I  drink,  and  I  make  merry,  and  sing,  and 
smoke  endless  tobacco ;  and  I  tell  j^ou,  I  alwa^'s  feel  as  if  a 
little  sword  was  dangling  over  my  skull  which  will  fall  some 
day  and  split  it.  Old  Parr  Street  is  mined,  sir, — mined! 
And  some  morning  we  shall  be  blown  into  blazes  —  into  blazes, 
sir  ;  mark  my  words  !  That's  wh}"-  I'm  so  careless  and  so  idle, 
for  which  you  fellows  are  always  bothering  and  scolding  me. 
There's  no  use  in  settling  down  until  the  explosion  is  over, 
don't  3'ou  see ?  Incedo  per  ignes  suppositos,  and,  by  George! 
sir,  I  feel  m}'  bootsoles  already  scoi'cliing.  Poor  thing !  poor 
mother "  (he  apostrophized  his  mother's  picture  which  hung 
in  the  room  where  we  were  talking,)  "were  you  aware  of 
the  secret,  and  was  it  the  knowledge  of  that  which  made  3'our 
poor  e3-es  always  look  so  frightened  ?  She  was  alwa3's  fond  of 
3'OU,  Pen.  Do  you  remember  how  prett3'  and  graceful  she 
used  to  look  as  she  la3'  on  her  sofa  up  stairs,  or  smiled  out  of 
the  carriage  as  she  kissed  her  hand  to  us  bo3's  ?  I  sa3',  what 
if  a  woman  marries  and   is  coaxed   and  wheedled  b}-  a   soft 

12 


178  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

tongue,  and  runs  off,  and  afterwards  finds  her  husband  has  a 
cloven  foot  ?  " 

"Ah,  Philip!" 

' '  What  is  to  be  the  lot  of  the  son  of  such  a  man  ?  Is  my 
hoof  cloven,  too?"  It  was  on  the  stove,  as  he  talked,  ex- 
tended in  American  fashion.  "  Suppose  there's  no  escape  for 
me,  and  I  inherit  my  doom,  as  another  man  does  gout  or  con- 
sumption? Knowing  this  fate,  what  is  the  use,  then,  of  doing 
anything  in  particular?  I  tell  3'ou,  sir,  the  whole  edifice  of  our 
present  life  will  crumble  in  and  smash."  (Here  he  flings  his 
pipe  to  the  ground  with  an  awful  shatter.)  "And  until  the 
catastrophe  comes,  what  on  earth  is  the  use  of  setting  to  work, 
as  you  call  it?'  You  might  as  well  have  told  a  fellow,  at  Pom- 
peii, to  select  a  profession  the  day  before  the  eruption." 

"  If  you  know  that  Vesuvius  is  going  to  burst  over  Pompeii," 
I  said,  somewhat  alarmed,  "  why  not  go  to  Naples,  or  farther 
if  you  will?" 

"  Were  there  not  men  in  the  sentry-boxes  at  the  city  gates," 
asked  Philip,  "who  might  have  run,  and  j^et  remained  to  be 
burned  there?  Suppose,  after  all,  the  doom  isn't  hanging  over 
us,  —  and  the  fear  of  it  is  only  a  nervous  terror  of  mine  ?  Sup- 
pose it  comes,  and  I  survive  it?  The  risk  of  the  game  gives 
a  zest  to  it,  old  boy.  Besides,  there  is  Honor :  and  some  One 
Else  is  in  the  case,  from  whom  a  man  could  not  part  in  an  hour 
of  danger."  And  here  he  blushed  a  fine  red,  heaved  a  great 
sigh,  and  emptied  a  bumper  of  claret. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

WILL  BE  PROKOUNCED  TO  BE  CYNICAL  BY  THE  BENEVOLENT. 

Gentle  readers  will  not,  I  trust,  think  the  worse  of  their 
most  obedient  humble  servant  for  the  confession  that  I  talked 
to  my  wife  on  my  return  home  regarding  Philip  and  his  affairs. 
When  I  choose  "to  be  frank,  I  hope  no  man  can  be  more  open 
than  myself:  when  I  have  a  mind  to  be  quiet,  no  fish  can  be 
more  mute.  I  have  kept  secrets  so  ineffably,  that  I  have 
utterly  forgotten  them,  until  my  memory  was  refreshed  by 
people  who  also  knew  them.  But  what  was  the  use  of  hiding 
this  one  from  the  being  to  whom  I  open  all,  or  almost  all  —  say 
»11,  excepting  just  one  or  two  of  the  closets  of  this  heart?     So 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  179 

I  sa}^  to  her,  "  M}'  love  ;  it  is  as  I  suspected.     Philip  and  his 
cousin  Agnes  are  carrying  on  together." 

"Is  Agnes  the  pale  one,  or  the  very  pale  one?"  asks  the 
joy  of  my  existence. 

"No,  the  elder  is  Blanche.  They  are  both  older  than 
Mr.  Finnin  :  but  Blanche  is  the  elder  of  the  two." 

"Well,  I  am  not  saying  anything  malicious,  or  contrary  to 
the  fact,  am  I,  sir?" 

No.  Only  I  know  b}'  her  looks,  when  another  lady's  name 
is  mentioned,  whether  my  wife  likes  her  or  not.  And  I  am 
bound  to  sa}',  though  this  statement  may  meet  with  a  denial, 
that  her  countenance  does  not  vouchsafe  smiles  at  the  mention 
<?f  all  ladies'  names. 

"  You  don't  go  to  the  house?  Y^ou  and  Mrs.  Twj^sden  have 
called  on  each  other,  and  there  the  matter  has  stopped  ?  Oh, 
I  know  !  It  is  because  poor  Talbot  brags  so  about  his  wine, 
and  gives  such  abominable  stuff,  that  you  have  such  an  un- 
christian feeling  for  him  !  " 

"  That  is  the  reason,  I  dare  say,"  sa3's  the  lad}'. 

"No.  It  is  no  such  thing.  Tliough  you  do  know  sherry 
from  port,  I  believe  upon  my  conscience  you  do  not  avoid  the 
Tw3sdens  because  they  give  bad  wine.  Many  others  sin  in 
that  wa}',  and  30U  forgive  them.  Y''ou  like  3'our  fellow-creatures 
better  than  wine  —  some  fellow-creatures  —  and  you  dislike 
some  fellow-creatures  worse  than  medicine.  Y''ou  swallow 
them,  madam.  Y"ou  say  nothing,  but  3-our  looks  are  dread- 
ful. Y^'ou  make  wr3'  faces  :  and  when  3'ou  have  taken  them, 
3'ou  want  a  piece  of  sweetmeat  to  take  the  taste  out  of  3'our 
mouth." 

The  lady,  thus  wittil3-  addressed,  shrugs  her  lovely  shoul- 
ders. My  wife  exasperates  me  in  many  things  ;  in  getting 
up  at  insane  hours  to  go  to  earl}'  church,  for  instance  ;  in  look- 
ing at  me  in  a  particular  way  at  dinner,  when  I  am  about  to 
eat  one  of  those  entrees  which  Dr.  Goodenough  declares  disagi'ce 
with  me  ;  in  nothing  more  than  in  that  obstinate  silence,  which 
she  persists  in  maintaining  sometimes  when  I  am  abusing 
people,  whom  I  do  not  lilvc,  whom  she  does  not  like,  and  who 
abuse  me.  This  reticence  makes  me  wild.  What  confidence 
can  there  be  between  a  man  and  his  wife,  if  he  can't  sa3'  to  her, 
"  Confound  So-and-so,  I  hate  him  ;  "  or,  "  What  a  prig  What- 
d'ye-call-'im  is  !  "  or,  ' '  What  a  bloated  aristocrat  Thingamy  has 
become,  since  he  got  his  place  !  "  or  what  3'ou  will  ? 

"No,"  I  continue,  "I know wh3' 30U  hate  the Twysdens,  Mrs. 
Pendennis.    Y'ou  hate  them  because  thev  move  in  a  world  which 


180  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

you  can  only  occasionally  visit.  You  envy  them  because  they 
are  hand-in-glove  with  the  great ;  because  they  possess  an  easy 
grace,  and  a  frank  and  noble  elegance  with  which  common 
country-people  and  apothecaries'  sons  are  not  endowed." 

' '  My  dear  Arthur,  I  do  think  you  are  ashamed  of  being  an 
apothecary's  son  ;  you  talk  about  it  so  often,"  sajs  the  lady. 
Which  was  all  very  well :  but  you  see  she  was  not  answering 
my  remarks  about  the  Twysdens. 

"  You  are  right,  my  dear,"  I  say  then.  "  I  ought  not  to  be 
censorious,  being  myself  no  more  virtuous  than  my  neighbor." 

"  I  know  people  abuse  j-ou,  Arthur  ;  but  I  think  you  are  a 
very  good  sort  of  man,"  says  the  lady,  over  her  little  tea- 
tray. 

"And  so  are  the  Twysdens  very  good  people  —  very  nice, 
artless,  unselfish,  simple,  generous,  well-bred  people.  Mr. 
Twysden  is  all  heart :  Twysden's  conversational  powers  are  re- 
markable and  pleasing :  and  Philip  is  eminently  fortunate  in 
getting  one  of  those  charming  girls  for  a  wife." 

"I've  no  patience  with  them,"  cries  my  wife,  losing  that 
quality  to  my  great  satisfaction  :  for  then  I  knew  I  had  found 
the  crack  in  Madam  Pendennis's  armor  of  steel,  and  had  smitten 
her  in  a  vulnerable  little  place. 

"  No  patience  with  them  ?  Quiet,  lady -like  young  women  !  " 
I  cry. 

"  Ah,"  sighs  my  wife,  "  what  have  they  got  to  give  Philip 
in  retui:*n  for  — ■" 

"In  return  for  his  thirty  thousand ?  They  will  have  ten 
thousand  pounds  apiece  when  their  mother  dies." 

"  Oh  !  I  wouldn't  have  our  bo}'  marrj^  a  woman  like  one  of 
those,  not  if  she  had  a  million.  I  wouldn't,  my  child  and  my 
blessing  !  "  (This  is  addressed  to  a  little  darling  who  happens 
to  be  eating  sweet  cakes,  in  a  high  chair,  off  the  little  table  by 
his  mother's  side,  and  who,  though  he  certainly  used  to  cry  a 
good  deal  at  that  period,  shall  be  a  mute  personage  in  this  his- 
tory.) 

"  You  are  alluding  to  Blanche's  little  affair  with  —  " 
"No,  I  am  not,  sir!  " 

' '  How  do  you  know  which  one  I  meant,  then  ?  —  Or  that 
notorious  disappointment  of  Agnes,  when  Lord  Farintosh  be- 
came a  widower?  If  he  wouldn't,  she  couldn't,  you  know,  my 
dear.  And  I  am  sure  she  tried  her  best :  at  least,  everybody 
said  so." 

' '  Ah  !  I  have  no  patience  with  the  way  in  which  you  people 
of  the  world  treat  the  most  sacred  of  subjects  —  the  most  sacred, 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  181 

sir.  Do  3"ou  hear  me?  Is  a  woman's  love  to  be  pledged,  and 
withdrawn  ever}'  daj'  ?  Is  her  faith  and  purity  onl}'  to  be  a 
matter  of  barter,  and  rank,  and  social  consideration?  I  am 
sorry,  because  I  don't  wish  to  see  Philip,  who  is  good,  and  hon- 
est, and  generous,  and  true  as  yet  —  however  great  his  faults 
may  be  —  because  I  don't  wish  to  see  him  given  up  to  —  Oh  ! 
it's  shocking,  shocking  !  " 

Given  up  to  what?  to  anything  dreadful  in  this  world,  or  the 
next?  Don't  imagine  that  Philip's  relations  thought  tliey  were 
doing  Phil  any  harm  by  condescending  to  many  him,  or  them- 
selves any  injury.  A  doctor's  sou,  indeed !  Why,  the  Twj's- 
dens  were  far  better  placed  in  the  world  than  their  kinsmen  of 
Old  Parr  Street ;  and  went  to  better  houses.  The  year's  levee 
and  drawing-room  would  have  been  incomplete  without  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Twysden.  There  might  be  families  with  higher  titles, 
more  wealth,  higher  positions  ;  but  the  world  did  not  contain 
more  respectable  folks  than  the  Tw^-sdens  :  of  this  every  one  of 
the  familj-  was  convinced,  from  Talbot  himself  down  to  his  heir. 
If  somebody  or  some  Body  of  savans  would  write  the  historj-  of 
the  harm  that  has  been  done  in  the  world  by  people  who  believe 
themselves  to  be  virtuous,  what  a  queer,  edifying  book  it  would 
be,  and  how  poor  oppressed  rogues  might  look  up  !  Who  burn 
the  Protestants?  —  the  virtuous  Catholics,  to  be  sure.  Who 
roast  the  Catholics?  —  the  virtuous  Reformers.  Who  thinks  I 
am  a  dangerous  character,  and  avoids  me  at  the  club  ?  —  the 
virtuous  Squaretoes.  Who  scorns?  who  persecutes?  who 
doesn't  forgive?  —  the  virtuous  Mrs.  Grundy.  She  remembers 
her  neighbor's  peccadilloes  to  the  third  and  fourth  generation  ; 
and  if  she  finds  a  certain  man  fallen  in  her  path,  gathers  up  her 
affrighted  garments  with  a  shriek,  for  fear  the  muddy,  bleeding 
wretch  should  contaminate  her,  and  passes  on. 

I  do  not  seek  to  create  even  surprises  in  this  modest  histor}', 
or  condescend  to  keep  candid  readers  in  suspense  about  many 
matters  which  might  possibly  interest  them.  For  instance,  the 
matter  of  love  has  interested  novel-readers  for  hundreds  of 
years  past,  and  doubtless  will  continue  so  to  interest  them.  Al- 
most all  3'oung  people  read  love-books  and  histories  with  eager- 
ness, as  oldsters  read  books  of  medicine,  and  whatever  it  is  — 
heart-complaint,  gout,  liver,  palsy  —  cry,  "  Exactl}^  so,  pre- 
cisely my  case  !  "  Phil's  first  love-affair,  to  which  we  are  now 
coming,  was  a  false  start.  I  own  it  at  once.  And  in  this  com- 
mencement of  his  career  I  believe  he  was  not  more  or  less 
fortunate  than  many  and  many  a  man  and  woman  in  this  world. 
Suppose  the  course  of  true  love  alwaj-s  did  run  smooth,  and 


182  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

everybod}^  married  his  or  her  first  love.     Ah  !  what  would  mar- 
riage be  ? 

A  generous  young  fellow  comes  to  market  with  a  heart  ready 
to  leap  out  of  his  waistcoat,  for  ever  thumping  and  throbbing, 
and  so  wild  that  he  can't  have  any -rest  till  he  has  disposed  of 
it.     What  wonder  if  he  falls  upon  a  wily  merchant  in  Vanity 
Fair,  and  barters  his  all  for  a  stale  bauble  not  worth  sixpence  ? 
Phil  chose  to  fall  in  love  with  his  cousin  ;  and  I  warn  you  that 
nothing  will  come  of  that  passion,  except  the  influence  which  it 
had  upon  the  young  man's  character.     Though  my  wife  did  not 
love  the  Tw^^sdens,  she  loves  sentiment,  she  loves  love-affairs  — 
all  women  do.     Poor  Phil  used  to  bore  me  after  dinner  with 
endless  rodomontades  about  his  passion  and  his  charmer ;  but 
my  wife  was  never  tired  of  listening.      "You  are  a  selfish, 
heartless,   blase   man  of  the  world,   you  are,"  he  would  say. 
"  Your  own  immense  and  undeserved  good  fortune  in  the  mat- 
rimonial lottery  has  rendered  you  hard,  cold,  crass,  indifferent. 
You  have  been  asleep,  sir,  twice  to-night  whilst  I  was  talking, 
I  will  go  up  and  tell  madam  everything.     She  has  a  heart." 
And  presently-,  engaged  with  my  book  or  my  after-dinner  doze, 
I  would  hear  Phil  striding  and  creaking  overhead,  and  plunging 
energetic  pokers  in  the  drawing-room  fire. 

Thirty  thousand  pounds  to  begin  with  ;  a  third  part  of  that 
sum  coming  to  the  lady  from  her  mother ;  all  the  doctor's  sav- 
ings and  property  ;  —  here  certainly  was  enough  in  possession 
and  expectation  to  satisfy  many  young  couples  :  and  as  Phil  is 
twenty-two,  and  Agnes  (must  I  own  it?)  twenty-five,  and  as 
she  has  consented  to  Hsten  to  the  warm  outpourings  of  the 
eloquent  and  passionate  youth,  and  exchange  for  his  fresh, 
new-minted,  golden  sovereign  heart,  that  used  little  threepenny- 
piece,  her  own  —  why  should  they  not  marry  at  once,  and  so 
let  us  have  an  end  of  them  and  this  history  ?  They  have  plenty 
of  money  to  pay  the  parson  and  the  post-chaise ;  they  may 
drive  off  to  the  country,  and  live  on  their  means,  and  lead  an 
existence  so  humdrum  and  tolerably  happy  that  Phil  may  grow 
quite  too  fat,  lazy,  and  unfit  for  his  present  post  of  hero  of  a 
novel.  But  stay  —  there  are  obstacles  ;  co}^  reluctant,  amo- 
rous delays.  After  all,  Philip  is  a  dear,  brave,  handsome, 
wild,  reckless,  blundering  boy,  treading  upon  everybody's  dress- 
skirts,  smashing  the  little  Dresden  ornaments  and  the  pretty 
little  decorous  gimcracks  of  society,  life,  conversation;  —  but 
there  is  time  yet.  Are  you  so  very  sure  about  that  money  of 
his  mother's  ?  and  how  is  it  that  his  father,  the  doctor,  has  not 
settled  accounts  with  him  yet  ?     (Test  louche.    A  family  of  high 


Lauka's  Firkside. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  183 

position  and  principle  must  look  to  have  the  money  matters  in 
perfect  order,  before  they  consign  a  darUng  accustomed  to 
every  luxury  to  the  guardianship  of  a  confessedl}'  wild  and 
eccentric,  though  generous  and  amiable  young  man.  Besides 
ah  !  besides  —  besides  ! 

".  .  .  .  It's  horrible,  Arthur !  It's  cruel,  Arthur !  It's  a 
shame  to  judge  a  woman,  or  Christian  people  so  !  Oh !  my 
loves  !  my  blessings !  would  I  sell  you  f "  says  this  young 
mother,  clutching  a  little  belaced,  befurbelowed  being  to  her 
heart,  infantine,  squalling,  with  blue  shoulder-ribbons,  a  mottled 
little  arm  that  has  just  been  vaccinated,  and  the  sweetest  red 
shoes.  "Would  I  sell  you?"  says  mamma.  Little  Arty,  I 
say,  squalls  ;  and  little  Nelly  looks  up  from  her  bricks  with  a 
wondering,  whimpering  expression. 

Well,  I  am  ashamed  to  say  what  the  "  besides"  is  ;  but  the 
fact  is,  that  young  Woolcomb  of  the  Life  Guards  Green,  who 
has  inherited  immense  West  India  property,  and,  we  will  saA', 
just  a  teaspoonful  of  that  dark  blood  which  makes  a  man  natu- 
rally partial  to  blond  beauties,  has  cast  his  opal  eyes  verj- 
warmly  upon  the  golden-haired  Agnes  of  late  ;  has  danced  with 
her  not  a  little  ;  and  when  Mrs.  Twysden's  barouche  appears 
by  the  Serpentine,  you  may  not  unfrequentlj'  see  a  pair  of  the 
neatest  little  j'ellow  kid  gloves  just  playing  with  the  reins,  a 
pair  of  the  prettiest  little  boots  just  touching  the  stirrup,  a 
magnificent  horse  dancing,  and  tittupping,  and  tossing,  and 
performing  the  most  graceful  caracoles  and  gambadoes,  and  on 
the  magnificent  horse  a  neat  little  man  with  a  blazing  red  flower 
in  his  bosom,  and  glancing  opal  eyes,  and  a  dark  complexion, 
and  hair  so  wry  black  and  curly,  that  I  really  almost  think  in 
some  of  the  Southern  States  of  America  he  would  be  likely  to 
meet  with  rudeness  in  a  railwa3'-car. 

But  in  England  we  know  better.  In  England  Grenville 
Woolcomb  is  a  man  and  a  brother.  Half  of  Arrowroot  Island, 
they  saj-,  belongs  to  him  ;  besides  Mangrove  Hall,  in  Hertford- 
shire ;  ever  so  much  property  in  other  counties,  and  that  fine 
house  in  Berkeley  Square.  He  is  called  the  Black  Prince  behind 
the  scenes  .of  many  theatres  ;  ladies  nod  at  him  from  those 
broughams  which,  you  understand,  need  not  be  particularized. 
The  idea  of  his  immense  riches  is  confirmed  hy  the  known  fact 
that  he  is  a  stingy  Black  Prince,  and  most  averse  tg  parting 
with  his  money  except  for  his  own  adornment  or  amusement. 
When  he  receives  at  his  country-house,  his  entertainments  are, 
however,  splendid.  He  has  been  flattered,  followed,  caressed 
all  his  life,  and  allowed  by  a  fond  mother  to  have  his  own  way  ; 


184  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

and  as  this  has  never  led  him  to  learning,  it  must  be  owned 
that  his  literary  acquirements  are  small,  and  his  writing  defect- 
ive. But  in  the  management  of  his  pecuniar}-  affairs  he  is  very 
keen  and  clever.  His  horses  cost  him  less  than  any  3'oung  man's 
in  England  who  is  so  well  mounted.  No  dealer  has  ever  been 
known  to  get  the  better  of  him  ;  and,  though  he  is  certainly 
close  about  money,  when  his  wishes  have  very  keenly  prompted 
him,  no  sum  has  been  known  to  stand  in  his  way. 

Witness  the  purchase  of  the .     But  never  mind  scandal. 

Let  bygones  be  b3-gones.  A  3'oung  doctor's  son,  with  a  thou- 
sand a  year  for  a  fortune,  may  be  considered  a  catch  in  some 
circles,  but  not,  vous  concevez,  in  the  upper  regions  of  society. 
And  dear  woman  —  dear,  angelic,  highly  accomplished,  re- 
spectable woman  —  does  she  not  know  how  to  pardon  many 
failings  in  our  sex?  Age?  psha  !  She  will  crown  my  bare  old 
poll  with  the  roses  of  her  youth.  Complexion?  What  contrast 
is  sweeter  and  more  touching  than  Desdemona's  golden  ringlets 
on  swart  Othello's  shoulder?  A  past  life  of  selfishness  and 
bad  company?  Come  out  from  among  the  swine,  m}'  prodigal, 
and  I  will  purify  thee  ! 

This  is  what  is  called  cynicism,  you  know.  Then  I  suppose 
my  wife  is  a  cynic,  who  clutches  her  children  to  her  pure  heart, 
and  prays  gracious  heaven  to*  guard  them  from  selfishness, 
from  worldliness,  from  heartlessness,  from  wicked  greed. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

CONTAINS   ONE   RIDDLE   WHICH   IS   SOLVED.    AND   PERHAPS 

SOME   MORE. 

Mine  is  a  modest  muse,  and  as  the  period  of  the  story 
arrives  when  a  description  of  love-making  is  justly  due,  my 
Mnemosyne  turns  away  from  the  young  couple,  drops  a  little 
curtain  over  the  embrasure  where  they  are  whispering,  heaves 
a  sigh  from  her  elderly  bosom,  and  lays  a  finger  on  her  lip. 
Ah,  Mnemosyne  dear!  we  will  not  be  spies  on  the  young 
people.  We  will  not  scold  them.  We  won't  talk  about  their 
doings  much.  When  we  were  young,  we  too,  perhaps,  were 
taken  in  under  Love's  tent ;  we  have  eaten  of  his  salt :  and 
partaken  of  his  bitter,  his  deUcious  bread.     Now  we  are  pad- 


ON  HIS  WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  185 

ding  the  hoof  lonely  in  the  wilderness,  we  will  not  abuse  our 
host,  will  we?  We  will  couch  under  the  stars,  and  think  fondly 
of  old  times,  and  to-morrow  resume  the  staff  and  the  journey' . 

And  yet,  if  a  novelist  may  chronicle  an}-  passion,  its  flames, 
its  raptures,  its  whispers,  its  assignations,  its  sonnets,  its 
quarrels,  sulks,  reconciliations,  and  so  on,  the  history  of  such 
a  love  as  this  first  of  Phil's  may  be  excusable  in  print,  because 
I  don't  believe  it  was  a  real  love  at  all,  only  a  little  brief  delu- 
sion of  the  senses,  from  which  I  give  you  warning  that  our 
hero  will  recover  before  many  chapters  are  over.  What !  my 
brave  boy,  shall  we  give  your  heart  away  for  good  and  all,  for 
better  or  for  worse,  till  death  do  you  part?  What !  my  Corydon 
and  sighing  swain,  shall  we  irrevocabl}'  bestow  you  upon  Phyl- 
lis, who,  all  the  time  you  are  piping  and  paying  court  to  her, 
has  Meliboeus  in  the  cupboard,  and  ready  to  be  produced  should 
he  prove  to  be  a  more  eligible  shepherd  than  t'other?  I  am 
not  such  a  savage  towards  my  readers  or  hero,  as  to  make 
them  undergo  the  misery  of  such  a  marriage. 

Philip  was  very  little  of  a  club  or  society  man.  He  seldom 
or  ever  entered  the  "  Megatherium,"  or  when  there  stared  and 
scowled  round  him  savagely,  and  laughed  strangel}'  at  the  ways 
of  the  inhabitants.  He  made  but  a  clumsj'  figure  in  the  world, 
though  in  person,  handsome,  active,  and  proper  enough ;  but 
he  would  for  ever  put  his  great  foot  through  the  World's  flounced 
skirts,  and  she  would  stare,  and  cry  out,  and  hate  him.  He 
was  the  last  man  who  was  aware  of  the  Woolcomb  flirtation, 
when  hundreds  of  people,  I  dare  say,  were  simpering  over  it. 

"Who  is  that  little  man  who  comes  to  3'our  house,  and 
whom  I  sometimes  see  in  the  Park,  aunt  —  that  little  man 
with  the  ver^'  white  gloves  and  the  ver}^  tawny  complexion  ?  " 
asks  Philip. 

"  That  is  Mr.  Woolcomb,  of  the  Life  Guards  Green,"  aunt 
remembers. 

"  An  officer  is  he?  "  says  Philip,  turning  round  to  the  girls. 
"I  should  have  thought  he  would  have  done  better  for  the 
turban  and  cymbals."  And  he  laughs  and  thinks  he  has  said 
a  very  clever  thing.  Oh,  those  good  things  about  people  and 
against  people !  Never,  my  dear  30ung  friend,  say  them  to 
anybody  —  not  to  a  stranger,  for  he  will  go  away  and  tell ;  not 
to  the  mistress  of  your  affections,  for  you  may  quarrel  with  her, 
and  then  she  will  tell ;  not  to  your  son,  for  the  artless  child  will 
return  to  his  schoolfellows  and  say:  "Papa  says  Mr.  Bleu- 
kinsop  is  a  muff."  My  child,  or  what  not,  praise  everybodj' : 
smile  on  everybody  :  and  everybody  w411  smile  on  you  in  return, 


186  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

a  sham  smile,  and  hold  you  out  a  sham  hand ;  and,  in  a  word, 
esteem  you  as  you  deserve.  No.  I  think  you  and  I  wUl  take 
the  ups  and  the  downs,  the  roughs  and  the  smooths  of  this 
daily  existence  and  conversation.  We  will  praise  those  whom 
we  like,  though  nobod}'  repeat  our  kind  sayings  ;  and  say  our 
saj'  about  those  whom  we  dislike,  though  we  are  pretty  sure 
our  words  will  be  carried  by  tale-bearers,  and  increased  and 
multiplied,  and  remembered  long  after  we  have  forgotten  them. 
We  drop  a  little  stone  —  a  little  stone  that  is  swallowed  up 
and  disappears,  but  the  whole  pond  is  set  in  commotion,  and 
ripples  in  continually  widening  circles  long  after  the  original 
little  stone  has  popped  down  and  is  out  of  sight.  Don't  your 
speeches  of  ten  years  ago  —  maimed,  distorted,  bloated  it  may 
be  out  of  all  recognition  —  come  strangely  back  to  their  author  ? 
Phil,  five  minutes  after  he  had  made  the  joke,  so  entirely 
forgot  his  sa3ing  about  the  Black  Prince  and  the  cymbals,  that, 
when  Captain  Woolcomb  scowled  at  him  with  his  fiercest  eyes, 
3'oung  Firmin  thought  that  this  was  the  natural  expression  of 
the  captain's  swarthy  countenance,  and  gave  himself  no  further 
trouble  regarding  it.  "  By  George  !  sir,"  said  Phil  afterwards, 
speaking  of  this  officer,  "I  remarked  that  he  grinned,  and 
chattered,  and  showed  his  teeth  ;  and  remembering  it  was  the 
nature  of  such  baboons  to  chatter  and  grin,  had  no  idea  that 
this  chimpanzee  was  more  angry  with  me  than  with  any  other 
gentleman.  You  see.  Pen,  I  am  a  white-skinned  man  ;  I  am 
pronounced  even  red-whiskered  by  the  ill-natured.  It  is  not 
the  prettiest  color.  But  I  had  no  idea  that  I  was  to  have  a 
mulatto  for  a  rival.  I  am  not  so  rich,  certainly,  but  I  have 
enough.  I  can  read  and  spell  correctl3^  and  write  with  toler- 
able fluency.  I  could  not,  j^ou  know,  could  I,  reasonably  sup- 
pose that  I  need  fear  competition,  and  that  the  black  horse 
would  beat  the  ba}'  one  ?  Shall  I  tell  you  what  she  used  to  say 
to  me?  There  is  no  kissing  and  telling,  mind  j^ou.  No,  by 
George.  Virtue  and  prudence  were  for  ever  on  her  lips  !  She 
warbled  little  sermons  to  me  ;  hinted  gently  that  I  should  see 
to  safe  investments  of  my  property,  and  that  no  man,  not  even 
a  father,  should  be  the  sole  and  uncontrolled  guardian  of  it. 
She  asked  me,  sir,  scores  and  scores  of  little  sweet,  timid, 
innocent  questions  about  the  doctor's  property,  and  how  much 
did  I  think  it  was,  and  how  had  he  laid  it  out?  What  virtuous 
parents  that  angel  had  !  How  they  brought  her  up,  and  edu- 
cated her  dear  blue  eyes  to  the  main  chance  !  She  knows  the 
price  of  housekeeping,  and  the  value  of  railway  shares  ;  she  in- 
vests capital  for  herself  in  this  world  and  the  next.     She  mayn't 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  187 

do  right  always,  but  wrong?  O  fie,  never!  I  sa}',  Pen,  an 
undeveloped  angel  with  wings  folded  under  her  dress  ;  not,  per- 
haps, your  mighty,  snow-white,  flashing  pinions  that  spread  out 
and  soar  up  to  the  highest  stars,  but  a  pair  of  good  serviceable 
drab  dove-colored  wings,  that  will  support  her  gently  and  equa- 
bly just  over  our  heads,  and  help  to  drop  her  softly  when  she 
condescends  upon  us.  When  I  think,  sir,  that  I  might  have 
been  married  to  a  genteel  angel  and  am  single  still,  —  oh  !  it's 
despair,  it' s  despair  !  " 

But  Philip's  little  stor}-  of  disappointed  hopes  and  bootless 
passion  must  be  told  in  terms  less  acrimonious  and  unfair  than 
the  gentleman  would  use,  naturally  of  a  sanguine,  swaggering 
taUi,  prone  to  exaggerate  his  own  disappointments,  and  call 
out,  roar  —  I  dare  sa}'  swear  —  if  his  own  corn  was  trodden 
upon,  as  loudly  as  some  men  who  may  have  a  leg  taken  olf. 

This  I  can  vouch  for  Miss  Twysden,  Mrs.  Twj'sden,  and  all 
the  rest  of  the  family:  —  that  if  the}',  what  you  call,  jilted 
PhiUp,  they  did  so  without  the  slightest  hesitation  or  notion 
that  they  were  doing  a  dirty  action.  Their  actions  never  were 
dirty  or  mean ;  they  were  necessary,  I  tell  you,  and  calmly 
proper.  They  ate  cheese-parings  with  graceful  silence  ;  the}' 
cribbed  from  board-wages  ;  they  turned  hungry  servants  out  of 
doors  ;  they  remitted  no  chance  in  their  own  favor  ;  they  slept 
gracefully  under  scanty  coverlids  ;  they  lighted  niggard  fires  ; 
they  locked  the  cadd}'  with  the  closest  lock,  and  served  the 
teapot  with  the  smallest  and  least  frequent  spoon.  But  you 
don't  suppose  they  thought  they  were  mean,  or  that  they  did 
wrong?  Ah  !  it  is  admirable  to  think  of  man}^,  many,  ever  so 
many  respectable  families  of  your  acquaintance  and  mine,  m}'^ 
dear  friend,  and  how  they  meet  together  and  humbug  each 
other!  "  My  dear,  I  have  cribbed  half  an  inch  of  plush  out 
of  James's  small-clothes."  "  My  love,  I  have  saved  a  half- 
penny out  of  Mar3''s  beer.  Isn't  it  time  to  dress  for  the 
duchess's  ;  and  don't  you  think  John  might  wear  that  livery  of 
Thomas's,  who  only  had  it  a  year,  and  died  of  the  small-pox? 
It's  a  little  tight  for  him,  to  be  sure,  but,"  &C.  What  is  this? 
I  profess  to  be  an  impartial  chronicler  of  poor  Phil's  fortunes, 
misfortunes,  friendships,  and  what-nots,  and  am  getting  ahnost 
as  angry  with  these  Twj'sdens  as  Philip  ever  was  himself. 

Well,  I  am  not  mortally  angry  with  poor  Traviata  tramping 
the  pavement,  with  the  gas-lamp  flaring  on  her  poor  painted 
smile,  else  my  indignant  virtue  and  squeamish  modesty  would 
never  walk  Piccadilly  or  get  the  air.  But  Lais,  quite  moral,  and 
very  neatlv,  primly,  and  straitly  laced  ;  —  Phryne,  not  the  least 


188  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

dishevelled,  but  with  a  fixature  for  her  hair,  and  the  best  stays, 
fastened  by  mamma  ;  —  your  High  Church  or  Evangelical  As- 
pasia,  the  model  of  all  proprieties,  and  owner  of  all  virgin- 
purity  blooms,  ready  to  sell  her  cheek  to  the  oldest  old  fogy 
who  has  money  and  a  title  ; — these  are  the  Unfortunates,  my 
dear  brother  and  sister  sinners,  whom  I  should  like  to  see 
repentant  and  specially  trounced  first.  Why,  some  of  these 
are  j)ut  into  reformatories  in  Grosvenor  Square.  They  wear  a 
prison  dress  of  diamonds  and  Chantilly  lace.  Their  parents 
cry,  and  thank  heaven  as  they  sell  them ;  and  all  sorts  of 
revered  bishops,  clerg}^,  relations,  dowagers,  sign  the  book, 
and  ratify  the  ceremony.  Come  !  let  us  call  a  midnight  meeting 
of  those  who  have  been  sold  in  marriage,  I  say,  and  what  a  re- 
spectable, what  a  genteel,  what  a  fashionable,  what  a  brilliant 
what  an  imposing,  what  a  multitudinous  assembly  we  will  have  ; 
and  Where's  the  room  in  all  Babylon  big  enough  to  hold  them? 
Look  into  that  grave,  solemn,  dingy,  somewhat  naked,  but 
elegant  drawing-room,  in  Beaunash  Street,  and  with  a  little 
fanciful  opera-glass  you  may  see  a  prettj'  little  group  or  two 
engaged  at  different  periods  of  the  day.  It  is  after  lunch,  and 
before  Rotten  Row  ride  time  (this  story,  3'ou  know,  relates 
to  a  period  ever  so  remote,  and  long  before  folks  thought 
of  riding  in  the  Park  in  the  forenoon).  After  lunch,  and  be- 
fore Rotten  Row  time,  saunters  into  the  drawing-room  a  fair- 
haired  young  fellow  with  large  feet  and  chest,  careless  of  gloves, 
with  auburn  whiskers  blowing  over  a  loose  collar,  and  —  must 
I  confess  it?  —  a  most  undeniable  odor  of  cigars  about  his 
person.  He  breaks  out  regarding  the  debate  of  the  previous 
night,  or  the  pamphlet  of  yesterda}',  or  the  poem  of  the  day 
previous,  or  the  scandal  of  the  week  before,  or  upon  the  street- 
sweeper  at  the  corner,  or  the  Italian  and  monke}'  before  the 
Park  —  upon  whatever,  in  a  word,  moves  his  mind  for  the 
moment.  If  Philip  has  had  a  bad  dinner  yesterday  (and  hap- 
pens to  remember  it),  he  growls,  grumbles,  nay,  I  dare  say, 
uses  the  most  blasphemous  language  against  the  cook,  against 
the  waiters,  against  the  steward,  against  the  committee,  against 
the  whole  society  of  the  club  where  he  has  been  dining.  If 
Philip  has  met  an  organ-girl  with  prett}-  eyes  and  a  monkej-  in 
the  street,  he  has  grinned  and  wondered  over  the  monkey ;  he 
has  wagged  his  head,  and  sung  all  the  organ's  tunes  ;  he  has 
discovered  that  the  little  girl  is  the  most  ravishing  beauty  eyes 
ever  looked  on,  and  that  her  scoundrelly  Savoyard  father  is 
most  likely  an  Alpine  miscreant  who  has  bartered  away  his 
child  to  a  pedler  of  the  beggarly  cheesy  valleys,  who  has  sold 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  189 

her  to  a  friend  qui  fait  la  traite  des  hurdigurdies,  and  has  dis- 
posed of  her  in  England.  If  he  has  to  discourse  on  the  poem, 
pamphlet,  magazine  article  —  it  is  written  by  the  greatest 
genius,  or  the  greatest  numskull,  that  the  world  now  exhibits. 
He  write  !  A  man  who  makes  fire  rhyme  with  Marire  !  This 
vale  of  tears  and  world  which  we  inhabit  does  not  contain  such 
an  idiot.  Or  have  you  seen  Dobbins's  poem?  Agnes,  mark  my 
words  for  it,  there  is  a  genius  in  Dobbins  which  some  day  will 
show  what  I  have  always  surmised,  what  I  have  always  imagined 
possible,  what  I  have  alwa3's  felt  to  be  more  than  probable, 
what,  by  George  !  I  feel  to  be  perfectly  certain,  and  any  man 
is  a  humbug  who  contradicts  it,  and  a  malignant  miscreant, 
and  the  world  is  full  of  fellows  who  will  never  give  another 
man  credit ;  and  I  swear  that  to  recognize  and  feel  merit  in 
poetr}-,  painting,  music,  rope-dancing,  anything,  is  the  greatest 
delight  and  joy  of  my  existence.     I  saj-  —  what  was  I  saying? 

"You  were  saying,  Philip,  that  you  love  to  recognize  the 
merits  of  all  men  whom  you  see,"  sa^^s  gentle  Agues,  "  and  I 
believe  vou  do." 

"  Yes  !  "  cries  Phil,  tossing  about  the  fair  locks.  "  I  think  I 
do.  Thank  heaven,  I  do.  I  know  fellows  who  can  do  many 
things  better  than  I  do  —  everything  better  than  I  do." 

"Oh,  Philip  !  "  sighs  the  lady. 

"  But  I  don't  hate  'em  for  it." 

"  You  never  hated  any  one,  sir.  You  are  too  brave  !  Can 
you  fanc}'  Philip  hating  any  one,  mamma?" 

Mamma  is  writing :  "Mr.  and  Mrs.  Talbot  Twtsdek  re- 
quest the  honor  of  Admiral  and  Mrs.  Davis  Locker's  company 
at  dinner  on  Thursday  the  so-and-so."  "  Philip  what?"  sa3's 
mamma,  looking  up  from  her  card.  "Philip  hating  any  one ! 
Philip  eating  any  one  !  Philip  !  we  have  a  little  dinner  on  the 
24th.  We  shall  ask  your  father  to  dine.  We  must  not  have 
too  many  of  the  family.     Come  in  afterwards,  please." 

"Yes,  aunt,"  sa3'S  downright  Phil,  "  I'll  come,  if  you  and 
the  girls  wish.  Y''ou  know  tea  is  not  in  mj'  line  ;  and  I  don't 
care  about  dinners,  except  in  my  own  way,  and  with  —  " 

"  And  with  3'our  own  horrid  set,  sir !  " 

"  Well,"  sa3's  Sultan  Philip,  flinging  himself  out  on  the  sofa, 
and   lording  on   the   ottoman,  "I   like   mine   ease   and  mine 


iun." 


"Ah,  Philip!  you  grow  more  selfish  every  da3-.  I  meaa 
men  do,"  sighed  Agnes. 

You  will  suppose  mamma  leaves  the  room  at  this  juncture. 
She  has  that  confidence  in  dear  Philip  and  the  dear  girls,  that 


190  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

she  sometimes  does  leave  the  room  when  Agnes  and  Phil  are 
together.  She  will  leave  Reuben,  the  eldest  born,  with  her 
daughters  :  but  ra}'  poor  dear  little  younger  son  of  a  Joseph,  if 
you  suppose  she  will  leave  the  room  and  you  alone  in  it  —  O 
m}^  dear  Joseph,  you  may  just  jump  down  the  well  at  once  ! 
Mamma,  I  say,  has  left  the  room  at  last,  bowing  with  a  perfect 
sweetness  and  calm  grace  and  gravity  ;  and  she  has  slipped 
down  the  stairs,  scarce  more  nois}-  than  the  shadow  that  slants 
over  the  faded  carpet  (oh!  the  faded  shadow,  the  faded  sun- 
shine !) —  mamma  is  gone,  I  say,  to  the  lower  regions,  and 
with  perfect  good  breeding  is  torturing  the  butler  on  his  bottle- 
rack  —  is  squeezing  the  housekeeper  in  her  jam-closet  —  is 
watching  the  three  cold  cutlets  shuddering  in  the  larder  behind 
the  wires  —  is  blandly  glancing  at  the  kitchen-maid  until  the 
poor  wench  fancies  the  piece  of  bacon  is  discovered  which  she 
gave  to  the  crossing-sweeper  —  and  calmly  penetrating  John 
until  he  feels  sure  his  inmost  heart  is  revealed  to  her,  as  it 
throbs  within  his  worsted-laced  waistcoat,  and  she  knows  about 
that  pawning  of  master's  old  boots,  (beastly  old  highlows  !)  and 

—  and,  in  fact,  all  the  most  intimate  circumstances  of  his  ex- 
istence. A  wretched  maid,  who  has  been  ironing  collars,  or 
what  not,  gives  her  mistress  a  shuddering  curtsy,  and  slinks 
away  with  her  laces  ;  and  meanwhile  our  girl  and  boy  are 
prattling  in  the  drawing-room. 

About  what?  About  everything  on  which  Phihp  chooses  to 
talk.  There  is  nobody  to  contradict  him  but  himself,  and  then 
his  pretty  hearer  vows  and  declares  he  has  not  been  so  very 
contradictory.  He  spouts  his  favorite  poems.  "Delightful! 
Do,  Philip,  read  us  some  Walter  Scott !  He  is,  as  you  say,  the 
most  fresh,  the  most  manly,  the  most  kindly  of  poetic  writers 

—  not  of  the  first  class,  certainly.  In  fact,  he  has  written 
most  dreadful  bosh,  as  you  call  it  so  drolly  ;  and  so  has  Words- 
worth, though  he  is  one  of  the  greatest  of  men,  and  has  reached 
sometimes  to  the  very  greatest  height  and  sublimit}^  of  poetry  ; 
but  now  3'ou  put  it,  I  must  confess  he  is  often  an  old  bore,  and 
I  certain!}'  should  have  gone  to  sleep  during  the  '  Excursion,' 
only  you  read  it  so  nicel3^  You  don't  think  the  new  composers 
as  good  as  the  old  ones,  and  love  mamma's  old-fashioned  play- 
ing? Well,  Philip,  it  is  delightful,  so  lady-hke,  so  feminine!" 
Or,  perhaps,  Philip  has  just  come  from  Hyde  Park,  and  saj'S, 
"As  I  passed  by  Apsley  House,  I  saw  the  Duke  come  out, 
with  his  old  blue  frock  and  white  trousers  and  clear  face.  I 
have  seen  a  picture  of  him  in  an  old  European  Magazine^  which 
I  think  I  like  better  than  all  —  gives  me  the  idea  of  one  of  the 


ON  HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  191 

brightest  men  in  the  world.  The  brave  eyes  gleam  at  you  out 
of  the  picture  ;  and  there's  a  smile  on  the  resolute  lips,  which 
seems  to  insure  triumph.  Agnes,  Assaj'e  must  have  been 
glorious  !  " 

"Glorious,  Philip!"  saj's  Agnes,  who  had  never  heard  of 
Assaye  before  in  her  life.  Arbela,  perhaps  ;  Salamis,  Mara- 
thon, Agincourt,  Blenheim,  Busaco  —  where  dear  grandpapa 
was  killed — Waterloo,  Armageddon  ;  but  Assa3'e?  Que  voulez- 
vous  ? 

"  Think  of  that  ordinarily  prudent  man,  and  how  greatly  he 
knew  how  to  dare  when  occasion  came  !  I  should  like  to  have 
died  after  winning  such  a  game.  He  has  never  done  anything 
so  exciting  since." 

"A  game?  I  thought  it  was  a  battle  just  now,"  murmurs 
Agnes  in  her  mind  ;  but  there  may  be  some  misunderstanding. 
"Ah,  Philip,"  she  says,  "I  fear  excitement  is  too  much  the 
life  of  all  young  men  now.  When  will  you  be  quiet  and  stead}', 
sir?" 

"  And  go  to  an  office  every  day,  like  my  uncle  and  cousin  ; 
and  read  the  newspapers  for  three  hours,  and  trot  back  and  see 
you." 

"  Well,  sir  !  that  ought  not  to  be  such  very  bad  amusement," 
says  one  of  the  ladies. 

"  What  a  clumsy  wretch  I  am  !  my  foot  is  always  trampling 
on  something  or  somebody  !  "  groans  Phil. 

"You  must  come  to  us,  and  we  will  teach  j'ou  to  dance, 
Bruin  ! "  says  gentle  Agnes,  smiling  on  him.  I  think  when  very 
much  agitated,  her  pulse  must  have  gone  up  to  forty.  Her 
blood  must  have  been  a  light  pink.  The  heart  that  beat  under 
that  prett}'  white  chest,  which  she  exposed  so  liberally,  may 
have  throbbed  prettj^  quickly  once  or  twice  with  waltzing,  but 
otherwise  never  rose  or  fell  beyond  its  natural  gentle  undula- 
tion. It  may  have  had  throbs  of  grief  at  a  disappointment 
occasioned  by  the  milliner  not  bringing  a  dress  home  ;  or  have 
felt  some  little  fluttering  impulse  of  ^'outhful  passion  when  it 
was  in  short  frocks,  and  Master  Grimsb}'  at  the  dancing-school 
showed  some  preference  for  another  young  pupil  out  of  the  nur- 
sery. But  feelings,  and  hopes,  and  blushes,  and  passions  now? 
Psha !  They  pass  away  like  nursery  dreams.  Now  there  are 
only  proprieties.  What  is  love,  young  heart?  It  is  two  thou- 
sand a  year,  at  the  verj'  lowest  computation  ;  and,  with  the 
present  rise  in  wages  and  house-rent,  that  calculation  can't  last 
very  long.  Love?  Attachment?  Look  at  Frank  Maythorn, 
with  his  vernal  blushes,  his  leafy  whiskers,  his  sunshiny,"  laugh- 


192  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

ing  face,  and  all  the  birds  of  spring  carolling  in  his  jolly  voice ; 
and  old  General  Finwood  hobbling  in  on  his  cork  leg,  with  his 
stars  and  orders,  and  leering  round  the  room  from  under  his 
painted  eyebrows.  Will  my  modest  nymph  go  to  Maythorn,  or 
to  yonder  leering  Satyr,  who  totters  towards  her  in  his  white 
and  rouge?  Nonsense.  She  gives  her  garland  to  the  old  man, 
to  be  sure.  He  is  ten  times  as  rich  as  the  3^oung  one.  And 
so  they  went  on  in  Arcadia  itself,  really.  Not  in  that  namby- 
pamby  ballet  and  idyll  world,  where  they  tripped  up  to  each 
other  in  rhythm,  and  talked  hexameters  ;  but  in  the  real  down- 
right, no-mistake  country  —  Arcadia  —  where  Tityrus,  fluting 
to  Amaryllis  in  the  shade,  had  his  pipe  very  soon  put  out  when 
Meliboeus  (the  great  grazier)  performed  on  his  melodious,  exqui- 
site, irresistible  cowhorn  ;  and  where  Daphne's  mother  dressed 
her  up  with  ribbons  and  drove  her  to  market,  and  sold  her,  and 
swapped  her,  and  bartered  her  like  any  other  lamb  in  the  fair. 
This  one  has  been  trotted  to  the  market  so  long  now  that  she 
knows  the  way  herself.  Her  baa  has  been  heard  for  —  do 
not  let  us  count  how  many  seasons.  She  has  nibbled  out  of 
countless  hands  ;  frisked  in  many  thousand  dances  ;  come  quite 
harmless  away  from  goodness  knows  how  man}'  wolves.  Ah  ! 
ye  lambs  and  raddled  innocents  of  our  Arcadia  !  Ah,  old  Ewe  ! 
Is  it  of  your  ladyship  this  fable  is  narrated?  I  say  it  is  as  old 
as  Cadmus,  and  man  and  mutton  kind. 

So,  when  Philip  comes  to  Beaunash  Street,  Agnes  listens  to 
him  most  kindly, 'sweetly,  gentl}',  and  affectionatelj'.  Her  pulse 
goes  up  ver}^  nearly-  half  a  beat  when  the  echo  of  his  horse's 
heels  is  heard  in  the  quiet  street.  It  undergoes  a  correspond- 
ing depression  when  the  daily  grief  of  parting  is  encountered 
and  overcome.  Blanche  and  Agnes  don't  love  each  otlier  ver}' 
passionately.  If  I  may  say  as  much  regarding  those  two  lamb- 
kins, they  butt  at  each  other  —  they  quarrel  with  each  other  — 
but  they  have  secret  understandings.  During  Phil's  visits  the 
girls  remain  together,  you  understand,  or  mamma  is  with  the 
young  people.  Female  friends  ma.y  come  in  to  call  on  Mrs. 
Twysden,  and  the  matrons  whisper  together,  and  glance  at  the 
cousins,  and  look  knowing.  "Poor  orphan  boy!"  mamma 
saj's  to  a  sister  matron.  "  I  am  like  a  mother  to  him  since  my 
dear  sister  died.  His  own  home  is  so  blank,  and  ours  so  merr}', 
so  affectionate !  There  may  be  intimac}',  tender  regard,  the 
utmost  confidence  between  cousins  —  there  maybe  future  and 
even  closer  ties  between  them  —  but  you  understand,  dear  Mrs. 
Matcham,  no  engagement  between  them.  He  is  eager,  hot- 
headed, impetuous,  and  imprudent,  as  we  all  know.     She  has 


ON  HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  193 

not  seen  the  world  enough  —  is  not  sure  of  herself,  poor  dear 
child  !  Therefore  every  circumspection,  every  caution  is  neces- 
sary. There  must  be  no  engagement,  no  letters  between  them. 
My  darUng  Agnes  does  not  write  to  ask  him  to  dinner  without 
showing  the  note  to  me  or  her  father.  My  dearest  girls  respect 
themselves."  "Of  course,  my  dear  Mrs.  Twysden,  they  are 
admirable,  both  of  them.  Bless  you,  darlings  !  Agnes,  you  look 
radiant !  Ah,  Rosa,  my  child,  I  wish  3'ou  had  dear  Blanche's 
complexion  ! " 

' '  And  isn't  it  monstrous  keeping  that  poor  boy  hanging  on 
until  Mr.  Woolcomb  has  made  np  his  mind  about  coming 
forward?"  says  dear  Mrs.  Matcham  to  her  own  daughter,  as 
her  brougham-door  closes  on  the  pair.  ' '  Here  he  comes ! 
Here  is  his  cab.  Maria  Twysden  is  one  of  the  smartest  women 
in  England  —  that  she  is." 

"  How  odd  it  is,  mamma,  that  the  beau  cousin  and  Captain 
Woolcomb  are  always  calling,  and  never  call  together !  "  re- 
marks the  ingenue. 

"  Thej^  might  quarrel  if  they  met.  They  say  young  Mr. 
Fu-min  is  very  quarrelsome  and  impetuous  ! "  says  mamma. 

"  But  how  are  thej'  kept  apart?  " 

"Chance,  my  dear!  mere  chance!"  sa3'S  mamma.  And 
they  agree  to  say  it  is  chance  —  and  they  agree  to  pretend  to 
believe  one  another.  And  the  girl  and  tlie  mother  know  every- 
thing about  Woolcomb's  property,  everything  about  Philip's 
property  and  expectations,  everything  about  all  the  young  men 
in  London,  and  those  coming  on.  And  Mrs.  Matcham's  girl 
fished  for  Captain  Woolcomb  last  year  in  Scotland,  at  Loch- 
hookey  ;  and  stalked  him  to  Paris  ;  and  they  went  down  on 
their  knees  to  Lad}'  Banbury  when  they  heard  of  the  theatricals 
at  the  Cross  ;  and  pursued  that  man  about  until  he  is  forced  to 
say,  "  Confound  me  !  hang  me  !  it's  too  bad  of  that  woman  and 
her  daughter,  it  is  now,  I  give  3'ou  my  honor  it  is  !  And  all 
the  fellows  chaff  me  !  And  she  took  a  house  in  Regent's  Park, 
opposite  our  barracks,  and  asked  for  her  daughter  to  learn  to 
ride  in  our  school  —  Pm  blest  if  she  didn't,  Mrs.  Twysden! 
and  I  thought  m}-  black  mare  would  have  kicked  her  off  one 
day  —  I  mean  the  daughter  —  but  she  stuck  on  like  grim  death  ; 
and  the  fellows  call  them  Mrs.  Grim  Death  and  her  daughter. 
Our  surgeon  called  them  so,  and  a  doosid  rum  fellow  —  and 
they  chaff  me  about  it,  you  know  —  ever  so  many  of  the  fel- 
lows do  —  and  Pm  not  going  to  be  had  in  that  way  b}^  Mrs. 
Grim  Death  and  her  daughter !     No,  not  as  I  knows,  if  you 

please  i " 

13 


194  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

"  You  are  a  dreadful  man,  and  you  gave  her  a  dreadful 
name,  Captain  Woolcomb  !  "  sa3's  mamma. 

"  It  wasn't  me.  It  was  the  surgeon,  you  know,  Miss  Agnes  : 
a  doosid  funny  and  witty  fellow,  Nixon  is  —  and  sent  a  thing 
once  to  Punchy  Nixon  did.  I  heard  him  make  the  riddle  in 
Albany  Barracks  and  it  riled  Foker  so  !  You've  no  idea  how 
it  riled  Foker,  for  he's  in  it !  " 

"In  it?"  asks  Agnes,  with  the  gentle  smile,  the  candid 
blue  eyes  —  the  same  eyes,  expression,  lips,  that  smile  and 
sparkle  at  Philip. 

"  Here  it  is  !  Capital.  Took  it  down.  Wrote  it  into  my 
pocket-book  at  once  as  Nixon  made  it.  '  All  doctors  like 
my  first,  thafs  clear !  '  Doctor  Firmin  does  that.  Old  Parr 
Street  part}'  !  Don't  you  see,  Miss  Agnes  ?  Fee  !  Don't 
you  see  ? " 

"  Fee  !  Oh,  you  droll  thing !  "  cries  Agnes,  smiling,  radiant, 
very  much  puzzled. 

"  '  My  second,'  "  goes  on  the  young  officer —  "  '  My  second 
gives  us  Foker' s  beer  ! '  " 

"  '  My  whole's  the  shortest  month  in  all  the  year  !  '  Don't  you 
see,  Mrs.  Twysden?  Fee-Brewery,  don't  you  see?  Feb- 
ruarj' !  A  doosid  good  one,  isn't  it  now?  and  I  wonder  Punch 
never  put  it  in.  And  upon  my  word,  I  used  to  spell  it  Febuary 
before,  I  did  ;  and  I'  dare  say  ever  so  many  fellows  do  still. 
And  I  know  the  right  way  now,  and  all  from  that  riddle  which 
Nixon  made."     > 

The  ladies  declare  he  is  a  droll  man,  and  full  of  fun.  He 
rattles  on,  artlessly  telling  his  little  stories  of  sport,  drink, 
adventure,  in  which  the  dusky  little  man  himself  is  a  prominent 
figure.  Not  honey-mouthed  Plato  would  be  listened  to  more 
kindly  by  those  three  ladies.  A  bland,  frank  smile  shines  over 
Talbot  Twysden's  noble  face,  as  he  comes  in  from  his  office, 
and  finds  the  Creole  prattling.  "What,  you  here,  Woolcomb? 
Hay  !  Glad  to  see  you  !  "  And  the  gallant  hand  goes  out  and 
meets  and  grasps  Woolcomb's  tiny  kid  glove. 

' '  He  has  been  so  amusing,  papa  !  He  has  been  making  us 
die  with  laughing !  Tell  papa  that  riddle  3'ou  made,  Captain 
Woolcomb  ?  " 

"That  riddle  I  made?  That  riddle  Nixon,  our  surgeon, 
made.     '  All  doctors  like  mj'  first,  that's  clear,'  "  &c. 

And  da  capo.  And  the  family,  as  he  expounds  this  admira- 
ble rebus,  gather  round  the  3'oung  officer  in  a  group,  and  the 
curtain  drops. 

As  in  a  theatre  booth  at  a  fair  there  are  two  or  three  per- 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  195 

formances  in  a  day,  so  in  Beaunash  Street  a  little  genteel 
corned}'  is  played  twice  :  —  at  four  o'clock  with  Mr.  Firmin,  at 
five  o'clock  with  Mr.  Woolcomb  ;  and  for  both  young  gentle- 
men, same  smiles,  same  eyes,  same  voice,  same  welcome.  Ah, 
bravo  !  ah,  encore ! 


CHAPTER  X. 

IN  WHICH   WE    VISIT    "  ADJURAL    BTNG." 

From  long  residence  in  Bohemia,  and  fatal  love  of  bachelor 
ease  and  habits,  Master  Philip's  pure  tastes  were  so  destroyed, 
and  his  manners  so  perverted  that,  you  will  hardly  believe  it, 
he  was  actuallj'  indifferent  to  the  pleasures  of  the  refined  home 
we  have  just  been  describing ;  and,  when  Agnes  was  awa}^, 
sometimes  even  when  she  was  at  home,  was  quite  relieved  to 
get  out  of  Beaunash  Street.  He  is  hardly  twenty  yards  from 
the  door,  when  out  of  his  pocket  there  comes  a  case  ;  out  of 
the  case  there  jumps  an  aromatic  cigar,  which  is  scattering 
fragrance  around  as  he  is  marching  briskly  northwards  to  his 
next  house  of  call.  The  pace  is  even  more  livelj'  now  than 
when  he  is  hastening  on  what  you  call  the  wings  of  love  to 
Beaunash  Street.  At  the  house  whither  he  is  now  going,  he 
and  the  cigar  are  alwa^'s  welcome.  There  is  no  need  of  munch- 
ing orange  chips,  or  chewing  scented  pills,  or  flinging  your 
weed  awa}-  half  a  mile  before  you  reach  Thornhaugh  Street  — 
the  low,  vulgar  place.  I  promise  3'ou  Phil  ma}-  smoke  at 
Brandon's,  and  find  others  doing  the  same.  He  ma}-  set  the 
house  on  fire,  if  so  minded,  such  a  favorite  is  he  there  ;  and 
the  Little  Sister,  with  her  kind,  beaming  smile,  will  be  there 
to  bid  him  welcome.  How  that  woman  loved  Phil,  and  how  he 
loved  her,  is  quite  a  curiosity  ;  and  both  of  them  used  to  be 
twitted  with  this  attachment  by  their  mutual  friends,  and  blush 
as  they  acknowledged  it.  Ever  since  the  little  nurse  had  saved 
his  life  as  a  schoolboy,  it  was  a  la  vie  a  la  mort  between  them. 
Phil's  father's  chariot  used  to  come  to  Thornhaugh  Street  some- 
times —  at  rare  times  —  and  the  doctor  descend  thence  and 
have  colloquies  with  the  Little  Sister.  She  attended  a  patient 
or  two  of  his.  She  was  certainly  very  much  better  oflT  in  her 
mone}-  matters  in  these  late  years,  since  she  had  known  Dr. 
Firmin.     Do  you  think  she  took  money  from  him?    As  a  uov- 


196  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

elist,  who  knows  everything  about  his  people,  I  am  constrained 
to  say,  Yes.  She  took  enough  to  pay  some  Httle  bills  of  her 
weak-minded  old  father,  and  send  the  bailiffs  hand  from  his 
old  collar.  But  nO  more.  "I  think  30U  owe  him  as  much 
as  that,"  she  said  to  the  doctor.  But  as  for  compliments 
between  them  —  "Dr.  Firmin,  I  would  die  rather  than  be  be- 
holden to  you  for  anything,"  she  said,  with  her  little  limbs  all 
in  a  tremor,  and  her  eyes  flashing  anger.  "  How  dare  3-ou, 
sir,  after  old  days,  be  a  coward  and  pa}^  compliments  to  me  ;  I 
will  tell  your  son  of  you,  sir  !  "  and  the  little  woman  looked  as 
if  she  could  have  stabbed  the  elderly  libertine  there  as  he  stood. 
And  he  shrugged  his  handsome  shoulders  :  blushed  a  little  too, 
perhaps :  gave  her  one  of  his  darkling  looks,  and  departed. 
She  ^had  believed  him  once.  She  had  married  him,  as  she 
fancied.  He  had  tired  of  her  ;  forsaken  her  ;  left  her  —  left 
her  even  without  a  name.  She  had  not  known  his  for  long 
years  after  her  trust  and  his  deceit.  "No,  sir,  I  wouldn't 
have  your  name  now,  not  if  it  were  a  lord's,  I  wouldn't,  and  a 
coronet  on  your  carriage.  You  are  beneath  me  now,  Mr. 
Brand  Firmin  !  "  she  had  said. 

How  came  she  to  love  the  boy  so?  Years  back,  in  her  own 
horrible  extremity  of  misery,  she  could  remember  a  week  or 
two  of  a  brief,  strange,  exquisite  happiness,  which  came  to  her 
in  the  midst  of  her  degradation  and  desertion,  and  for  a  few 
days  a  baby  in  her  arms,  with  eyes  like  Philip's.  It  was  taken 
from  her,  after  a -few  days  —  only  sixteen  days.  Insanity  came 
upon  her,  as  her  dead  infant  was  carried  away:  —  insanity, 
and  fever,  and  struggle  —  ah  !  who  knows  how  dreadful?  She 
never  does.  There  is  a  gap  in  her  life  which  she  never  can 
recall  quite.  But  George  Brand  Firmin,  Esq.,  M.D.,  knows 
how  very  frequent  are  such  cases  of  mania,  and  that  women 
who  don't  speak  about  them  often  will  cherish  them  for  years 
after  they  appear  to  have  passed  away.  The  Little  Sister 
says,  quite  gravely,  sometimes,  "  They  are  allowed  to  come 
back.  They  do  come  back.  Else  what's  the  good  of  little 
cherubs  bein'  born,  and  smilin',  and  happy,  and  beautiful  — 
say,  for  sixteen  days,  and  then  an  end?  I've  talked  about  it 
to  many  ladies  in  "grief  sim'lar  to  mine  was,  and  it  comforts 
them.  And  when  I  saw  that  child  on  his  sick-bed,  and  he 
lifted  his  eyes,  /  hieio  him,  I  tell  you,  Mrs.  Ridley.  I  don't 
speak  about  it ;  but  I  knew  him,  ma'am  ;  my  angel  came  back 
again.  I  know  him  by  the  eyes.  Look  at  'em.  Did  you  ever 
see  such  eyes?  They  look  as  if  they  had  seen  heaven.  His 
father's  don't."     IMrs.    Ridley  beheves  this  theory  solemnly, 


ON  HIS   WAY  THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  197 

and  I  think  I  know  a  lady,  nearly  connected  with  mj'self,  who 
can't  be  got  quite  to  disown  it.  And  this  secret  opinion  to 
women  in  grief  and  sorrow  over  their  new-born  lost  infants 
Mrs.  Brandon  persists  in  imparting,  "/know  a  case,"  the 
nurse  murmurs,  "  of  a  poor  mother  who  lost  her  child  at  six- 
teen days  old  ;  and  sixteen  years  after,  on  the  very  da^',  she 
saw  him  again." 

PhiUp  knows  so  far  of  the  Little  Sister's  story,  that  he  is 
the  object  of  this  delusion,  and,  indeed,  it  ver^^  strangely  and 
tenderly  affects  him.  He  remembei's  fitfullj'  the  illness  through 
which  the  Little  Sister  tended  him,  the  wild  paroxysms  of  his 
fever,  his  head  throbbing  on  her  shoulders  —  cool  tamarind 
drinks  which  she  applied  to  his  lips  —  great  gusty  night  shad- 
ows flickering  through  the  bare  school  dormitor}'  —  the  little 
figure  of  the  nurse  gliding  in  and  out  of  the  dark.  He  must 
be  aware  of  the  recognition,  which  we  know  of,  and  which  took 
place  at  his  bedside,  though  he  has  never  mentioned  it  —  not 
to  his  father,  not  to  Caroline.  But  he  clings  to  the  woman, 
and  shrinks  from  the  man.  Is  it  instinctive  love  and  antipathy? 
The  special  reason  for  his  quarrel  with  his  father  the  junior 
Firmin  has  never  explicitly  told  me  then  or  since.  I  have 
known  sons  much  more  confidential,  and  who,  when  their 
fathers  tripped  and  stumbled,  would  bring  their  acquaintances 
to  jeer  at  the  patriarch  in  his  fall. 

One  day,  as  Philip  enters  Thornhaugh  Street,  and  the 
Sister's  little  parlor  there,  fancy  his  astonishment  on  finding 
his  father's  dingy  friend,  the  Rev.  Tufton  Hunt,  at  his  ease  by 
the  fireside.  "  Surprised  to  see  me  here,  eh?"  says  the  dingy 
gentleman,  with  a  sneer  at  Philip's  lordly  face  of  wonder  and 
disgust.  "Mrs.  Brandon  and  I  turn"  out  to  be  very  old 
friends." 

"Yes,  sir,  old  acquaintances,"  says  the  Little  Sister,  very 
gravely. 

"  The  Captain  brought  me  home  from  the  club  at  the 
'  Byng.'  Jolly  fellows  the  Byngs.  My  service  to  you,  Mr. 
Gann  and  Mrs.  Brandon."  And  the  two  persons  addressed 
by  the  gentleman,  who  is  "  taking  some  refreshment,"  as  the 
phrase  is,  made  a  bow  in  acknowledgment  of  this  salutation. 

"  You  should  have  been  at  Mr.  Philip's  call-supper,  Captain 
Gann,"  the  divine  resumes.  "That  was  a  night!  Tiptop 
swells  —  noblemen  —  first-rate  claret.  That  claret  of  your 
father's,  Philip,  is  pretty  nearly  drunk  down.  And  your 
song  was  famous.  Did  you  ever  hear  him  sing,  Mrs.  Bran- 
don?" 


198  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

' '  "Who  do  you  mean  by  him  ? "  says  Philip,  who  always 
boiled  with  rage  before  this  man. 

Caroline  divines  the  antipathy.  She  la3's  a  little  hand  on 
Philip's  arm.  "  Mr.  Hunt  has  been  having  too  much,  I  think," 
she  says.     "  I  did  know  him  ever  so  long  ago,  Philip  !  " 

"  What  does  he  mean  by  Him?  "  again  says  Philip,  snorting 
at  Tufton  Hunt. 

"  Him  ? — Dr.  Luther's  Hymn  !  '  Wein,  Weib,  und  Gesang,' 
to  be  sure!"  cries  the  clergyman,  humming  the  tune.  "I 
learned  it  in  Germany  mjself —  passed  a  good  deal  of  time  in 
Germany,  Captain  Gann  —  six  months  in  a  specially  shady 
place —  Quod  Strasse,  in  Frankfort-on-the-Maine  —  being  per- 
secuted by  some  wicked  Jews  thei'e.  And  there  was  another 
poor  English  chap  in  the  place,  too,  who  used  to  chirp  that 
song  behind  the  bars,  and  died  there,  and  disappointed  the 
Philistines.  I've  seen  a  deal  of  life,  I  have ;  and  met  with  a 
precious  deal  of  misfortune ;  and  borne  it  j^retty  stoutlj",  too, 
since  jour  father  and  I  were  at  college  together,  Philip.  You 
don't  do  anything  in  this  wa}'?  Not  so  early,  eh?  It's  good 
rum,  Gann,  and  no  mistake."  And  again  the  chaplain  drinks 
to  the  Captain,  who  waves  the  dingy  hand  of  hospitality'  towards 
his  dark  guest. 

For  several  months  past  Hunt  had  now  been  a  resident  in 
London,  and  a  pretty  constant  visitor  at  Dr.  Firmin's  house. 
He  came  and  went  at  his  will.  He  made  the  place  his  house 
of  call;  and  in, the  doctor's  trim,  silent,  orderly  mansion,  was 
perfectly  free,  talkative,  dirt}',  and  familiar.  Philip's  loathing 
for  the  man  increased  till  it  reached  a  pitch  of  frantic  hatred. 
Mr.  Phil,  theoretically  a  Radical,  and  almost  a  Republican  (in 
opposition,  perhaps,  to  his  father,  who,  of  course,  held  the 
highly  respectable  line  of  politics)  —  Mr.  Sansculotte  Phil  was 
personally  one  of  the  most  aristocratic  and  overbearing  of  joung 
gentlemen  ;  and  had  a  contempt  and  hatred  for  mean  people, 
for  base  people,  for  servile  people,  and  especially  for  too  famil- 
iar people,  which  was  not  a  little  amusing  sometimes,  which 
was  provoking  often,  but  which  he  never  was  at  the  least  pains 
of  disguising.  His  uncle  and  cousin  Twysden,  for  example, 
he  treated  not  half  so  civill}^  as  their  footmen.  Little  Talbot 
humbled  himself  before  Phil,  and  felt  not  always  easy  in  his 
company.  Young  Twysden  hated  him,  and  did  not  disguise 
his  sentiments  at  the  club,  or  to  their  mutual  acquaintance 
behind  Phil's  broad  back.  And  Phil,  for  his  part,  adopted 
towards  his  cousin  a  kick-me-down-stairs  manner,  which  I  own 
must  have  been  provoking  to  that  gentleman  who  was  Phil's 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  199 

senior  by  three  3-ears,  a  clerk  in  a  public  office,  a  member  of 
several  good  clubs,  and  altogether  a  genteel  member  of  society. 
Phil  would  often  forget  Ringvvood  Twysden's  presence,  and 
pursue  his  own  conversation  entirely  regardless  of  Ringwood's 
observations.  He  ivas  very  rude,  I  own.  Que  voulez-vous? 
We  have  all  of  us  our  little  failings,  and  one  of  Philip's  was  an 
ignorant  impatience  of  bores,  parasites,  and  pretenders. 

So  no  wonder  m}'  young  gentleman  was  not  verj'  fond  of 
his  father's  friend,  the  dingy  gaol  chaplain.  I,  who  am  the 
most  tolerant  man  in  the  world,  as  all  my  friends  know,  liked 
Hunt  little  better  than  Phil  did.  The  man's  presence  made  me 
uneasy.  His  dress,  his  complexion,  his  teeth,  his  leer  at 
women —  Que  s^ais-je?  —  everything  was  unpleasant  about  this 
Mr.  Hunt,  and  his  ga3'ety  and  familiarit}"  more  specially  dis- 
gusting than  even  his  hostility.  The  wonder  was  that  battle 
had  not  taken  place  between  Philip  and  the  gaol  clergj'man, 
who,  I  suppose,  was  accustomed  to  be  disliked,  and  laughed 
with  C3'nical  good- humor  at  the  other's  disgust. 

Hunt  was  a  visitor  of  many  tavern  parlors ;  and  one  day, 
strolhng  out  of  the  "  Admu'al  Byng,"  he  saw  his  friend  Dr. 
Firmin's  well-known  equipage  stopping  at  a  door  in  Thorji- 
haugh  Street,  out  of  which  the  doctor  presently  came  ;  "  Bran- 
don "  was  on  the  door.  Brandon,  Brandon  ?  Hunt  remembered 
a  dark  transaction  of  more  than  twenty  years  ago  —  of  a  woman 
deceived  by  this  Firmin,  who  then  chose  to  go  by  the  name  of 
Brandon.  "  He  lives  with  her  still,  the  old  hypocrite,  or  he 
has  gone  back  to  her,"  thought  the  parson.  Oh,  3'ou  old  sin- 
ner !  And  the  next  time  he  called  in  Old  Parr  Street  on  his 
dear  old  college  friend,  Mr.  Hunt  was  speciall3'  jocular,  and 
frightfully  unpleasant  and  familiar. 

"Saw  your  trap  Tottenham  Court  Road  wa3',"  sa3's  the 
slang  parson,  nodding  to  the  physician. 

"Have  some  patients  there.  People  are  ill  in  Tottenham 
Court  Road,"  remarks  the  doctor. 

'■^Pallida  mors  aequo  pede  —  ha3^  doctor?  What  used 
Flaccus  to  sa3^,  when  we  were  undergrads  ?  " 

'•'•^quopede"  sighs  the  doctor,  casting  up  his  fine  e3'es  to 
the  ceiling. 

"  Sly  old  fox  !  Not  a  word  will  he  sa3'  about  her  !  "  thinks 
the  clerg3'man.  "Yes,  yes,  I  remember.  And,  by  Jove! 
Gann  was  the  name." 

Gann  was  also  the  name  of  that  queer  old  man  who  frequented 
the  "  Admiral  Byng,"  where  the  ale  was  so  good  —  the  old  boy 
whom  the3'  called  the  Captain.     Yes  ;  it  was  clear  now.     That 


200  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

ugly  business  was  patched  up.  The  astute  Hunt  saw  it  all. 
The  doctor  still  kept  up  a  connection  with  the  —  the  party. 
And  that  is  her  old  father,  sure  enough.  "The  old  fox,  the 
old  fox!  I've  earthed  him,  have  I?  This  is  a  good  game. 
I  wanted  a  little  something  to  do,  and  this  will  excite  me," 
thinks  the  clergyman. 

I  am  describing  what  I  never  could  have  seen  or  heard,  and 
can  guarantee  onl}^  verisimilitude,  not  truth,  in  my  report  of 
the  private  conversation  of  these  worthies.  The  end  of  scores 
and  scores  of  Hunt's  conversations  with  his  friend  was  the 
same  —  an  application  for  money.  If  it  rained  when  Hunt 
parted  from  his  college  chum,  it  was,  "  I  sa}',  doctor,  I  shall 
spoil  my  new  hat,  and  I'm  blest  if  I  have  any  money  to  take  a 
cab.  Thank  you,  old  boy.  Au  revoir."  If  the  day  was  fine, 
it  was,  "  My  old  blacks  show  the  white  seams  so,  that  you  must 
out  of  your  charity  rig  me  out  with  a  new  pair.  Not  your 
tailor.  He  is  too  expensive.  Thank  you  —  a  couple  of  sover- 
eigns will  do."  And  the  doctor  takes  two  from  the  mantel- 
piece, and  the  divine  retires,  jingling  the  gold  in  his  greasy 
pocket. 

.The  doctor  is  going  after  the  few  words  about  pallida  mors, 
and  has  taken  up  that  well-brushed  broad  hat,  with  that  ever- 
fresh  lining,  which  we  all  admire  in  him  —  "  Oh,  I  say,  Firmin  !  " 
breaks  out  the  clerg^^man.  "  Before  3'ou  go  out,  you  must  lend 
me  a  few  sovs,  please.  They've  cleaned  me  out  in  Air  Street. 
That  confounded  roulette  !     It's  a  madness  with  me." 

"  By  George!  "  cries  the  other,  with  a  strong  execration, 
"  you  are  too  bad,  Hunt.  Ever^^  week  of  my  life  you  come  to 
me  for  money.  You  have  had  plenty.  Go  elsewhere.  I  won't 
give  it  3'Ou." 

"  Yes,  you  will,  old  boy,"  sa3'S  the  other,  looking  at  him  a 
terrible  look  ;  ' '  for  —  " 

' '  For  what  ? "  saj's  the  doctor,  the  veins  of  his  tall  forehead 
growing  very  full. 

"  For  old  times'  sake,"  says  the  clergyman.  "  There's 
seven  of 'em  on  the  table  in  bits  of  paper  —  that'll  do  niceh*." 
And  he  sweeps  the  fees  with  a  dirty  hand  into  a  dirty  pouch. 
"  Halloa !  Swearin'  and  cursin'  before  a  clerg_yman.  Don't 
cut  up  rough,  old  fellow  !     Go  and  take  the  air.     It'll  cool  you." 

"  I  don't  think  I  would  like  that  fellow  to  attend  me,  if  I  was 
sick,"  saj^s  Hunt,  shuffling  away,  rolling  the  plunder  in  his 
greasy  hand.  "I  don't  think  I'd  like  to  meet  him  by  moon- 
light alone,  in  a  very  quiet  lane.  He's  a  determined  chap. 
And  his  eyes  mean  miching  malecho,  his  eyes  do.     Phew !  " 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  201 

And  he  laughs,  and  makes  a  rude  observation  about  Dr.  Fir- 
min's  eyes. 

That  afternoon,  the  gents  who  used  the  "Admiral  Byng" 
remarked  the  reappearance  of  the  party  who  looked  in  last 
evening,  and  who  now  stood  glasses  round,  and  made  himself 
uncommon  agreeable  to  be  sure.  Old  Mr.  Ridley  sa3s  he  is 
quite  the  gentleman.  "  Hevident  have  been  in  foring  parts  a 
great  deal,  and  speaks  the  languages.  Probbly  have  'ad  mis- 
fortunes, which  many  'ave  'ad  them.  Drinks  rum-and-water 
tremenjous.  'AA^e  scarce  no  heppytite.  Many  get  into  this 
way  from  misfortunes.  A  plesn  man,  most  well  informed  on 
almost  every  subjeck.  Think  he's  a  clergyman.  He  and  Mr. 
Gann  have  made  quite  a  friendship  together,  he  and  Mr.  Gann 
'ave.  Which  they  talked  of  Watloo,  and  Gann  is  very  fond  of 
that,  Gann  is,  mostcertny."  I  imagine  Ridlej'  delivering  these 
sentences,  and  alternate  little  volleys  of  smoke,  as  he  sits  behind 
his  sober  calumet  and  prattles  in  the  tavern  parlor. 

After  Dr.  Firmin  has  careered  through  the  town,  standing 
by  sick-beds  with  his  sweet  sad  smile,  fondled  and  blessed  by 
tender  mothers  who  hail  him  as  the  savior  of  their  children, 
touching  ladies'  pulses  with  a  hand  as  delicate  as  their  own, 
patting  little  fresh  cheeks  with  courtl}'  kindness  —  little  cheeks 
that  owe  their  roses  to  his  marvellous  skill ;  after  he  has  soothed 
and  comforted  m}-  lady,  shaken  hands  with  my  lord,  looked  in 
at  the  club,  and  exchanged  courtly  salutations  with  brother  big- 
wigs, and  driven  awa}"  in  the  handsome  carriage  with  the  noble 
horses  —  admired,  respecting,  respectful,  saluted,  saluting — • 
so  that  every  man  says,  "  Excellent  man,  Firmin.  Excellent 
doctor,  excellent  man.  Safe  man.  Soundman.  Man  of  good 
famil3\  Married  a  rich  wife.  Lucky  man."  And  so  on. 
After  the  daA-'s  triumphant  career,  I  fancy  I  see  the  doctor 
driving  homeward,  with  those  sad,  sad  eyes,  that  haggard 
smile. 

He  comes  whirling  up  Old  Parr  Street  just  as  Phil  saunters 
in  from  Regent  Street,  as  usual,  cigar  in  mouth.  He  flings 
away  the  cigar  as  he  sees  his  father,  and  the}^  enter  the  house 
together. 

"  Do  you  dine  at  home,  Philip?  "  the  father  asks. 

"  Do  you,  sir?  I  will  if  you  do,"  says  the  son,  "  and  if  you 
are  alone." 

"  Alone.  Yes.  That  is,  there'll  be  Hunt,  I  suppose,  whom 
you  don't  like.  But  the  poor  fellow  has  few  places  to  dine  at. 
What?  D — Hunt?  That's  a  strong  expression  about  a  poor 
fellow  in  misfortune,  and  your  father's  old  friend." 


202  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

I  am  afraid  Philip  had  used  that  wicked  monos^^llable  whilst 
his  father  was  speaking,  and  at  the  mention  of  the  clergyman's 
detested  name.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  father.  It  slipped  out 
in  spite  of  me,     I  can't  help  it,     I  hate  the  fellow." 

"  You  don't  disguise  3'our  likes  or  dislikes,  Philip,"  sa3^s,  or 
rather  groans,  the  safe  man,  the  sound  man,  the  prosperous 
man,  the  lucky  man,  the  miserable  man.  For  years  and  3'ears 
he  has  known  that  his  boy's  heart  has  revolted  from  him,  and 
detected  him,  and  gone  from  him  ;  and  with  shame  and  remorse, 
and  sickening  feeling,  he  lies  awake  in  the  night-watches,  and 
thinks  how  he  is  alone  —  alone  in  the  world.  Ah  !  Love  j^our 
parents,  j^oung  ones  !  O  Father  Beneficent !  strengthen  our 
hearts :  strengthen  and  purify  them  so  that  we  may  not  have 
to  blush  before  our  children  ! 

"You  don't  disguise  your  likes  and  dislikes,  Philip,"  says 
the  father,  then,  with  a  tone  that  smites  strangely  and  keenly 
on  the  young  man. 

There  is  a  great  tremor  in  Philip's  voice,  as  he  says,  "  No, 
father,  I  can't  bear  that  man,  and  I  can't  disguise  my  feelings. 
I  have  just  parted  from  the  man,     I  have  just  met  him," 

"Where?" 

"At  —  at  Mrs.  Brandon's,  father."  He  blushes  like  a  girl 
as  he  speaks. 

At  the  next  moment  he  is  scared  bj^  the  execration  which 
hisses  from  his  father's  lips,  and  the  awful  look  of  hate  which 
the  elder's  face  assumes  —  that  fatal,  forlorn,  fallen,  lost  look 
which,  man  and  boy,  has  often  frightened  poor  Phil.  Philip 
did  not  like  that  look,  nor  indeed  that  other  one,  which  his 
father  cast  at  Hunt,  who  presently  swaggered  in. 

' '  What !  yott,  dine  here  ?  We  rarely  do  papa  the  honor  of 
dining  with  him,"  says  the  parson,  with  his  knowing  leer.  "I 
suppose,  doctor,  it  is  to  be  fatted-calf  da}'  now  the  prodigal 
has  come  home.  There's  worse  things  than  a  good  fillet  of 
veal;  eh?" 

Whatever  the  meal  might  be,  the  greasy  chaplain  leered  and 
winked  over  it  as  he  gave  it  his  sinister  blessing.  The  two 
elder  guests  tried  to  be  lively  and  ga}',  as  Philip  thought,  who 
took  such  little  trouble  to  disguise  his  own  moods  of  gloom  or 
merriment.  Nothing  was  said  regarding  the  occurrences  of  the 
morning  when  my  young  gentleman  had  been  rather  rude  to 
Mr.  Hunt ;  and  Philip  did  not  need  his  father's  caution  to  make 
no  mention  of  his  previous  meeting  with  their  guest.  Hunt, 
as  usual,  talked  to  the  butler,  made  sidelong  remarks  to  the 
footman,  and  garnished  his  conversation  with  slippery  double- 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  203 

entendre  and  dirty  old-world  slang.  Betting-houses,  gambling- 
houses,  Tattersall's  fights,  and  their  frequenters,  were  his  cheer- 
ful themes,  and  on  these  he  descanted  as  usual.  The  doctor 
swallowed  this  dose,  which  his  friend  poured  out,  without  the 
least  expression  of  disgust.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  cheei'ful : 
he  was  for  an  extra  bottle  of  claret  —  it  never  could  be  in  better 
order  than  it  was  now. 

The  bottle  was  scarce  put  on  the  table,  and  tasted  and  pro- 
nounced perfect,  when  —  oh  !  disappointment !  —  the  butler 
reappears  with  a  note  for  the  doctor.  One  of  his  patients.  He 
must  go.  She  has  little  the  matter  with  her.  She  lives  hard 
by,  in  May  Fair.  "  You  and  Hunt  finish  this  bottle,  unless  I 
am  back  before  it  is  done  ;  and  if  it  is  done,  we'll  have  another," 
says  Dr.  Firmin,  jovially.  "Don't  stir.  Hunt"  —  and  Dr. 
Fii-min  is  gone,  leaving  Philip  alone  with  the  guest  to  whom  he 
had  certainly  been  rude  in  the  morning. 

"  The  doctor's  patients  often  grow  ver}^  unwell  about  claret 
time,"  growls  Mr.  Hunt,  some  few  minutes  after.  "  Never 
mind.  The  drink's  good  —  good  !  as  somebody  said  at  j'our 
famous  call-supper,  Mr.  Philip  —  won't  call  j'ou  Phihp,  as  you 
don't  like  it.  You  were  uncommon  crusty  to  me  in  the  morn- 
ing, to  be  sure.  In  my  time  there  would  have  been  bottles 
broke,  or  worse,  for  that  sort  of  treatment." 

"  I  have  asked  3'our  pardon,"  Philip  said.  "  I  was  annoyed 
about  —  no  matter  what  —  and  had  no  right  to  be  rude  to  Mrs. 
Brandon's  guest." 

"I  say,  did  j^ou  tell  the  governor  that  3'ou  saw  me  in 
Thornhaugh  Street?"  asks  Hunt. 

"I  was  very  rude  and  ill-tempered,  jind  again  I  confess  I 
was  wrong,"  said  Phil,  boggling  and  stuttering,  and  turning 
very  red.     He  remembered  his  father's  injunction. 

"I  say  again,  sir,  did  you  tell  your  father  of  our  meet- 
ing this  morning?"  demands  the  clerg3'man. 

"And  pray,  sir,  what  right  have  3'ou  to  ask  me  about  m^' 
private  conversation  with  my  father?"  asks  Philip,  with  tower- 
ing dignity. 

"You  won't  tell  me?  Then  you  have  told  him.  He's  a 
nice  man,  your  father  is,  for  a  moral  man." 

"  I  am  not  anxious  for  your  opinion  about  my  father's 
morahty,  Mr.  Hunt,"  sa^'s  Philip,  gasping  in  a  bewildered  man- 
ner, and  drumming  the  table.  "  I  am  here  to  replace  him 
in  his  absence,  and  treat  his  guest  with  civilit}-." 

"Civility!  Pretty  civility!"  says  the  other,  glaring  at 
him. 


204  THE  ADVENTURES  OF   PHILIP 

"Such  as  it  is,  sir,  it  is  my  best,  and  —  I  —  I  have  no 
other,"  groans  the  young  man. 

"  Old  friend  of  your  father's,  a  university  man,  a  Master 
of  Arts,  a  gentleman  born,  by  Jove  !  a  clergyman  —  though  I 
sink  that  —  " 

"Yes,  sir,  j^ou  do  sink  that,"  sa3's  Philip. 

"Am  I  a  dog,"  shrieks  out  the  clergyman,  "to  be  treated 
by  you  in  this  way  ?  Who  are  you  ?  Do  you  know  who  j'ou 
are?" 

"Sir,  I  am  striving  with  all  my  strength  to  remember," 
says  Philip. 

"  Come  !  I  say  !  don't  try  any  of  your  confounded  airs  on 
me  !  "  shrieks  Hunt,  with  a  profusion  of  oaths,  and  swallowing 
glass  after  glass  from  the  various  decanters  before  him. 
"Hang  me,  when  I  was  a  young  man,  I  would  have  sent 
one  —  two  at  3'our  nob,  though  30U  were  twice  as  tall !  Who 
are  you,  to  patronize  your  senior,  j'our  father's  old  pal  —  a 
university  man  :  — you  confounded,  supercilious  —  " 

"  I  am  here  to  pay  every  attention  to  m}' father's  guest," 
saj's  Phil;  "but,  if  you  have  finished  j^our  wine,  I  shall  be 
happ}'  to  break  up  the  meeting  as  early  as  you  please." 

"  You  shall  paj'  me  ;  I  swear  j'ou  shall,"  said  Hunt. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Hunt !  "  cried  Philip,  jumping  up,  and  clenching 
his  great  fists,  "  I  should  desire  nothing  better." 

The  man  shrank  back,  thinking  Philip  was  going  to  strike 
him  (as  Philip  told  me  in  describing  the  scene),  and  made  for 
the  bell.  But  when  the  butler  came,  Philip  only  asked  for 
coffee ;  and  Hunt,  uttering  a  mad  oath  or  two,  staggered  out 
of  the  room  after  the  servant.  Brice  said  he  had  been  drink- 
ing before  he  came.  He  was  often  so.  And  Phil  blessed  his 
stars  that  he  had  not  assaulted  his  father's  guest  then  and 
there,  under  his  own  roof-tree. 

He  went  out  into  the  air.  He  gasped  and  cooled  himself 
under  the  stars.  He  soothed  his  feelings  by  his  customary  con- 
solation of  tobacco.  He  remembered  that  Ridley  in  Thorn- 
haugh  Street  held  a  divan  that  night ;  and  jumped  into  a  cab, 
and  drove  to  his  old  friend. 

The  maid  of  the  house,  who  came  to  the  door  as  the  cab 
was  driving  away,  stopped  it ;  and  as  Phil  entered  the  passage, 
he  found  the  Little  Sister  and  his  father  talking  together  in 
the  hall.  The  doctor's  broad  hat  shaded  his  face  from  the 
hall  lamp,  which  was  burning  with  an  extra  brightness,  but 
Mrs.  Brandon's  was  very  pale,  and  she  had  been  crying. 

She  gave  a  little  scream  when  she  saw  Phil.     "  Ah !  is  it 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  205 

3'ou,  dear?"  she  said.  She  ran  up  to  him:  seized  both  his 
hands :  ching  to  him,  and  sobbed  a  thousand  hot  tears  on  his 
hand.  "I  never  will.  Oh,  never,  never,  never!"  she  mur- 
mured. 

The  doctor's  broad  chest  heaved  as  with  a  great  sigh  of 
relief.  He  looked  at  the  woman  and  at  his  son  with  a  strange 
smile  ;  —  not  a  sweet  smile. 

"  God  bless  j^ou,  Caroline,"  he  said,  in  his  pompous,  rather 
theatrical  wav. 

"Good  night,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Brandon,  still  clinging  to 
Philip's  hand,  and  making  the  doctor  a  little  humble  curtsy. 
And  when  he  was  gone,  again  she  kissed  Philip's  hand,  and 
dropped  her  tears  on  it,  and  said,  "Never,  my  dear;  no, 
never,  never ! " 


CHAPTER  XI. 

IN   WHICH   PHILIP   IS    VERT   ILL   TEMPERED. 

Philip  had  long  divined  a  part  of  his  dear  little  friend's 
history.  An  uneducated  3'oung  girl  had  been  found,  cajoled, 
deserted  by  a  gentleman  of  the  world.  And  poor  Caroline  was 
the  victim,  and  Philip's  own  father  the  seducer.  He  easily 
guessed  as  much  as  this  of  the  sad  little  story.  Dr.  Firmin's 
part  in  it  was  enough  to  shock  his  son  with  a  thrill  of  disgust, 
and  to  increase  the  mistrust,  doubt,  alienation,  with  which  the 
father  had  long  inspired  the  son.  What  would  Philip  feel,  when 
all  the  pages  of  that  dark  book  were  opened  to  him,  and  he 
came  to  hear  of  a  false  marriage,  and  a  ruined  and  outcast 
woman,  deserted  for  3'ears  by  the  man  to  whom  he  himself  was 
most  bound?  In  a  word,  Philip  had  considered  this  as  a  mere 
case  of  early  libertinism,  and  no  more  ;  and  it  was  as  such,  in 
the  very  few  words  which  he  may  have  uttered  to  me  respecting 
this  matter,  that  he  had  chosen  to  regard  it.  I  knew  no  more 
than  my  friend  had  told  me  of  the  stor^^  as  3-et ;  it  was  onlj'  by 
degrees  that  I  learned  it,  and  as  events,  now  subsequent,  served 
to  develop  and  explain  it. 

The  elder  Firmin,  when  questioned  by  his  old  acquaintance, 
and,  as  it  appeared,  accomplice  of  former  days,  regarding  the 
end  of  a  certain  intrigue  at  Margate,  which  had  occurred  some 
four  or  five  and  twenty  j'ears  back,  and  when  Firmin,  having 
reason  to  avoid  his  college  creditors,  chose  to  live  i\.wa,y  and 


206  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

bear  a  false  name,  had  told  the  clergyman  a  number  of  false- 
hoods which  api^eared  to  satisfy  him.  What  had  become  of 
that  poor  little  thing  about  whom  he  had  made  such  a  fool  of 
himself?  Oh,  she  was  dead,  dead  ever  so  many  years  before. 
He  had  pensioned  her  off.  She  had  married,  and  died  in 
Canada  —  yes,  in  Canada.  Poor  little  thing!  Yes,  she  was 
a  good  little  thing,  and,  at  one  time,  he  had  been  very  soft 
about  her.  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  state  of  a  respectable  gentle- 
man that  he  told  lies,  and  told  lies  habitually  and  easily.  But, 
you  see,  if  you  commit  a  crime,  and  break  a  seventh  command- 
ment, let  us  say,  or  an  eighth,  or  choose  any  number  you  will  — 
you  will  probably  have  to  back  the  lie  of  action  by  the  lie  of  the 
tongue,  and  so  you  are  fairly  warned,  and  I  have  no  help  for 
you.  If  I  murder  a  man,  and  the  policeman  inquires,  "  Pray, 
sir,  did  you  cut  this  here  gentleman's  throat?"  I  must  bear 
false  witness,  you  see,  out  of  self-defence,  though  I  may  be 
naturally  a  most  reliable,  truth-telling  man.  And  so  with  re- 
gard to  many  crimes  which  gentlemen  commit  —  it  is  painful  to 
have  to  say  respecting  gentlemen,  but  they  become  neither  more 
nor  less  than  habitual  liars,  and  have  to  go  lying  on  through  life 
to  you,  to  me,  to  the  servants,  to  their  wives,  to  their  children, 

to oh,  awful  name  !     I  bow  and  humble  myself.     May  we 

kneel,  may  we  kneel,  nor  strive  to  speak  our  falsehoods  before 
Thee ! 

And  so,  my  dear  sir,  seeing  that  after  committing  any  in- 
fraction of  the  moral  laws,  you  must  tell  lies  in  order  to  back 
3'ourself  out  of  your  scrape,  let  me  ask  3'^ou,  as  a  man  of  honor 
and  a  gentleman,  whether  you  had  not  better  forego  the  crime, 
so  as  to  avoid  the  unavoidable,  and  unpleasant,  and  dail}^  re- 
curring necessity  of  the  subsequent  perjury?  A  poor  young 
girl  of  the  lower  orders,  cajoled,  or  ruined,  more  or  less,  is  of 
course  no  great  matter.  The  little  baggage  is  turned  out  of 
doors  — worse  luck  for  her  !  —  or  she  gets  a  place,  or  she  mar- 
ries one  of  her  own  class,  who  has  not  the  exquisite  delicacy 
belonging  to  ' '  gentle  blood  "  —  and  there  is  an  end  of  her. 
But  if  you  marry  her  privately  and  irregularly  yourself,  and 
then  throw  her  off,  and  then  marry  somebody  else,  you  are 
brought  to  book  in  all  sorts  of  unpleasant  ways.  I  am  writing 
of  quite  an  old  story,  be  pleased  to  remember.  The  first  part 
of  the  history  I  myself  printed  some  twenty  years  ago  ;  and  if 
you  fancy  I  allude  to  any  more  modern  period,  madam,  you  are 
entirely  out  in  3'our  conjecture. 

It  must  have  been  a  most  unpleasant  dut^'  for  a  man  of 
fashion,  honor,  and  good  family,  to  lie  to  a  poor  tipsy,  disrepu- 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  207 

table  bankrupt  merchant's  daughter,  such  as  Caroline  Gann, 
but  George  Brand  Firmin,  Esq.,  M.D.,  had  no  other  choice, 
and  when  he  lied  —  as  in  severe  cases,  when  he  administered 
calomel  —  he  thought  it  best  to  give  the  drug  freel3^  Thus  he 
lied  to  Hunt,  saying  that  Mrs.  Brandon  was  long  since  dead  in 
Canada ;  and  he  lied  to  Caroline,  prescribing  for  her  the  ver^- 
same  pill,  as  it  were,  and  saying  that  Hunt  was  long  since  dead 
in  Canada  too.  And  I  can  fancy  few  more  painful  and  humil- 
iating positions  for  a  man  of  rank  and  fashion  and  reputation, 
than  to  have  to  demean  himself  so  far  as  to  tell  lies  to  a  little 
low-bred  person,  who  gets  her  bread  as  a  nurse  of  the  sick,  and 
has  not  the  proper  use  of  her  A's. 

"  Oh,  yes.  Hunt ! "  Firmin  had  said  to  the  Little  Sister,  in 
one  of  those  sad  little  colloquies  which  sometimes  took  place 
between  him  and  his  victim,  his  wife  of  old  days.  "  A  wild, 
bad  man.  Hunt  was  —  in  days  when  I  own  I  was  little  better  ! 
I  have  deeply  repented  since,  Caroline ;  of  nothing  more  than 
of  my  conduct  to  you ;  for  you  were  worthy  of  a  better  fate, 
and  you  loved  me  truly  —  madly." 

"Yes,"  says  Caroline. 

"I  was  wild  then!  I  was  desperate!  I  had  ruined  my 
fortunes,  estranged  my  father  from  me,  was  hiding  from  my 
creditors  under  an  assumed  name  —  that  under  which  I  saw 
you.  Ah,  why  did  I  ever  come  to  your  house,  my  poor  child? 
The  mark  of  the  demon  was  upon  me.  I  did  not  dare  to  speak 
of  marriage  before  my  father.  You  have  3-ours,  and  tend  him 
with  your  ever  constant  goodness.  Do  you  know  that  my 
father  would  not  see  me  when  he  died?  Oh,  it's  a  cruel  thing 
to  think  of ! "  And  the  suffering  creature  slaps  his  tall  fore- 
head with  his  trembling  hand  ;  and  some  of  his  grief  about  his 
own  father,  I  dare  say,  is  sincere,  for  he  feels  the  shame  and 
remorse  of  being  alienated  from  his  own  son. 

As  for  the  marriage  —  that  it  was  a  most  wicked  and  unjus- 
tifiable deceit,  he  owned  ;  but  he  was  wild  when  it  took  place, 
wild  with  debt  and  with  despair  at  his  father's  estrangement 
from  him  —  but  the  fact  was,  it  was  no  marriage. 

"  I  am  glad  of  that !  "  sighed  the  poor  Little  Sister. 

"  Why?"  asked  the  other  eagerly.  His  love  was  dead,  but 
his  vanity  was  still  hale  and  well.  "Did  you  care  for  some- 
body else,  Caroline?  Did  you  forget  your  George,  whom  you 
used  to  —  " 

"No!"  said  the  little  woman,  bravely.  "But  I  couldn't 
live  with  a  man  who  behaved  to  any  woman  so  dishonest  as  you 
behaved  to  me.     I  liked  you  because  I  thought  you  was  a 


208  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

gentleman.  My  poor  painter  was  whom  you  used  to  despise 
and  trampled  to  hearth  —  and  mj'  dear  dear  Philip  is,  Mr. 
Firmin.  But  gentlemen  tell  the  truth !  Gentlemen  don't  de- 
ceive poor  innocent  girls,  and  desert  'em  without  a  penny ! " 

"  Caroline  !  1  was  driven  b}'  my  creditors.     I  —  " 

"  Never  mind.  It's  over  now.  I  bear  you  no  malice,  Mr. 
Firmin,  but  I  would  not  marry  you,  no,  not  to  be  doctor's  wife 
to  the  Queen  !  " 

This  had  been  the  Little  Sister's  language  when  there  was 
no  thought  of  the  existence  of  Hunt,  the  clergyman  who  had 
celebrated  their  marriage  ;  and  I  don't  know  whether  Firmin 
was  most  piqued  or  pleased  at  the  divorce  which  the  little  wo- 
man pronounced  of  her  own  decree.  But  when  the  ill-omened 
Hunt  made  his  appearance,  doubts  and  terrors  filled  the  phjsi- 
cian's  mind.  Hunt  was  needy,  greedy,  treacherous,  unscrupu- 
lous, desperate.  He  could  hold  this  marriage  over  the  doctor. 
He  could  threaten,  extort,  expose,  perhaps  invalidate  Philip's 
legitimacv.  The  first  marriage,  almost  certainly,  was  null,  but 
the  scandal  would  be  fatal  to  Firmin's  reputation  and  practice. 
And  the  quarrel  with  his  son  entailed  consequences  not  pleasant 
to  think  of.  You  see  George  P'irmin,  Esq.,  M.D.,  was  a  man 
with  a  great  development  of  the  back  head  ;  when  he  willed  a 
thing,  he  willed  it  so  fiercely  that  he  must  have  it,  never  mind 
the  consequences.  And  so  he  had  willed  to  make  himself 
master  of  poor  little  Caroline  :  and  so  he  had  willed,  as  a  young 
man,  to  have  horses,  splendid  entertainments,  roulette  and 
ecarte,  and  so  forth  ;  and  the  bill  came  at  its  natural  season, 
and  George  Firmin,  Esq.,  did  not  always  like  to  pay.  But 
for  a  grand,  prosj^erous,  highly-  bred  gentleman  in  the  best 
society  —  with  a  polished  forehead  and  manners,  and  univer- 
sally looked  up  to  —  to  have  to  tell  lies  to  a  poor,  little,  timid, 
uncomplaining,  sick-room  nurse,  it  was  humiliating,  wasn't  it? 
And  I  can  feel  for  Firmin. 

To  have  to  lie  to  Hunt  was  disgusting :  but  somehow  not 
so  exquisitelj-  mean  and  degrading  as  to  have  to  cheat  a  little 
trusting,  humble,  houseless  creature,  over  the  bloom  of  whose 
gentle  3'oung  life  his  accursed  foot  had  already  trampled.  But 
then  this  Hunt  was  such  a  cad  and  ruffian  that  there  need  be 
no  scruple  about  humbugging  him ;  and  if  Plrmin  had  had  any 
humor  he  might  have  had  a  grim  sort  of  pleasure  in  leading  the 
dirty  clergyman  a  dance  thoro'  bush  thoro'  briar.  So,  perhaps 
(of  course  I  have  no  means  of  ascertaining  the  fact) ,  the  doctor 
did  not  altogether  dislike  the  duty  which  now  devolved  on  him 
of  hoodwinking  his  old  acquaintance  and  accomplice.     I  don't 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  209 

like  to  use  such  a  vulgar  phrase  regarding  a  man  in  Doctor 
Firmin's  high  social  position,  as  to  say  of  him  and  the  gaol 
chaplain  that  it  was  "  thief  catch  thief; "  but  at  any  rate  Hunt 
is  such  a  low,  graceless,  friendless  vagabond,  that  if  he  comes  in 
for  a  few  kicks,  or  is  mystified,  we  need  not  be  very  sorry. 
When  Mr.  Thurtell  is  hung  we  don't  put  on  mourning.  His  is 
a  painful  position  for  the  moment ;  but,  after  all,  he  has  mur- 
dered Mr.  William  Weare. 

Firmin  was  a  bold  and  courageous  man,  hot  in  pursuit,  fierce 
in  desire,  but  cool  in  danger,  and  rapid  in  action.  Some  of  his 
gi-eat  successes  as  a  physician  arose  from  his  daring  and  suc- 
cessful practice  in  sudden  emergency.  While  Hunt  was  only 
lurching  about  the  town  an  aimless  miscreant,  living  from  dirty 
hand  to  dirty  mouth,  and  as  long  as  he  could  get  drink,  cards, 
and  shelter,  tolerably  content,  or  at  least  pretty  easily  appeased 
by  a  guinea-dose  or  two  —  Firmin  could  adopt  the  palliative 
system  ;  soothe  his  patient  with  an  occasional  bounty  ;  set  him 
to  sleep  with  a  composing  draught  of  claret  or  brandy  ;  and  let 
the  day  take  care  of  itself.  He  might  die ;  he  might  have  a 
fancy  to  go  abroad  again  ;  he  might  be  transported  for  forgery  or 
some  other  rascaldom.  Dr.  Firmin  would  console  himself;  and 
he  trusted  to  the  chapter  of  accidents  to  get  rid  of  his  friend. 
But  Hunt,  aware  that  the  woman  was  aUve  whom  he  had  actu- 
ally, though  unlawfully  married  to  Firmin,  became  an  enemy 
whom  it  was  necessary  to  subdue,  to  cajole,  or  to  bribe,  and  the 
sooner  the  doctor  put  himself  on  his  defence  the  better.  What 
should  the  defence  be  ?  Perhaps  the  most  effectual  was  a  fierce 
attack  on  the  enemy  ;  perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  bribe  him. 
The  course  to  be  taken  would  be  best  ascertained  after  a  little 
previous  reconnoitring. 

"  He  will  try  and  inflame  Caroline,"  the  doctor  thought,  "  by 
representing  her  wrongs  and  her  rights  to  her.  He  will  show 
her  that,  as  m}"  wife,  she  has  a  right  to  my  name  and  a  share  of 
my  income.  A  less  mercenary  woman  never  lived  than  this 
poor  little  creature.  She  disdains  mone}^  and,  except  for  her 
father's  sake,  would  have  taken  none  of  mine.  But  to  punish 
me  for  certainly  rather  shabbj'  behavior-;  to  claim  and  take  her 
own  right  and  position  in  the  world  as  an  honest  woman,  may 
she  not  be  induced  to  declare  war  against  me,  and  stand  by  her 
marriage  ?  After  she  left  home  her  two  Irish  half-sisters  desert- 
ed her  and  spat  upon  her ;  and  when  she  would  have  returned, 
the  heartless  women  drove  her  from  the  door.  Oh,  the  vixens  ! 
And  now  to  drive  b}-  them  in  her  carriage,  to  claim  a  mainte- 
nance from  me,  and  to  have  a  right  to  my  honorable  name, 

U 


210  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

would  she  not  have  her  dearest  revenge  over  her  sisters  by  so 
declaring  her  marriage  ?  " 

Firmin's  noble  mind  misgave  him  very  considerably  on  this 
point.  He  knew  women,  and  how  those  had  treated  their 
little  sister.  Was  it  in  human  nature  not  to  be  revenged? 
These  thoughts  rose  straightway  in  Firmin's  mind,  when  he 
heard  that  the  much  dreaded  meeting  between  Caroline  and  the 
chaplain  had  come  to  pass. 

As  he  ate  his  dinner  with  his  guest,  his  enemy,  opposite  to 
him,  he  was  determining  on  his  plan  of  action.  The  screen 
was  up,  and  he  was  laying  his  guns  behind  it,  so  to-speak.  Of 
course  he  was  as  civil  to  Hunt  as  the  tenant  to  his  landlord 
when  he  comes  with  no  rent.  So  the  doctor  laughed,  joked, 
bragged,  talked  his  best,  and  was  thinking  the  while  what  was 
to  be  done  against  the  danger. 

He  had  a  plan  which  might  succeed.  He  must  see  CaroHne 
immediately.  He  knew  the  weak  point  of  her  heartj  and  where 
she  was  most  likel}^  to  be  vulnerable.  And  he  would  act  against 
her  as  barbarians  of  old  acted  against  their  enemies,  when  they 
brought  the  captive  wives  and  children  in  front  of  the  battle, 
and  bade  the  foe  strike  through  them.  He  knew  how  Caroline 
loved  his  bo}' .  It  was  through  that  love  he  would  work  upon 
her.  As  he  washes  his  pretty  hands  for  dinner,  and  bathes  his 
noble  brow,  he  arranges  his  little  plan.  He  orders  himself  to 
be  sent  for  soon  after  the  second  bottle  of  claret  —  and  it  appears 
the  doctor's  servants  were  accustomed  to  the  deliver}'  of  these 
messages  from  the  master  to  himself.  The  plan  arranged,  now 
let  us  take  our  dinner  and  our  wine,  and  make  ourselves  com- 
fortable until  the  moment  of  action.  In  his  wild-oats  daj'S, 
when  travelling  abroad  with  wild  and  noble  companions,  Firmin 
had  fought  a  duel  or  two,  and  was  always  remarkable  for  his 
ga3-ety  of  conversation  and  the  fine  appetite  which  he  showed 
at  breakfast  before  going  on  to  the  field.  So,  perhaps.  Hunt, 
had  he  not  been  stupefied  by  previous  drink,  might  have  taken 
the  alarm  bj^  remarking  Firmin's  extra  courtesy  and  gayety, 
as  they  dined  together.     It  was  nunc  vinum^  eras  cequor. 

When  the  second  Iwttle  of  claret  was  engaged.  Dr.  Firmin 
starts.  He  has  an  advance  of  half  an  hour  at  least  on  his  ad- 
;jcrsar3%  or  on  the  man  who  may  be  his  adversary.  If  the 
Little  Sister  is  at  home,  he  will  see  her — he  will  lay  bare  his 
oandid  heart  to  her,  and  make  a  clean  breast  of  it.  The  Little 
Sister  was  at  home. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you  very  particularly  about  that  case  of 
poor  Lady  Humandhaw,"  says  he,  dropping  his  voice. 


Nurse  and  Doctok 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  211 

"  I  will  step  out,  my  dear,  and  take  a  little  fresh  air,"  sa3'8 
Captain  Gann;  meaning  that  he  will  be  off  to  the  "Admiral 
Bjng  ;  "  and  the  two  are  together. 

"  I  have  had  something  on  my  conscience.  I  have  deceived 
you,  Caroline,"  says  the  doctor,  with  the  beautiful  shining  fore- 
head and  hat. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Firmin,"  says  she,  bending  over  her  work; 
"  3'ou've  used  me  to  that." 

"A  man  whom  you  knew  once,  and  who  tempted  me  for 
his  own  selfish  ends  to  do  a  very  wrong  thing  by  j'ou  —  a  man 
whom  I  thought  dead  is  alive  :  — Tufton  Hunt,  who  performed 
that  —  that  illegal  ceremonj'  at  Margate,  of  which  so  often  and 
often  on  my  knees  1  have  repented,  Caroline  !  " 

The  beautiful  hands  are  clasped,  the  beautiful  deep  voice 
thrills  lowly  through  the  room ;  and  if  a  tear  or  two  can  be 
squeezed  out  of  the  beautiful  eyes,  I  dare  say  the  doctor  will 
not  be  sorry. 

"  He  has  been  here  to-da}'.  Him  and  Mr.  Philip  was  here 
and  quarrelled.     Philip  has  told  3'ou,  I  suppose,  sir?" 

"  Before  heaven,  '  on  the  word  of  a  gentleman,'  when  I  said 
he  was  dead,  Caroline,  I  thought  he  was  dead !  Yes,  I  declare, 
at  our  college,  Maxwell — Dr.  Maxwell  —  who  had  been  at 
Cambridge  with  us,  told  me  that  our  old  friend  Hunt  had  died 
in  Canada."  (This,  my  beloved  friends  and  readers,  may  not 
have  been  the  precise  long  bow  which  George  Firmin,  Esq., 
M.D.,  pulled;  but  that  he  twanged  a  famous  lie  out,  when- 
ever there  was  occasion  for  the  weapon,  I  assure  3'ou  is  an  un- 
doubted fact.)  "  Y^es,  Dr.  Maxwell  told  me  our  old  friend  was 
dead  —  our  old  friend?  M3'  worst  enem}^  and  yours  !  But  let 
that  pass.  It  was  he,  Caroline,  who  led  me  into  crimes  which 
I  have  never  ceased  to  deplore." 

"Ah,  Mr.  Firmin,"  sighs  the  Little  Sister,  "since  I've 
known  you,  ^-ou  was  big  enough  to  take  care  of  3'ourself  in 
that  way." 

"  I  have  not  come  to  excuse  myself,  Caroline,"  sa^'s  the  deep 
sweet  voice.  "  I  have  done  j^ou  enough  wrong,  and  I  feel  it 
here  —  at  this  heart.  I  have  not  come  to  speak  about  myself, 
but  of  some  one  I  love  the  best  of  all  the  world  —  the  only 
being  I  do  love  —  some  one  you  love,  3'Ou  good  and  generous 
soul  —  about  Philip." 

' '  What  is  it  about  Philip  ?  "  asks  Mrs.  Brandon,  very  quickly. 

"  Do  you  want  harm  to  happen  to  him?" 

"  Oh,  my  darling  boy,  no  !  "  cries  the  Little  Sister,  clasping 
her  little  hands. 


212  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHIIJP 

"  Would  3'ou  keep  him  from  harm?" 

"Ah,  sir,  you  know  I  would.  When  he  had  the  scarlet 
fever,  didn't  I  pour  the  drink  down  his  poor  throat,  and  nurse 
him,  and  tend  him,  as  if,  as  if— as  a  mother  would  her  own 

child?" 

"You  did,  you  did,  you  noble,  noble  woman;  and  heaven 
bless  you  for  it !  A  father  does.  I  am  not  all  heartless,  Caro- 
line, as  you  deem  me,  perhaps." 

"  I  don't  think  it's  much  merit  your  loving  him"  says  Caro- 
line, resuming  her  sewing.  And,  perhaps,  she  thinks  within 
herself,  "  What  is  he  a-coraing  to?  "  You  see  she  was  a  shrewd 
little  person,  when  her  passions  and  partialities  did  not  over- 
come her  reason  ;  and  she  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  this 
elegant  Dr.  Firmin,  whom  she  had  admired  so  once  was  a  — 
not  altogether  veracious  gentleman.  In  fact,  I  heard  her  my- 
self say  afterwards,  "  La  !  he  used  to  talk  so  fine,  and  slap  his 
hand  on  his  heart,  you  know  ;  but  I  usedn't  to  believe  him,  no 
more  than  a  man  in  a  play."  "  It's  not  much  merit  3'our  loving 
that  boy,"  says  Caroline,  then.     "  But  what  about  him,  sir  ?  " 

Then  Firmin  explained.  This  man  Hunt  was  capable  of 
any  crime  for  money  or  revenge.    Seeing  Caroline  was  alive  .  .  . 

"  I  s'pose  you  told  him  I  was  dead  too,  sir,"  said  she,  look- 
ing up  from  the  work. 

"  Spare  me,  spare  me!  Years  ago,  perhaps,  when  I  had 
lost  sight  of  you,  I  may,  perhaps,  have  thought  ..." 

"  And  it's  not  to  you,  George  Brandon — it's  not  to  you," 
cries  Caroline,  starting  up,  and  speaking  with  her  sweet,  inno- 
cent, ringing  voice  ;  "it's  to  kind,  dear  friends, — it's  to  my 
good  God  that  I  owe  my  life,  which  you  had  flung  it  away.  And 
I  paid  you  back  by  guarding  your  boy's  dear  life,  I  did,  under  — 
under  Him  who  giveth  and  taketh.    And  bless  His  name  ! " 

"  You  are  a  good  woman,  and  I  am  a  bad,  sinful  man,  Caro- 
line," says  the  other.  "  You  saved  my  Philip's  —  our  Phihp's 
life,  at  the  risk  of  your  own.  Now  I  tell  you  that  another 
immense  danger  menaces  him,  and  may  come  upon  him  any  da,y 
as  long  as  yonder  scoundrel  is  alive.  Suppose  his  character  is 
assailed;  suppose,  thinking  3'ou  dead,  I  married  another  ?  ". 

"  Ah,  George,  you  never  thought  me  dead  ;  though,  perhaps, 
you  wished  it,  sir.  And  many  would  have  died,"  added  the 
poor  Little  Sister. 

"Look,  Caroline!  If  I  was  married  to  you,  my  wife  — 
Philip's  mother  —  was  not  my  wife,  and  he  is  her  natural  son. 
The  property  he  inherits  does  not  belong  to  him.  The  children 
of  his  grandfather's  other  daughter  claim  it,  and  Philip  is  a 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  213 

beggar.     Philip,  bred  as  he  has  been  —  Philip,  the  heir  to  a 
mother's  large  fortune." 

"  And  —  and  his  father's,  too?"  asks  Caroline,  anxiously. 

"  I  daren't  tell  you  —  though,  no,  by  heavens  !  I  can  trust 
you  with  everything.  My  own  great  gains  have  been  swal- 
lowed up  in  speculations  which  have  been  almost  all  fatal. 
There  has  been  a  fate  hanging  over  me,  Caroline  —  a  righteous 
punishment  for  having  deserted  you.  I  sleep  with  a  sword 
over  my  head,  which  may  fall  and  destro}'  me.  1  walk  with 
a  volcano  under  my  feet,  which  may  burst  au}^  day  and  annihi- 
late me.  And  people  speak  of  the  famous  Dr.  Firmin,  the  rich 
Dr.  Firmin,  the  prosperous  Dr.  Firmin  !  I  shall  have  a  title 
soon,  I  believe.  I  am  believed  to  be  happy,  and  I  am  alone, 
and  the  wretchedest  man  alive." 

"Alone,  are  you?"  said  Caroline.  "There  was  a  woman 
once  would  have  kept  by  you,  only  you  —  jon  flung  her  away. 
Look  here,  George  Brandon.  It's  over  with  us.  Years  and 
years  ago  it  lies  where  a  little  cherub  was  buried.  But  I  love 
my  Philip  ;  and  I  won't  hurt  him,  no,  never,  never,  never !  " 

And,  as  the  doctor  turned  to  go  awa}-,  Caroline  followed 
him  wistfully  into  the  hall,  and  it  was  there  that  Philip  found 
them. 

Caroline's  tender  "never,  never,"  rang  in  Philip's  memory 
as  he  sat  at  Ridley's  party,  amidst  the  artists  and  authors  there 
assembled.  Phil  was  thoughtful  and  silent.  He  did  not  laugh 
very  loud.  He  did  not  praise  or  abuse  an3-body  outrageouslj', 
as  was  the  wont  of  that  most  emphatic  young  gentleman.  He 
scarcely  contradicted  a  single  person ;  and  perhaps,  when 
Larkins  said  Scumble's  last  picture  was  beautiful,  or  Bunch, 
the  critic  of  the  Connoisseur,  praised  Bowman's  last  novel, 
contented  himself  with  a  scornful  "Ho!"  and  a  pull  at  his 
whiskers,  by  way  of  protest  and  denial.  Had  he  been  in  his 
usual  fine  spirits,  and  enjoying  his  ordinary  flow  of  talk,  he 
would  have  informed  Larkins  and  the  assembled  company  not 
only  that  Scumble  was  an  impostor,  but  that  he,  Larkins,  was 
an  idiot  for  admiring  him.  He  would  have  informed  Bunch 
that  he  was  infatuated  about  that  jackass  Bowman,  that  cock- 
ney, that  wretched  ignoramus,  who  didn't  know  his  own  or  any 
other  language.  He  would  have  taken  down  one  of  Bowman's 
stories  from  the  shelf,  and  proved  the  foil}',  imbecilit}',  and 
crass  ignorance  of  that  author.  (Ridley  has  a  simple  little 
stock  of  novels  and  poems  in  an  old  cabinet  in  his  studio, 
and  reads  them  still  with  much  artless  wonder  and  respect). 
Or,  to  be  sure,  Phil  would  have  asserted  propositions  the  exact 


214  THE  ADVENTURES  OF   PHILIP 

contrary  of  those  here  maintained,  and  declared  that  Bowman 
was  a  genius,  and  Scumble  a  most  accomplished  artist.  But 
then,  you  know,  somebody  else  must  have  commenced  by 
taking  the  other  side.  Certainly  a  more  paradoxical,  and  pro- 
voking, and  obstinate,  and  contradictor}^  disputant  than  Mr. 
Phil  I  never  knew.  I  never  met  Dr.  Johnson,  who  died  before 
I  came  up  to  town ;  but  I  do  believe  Phil  Firmin  would  have 
stood  up  and  argued  even  with  him. 

At  these  Thursday  divans  the  host  provided  the  modest  and 
kindly  refreshment,  and  Betsy  the  maid,  or  Virgilio  the  model, 
travelled  to  and  fro  with  glasses  and  water.  Each  guest  brought 
his  own  smoke,  and  I  promise  you  there  were  such  liberal  con- 
tributions of  the  article  that  the  studio  was  full  of  it ;  and  new- 
comers used  to  be  saluted  by  a  roar  of  laughter  as  j'ou  heard, 
rather  than  saw,  them  entering  and  choking  in  the  fog.  It  was, 
"Holloa,  Prodgers  !  is  that  you,  old  boy?"  and  the  beard  of 
Prodgers  (that  famous  sculptor)  would  presently  loom  through 
the  cloud.  It  was,  "  Newcome,  how  goes?"  and  Mr.  CUve 
Newcome  (a  mediocre  artist,  I  must  own,  but  a  famous  good 
fellow,  with  an  uncommonly  pretty  villa  and  prett}^  and  rich 
wife  at  Wimbledon)  would  make  his  appearance,  and  be  warmly 
greeted  by  our  httle  host.  It  was,  "Is  that  3'ou,  F.  B.? 
would  you  like  a  link,  old  boy,  to  see  you  through  the  fog?" 
And  the  deep  voice  of  Frederick  Bayham,  Esquire  (the  eminent 
-critic  on  Art),  would  boom  out  of  the  tobacco-mist,  and  would 
exclaim,  "  AUnk?  I  would  like  a  drink."  Ah,  ghosts  of  youth, 
again  ye  draw  near !  Old  figures  glimmer  through  the  cloud. 
Old  songs  echo  out  of  the  distance.  What  were  3'ou  saying 
anon  about  Dr.  Johnson,  boys?  I  am  sure  some  of  us  mast 
remember  him.  As  for  me,  I  am  so  old,  that  I  might  have 
been  at  Edial  'school  —  the  other  pupil  along  with  little  Davy 
Garrick  and  his  brother. 

We  had  a  bachelor's  supper  in  the  Temple  so  lately  that  I 
think  we  must  pay  but  a  very  brief  visit  to  a  smoking  party 
in  Thornhaugh  Street,  or  the  ladies  will  say  that  we  are  too 
fond  of  bachelor  habits,  and  keep  our  friends  away  from  their 
charming  and  amiable  society.  A  novel  must  not  smell  of 
cigars  much,  nor  should  its  refined  and  genteel  page  be  stained 
with  too  frequent  brandy-and-water.  Please  to  imagine,  then, 
the  prattle  of  the  artists,  authors,  and  amateurs  assembled  at 
Ridley's  divan.  Fancy  Jarman,  the  miniature  painter,  drink- 
ing more  liquor  than  any  man  present,  asking  his  neighbor 
{suh  voce)  why  Ridley  does  not  give  his  father  (the  old  butler) 
five  shillings  to  wait ;  suggesting  that  perhaps  the  old  man  is 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  215 

gone  out,  and  is  getting  seven-and-sixpence  elsewhere  ;  praising 
Ridley's  picture  aloud,  and  sneering  at  it  in  an  undertone  ;  and 
when  a  man  of  rank  happens  to  enter  the  room,  shambling  up 
to  him  and  fawning  on  him,  and  cringing  to  him  with  fulsome 
praise  and  flattery.  When  the  gentleman's  back  is  turned, 
Jarman  can  spit  epigrams  at  it.  I  hope  he  will  never  forgive 
Ridle}',  and  alwajs  continue  to  hate  him :  for  hate  him  Jarmau 
will,  as  long  as  he  is  prosperous,  and  curse  him  as  long  as  the 
workl  esteems  him.  Look  at  Pj^m,  the  incumbent  of  Saint 
Bronze  hard  by,  coming  in  to  join  the  literary  and  artistic 
assembl3',  and  choking  in  his  white  neck-cloth  to  the  diversion 
of  all  the  company  who  can  see  him  !  Sixteen,  eighteen,  twenty 
men  are  assembled.  Open  the  windows,  or  sure  they  will  all 
be  stifled  with  the  smoke  !  Why,  it  fills  the  whole  house  so, 
that  the  Little  Sister  has  to  open  her  parlor  window  on  the 
ground-floor,  and  gasp  for  fresh  air. 

Phil's  head  and  cigar  are  thrust  out  from  a  window  above, 
and  he  lolls  there,  musing  about  his  own  atfairs,  as  his  smoke 
ascends  to  the  skies.  Young  Mr.  Philip  Firmin  is  known  to 
be  wealthy,  and  his  father  gives  very  good  parties  in  Old  Parr 
Street,  so  Jarman  sidles  up  to  Phil  and  wants  a  little  fresh  air 
too.  He  enters  into  conversation  by  abusing  Ridley's  picture 
that  is  on  the  easel. 

"Everybody  is  praising  it;  what  do  you  think  of  it, 
Mr.  Firmin?  Very  queer  drawing  about  those  ej^es,  isn't 
there?" 

"  Is  there  ?  "  gi'owls  Phil. 

"  Very  loud  color." 

"Oh!"  says  Phil. 

"  The  composition  is  so  clearly  prigged  from  Raphael." 

"Indeed!" 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  I  don't  think  you  know  who  I  am," 
continues  the  other,  with  a  simper. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  says  Phil,.glaring  at  him.  "  You're  a  painter 
and  your  name  is  Mr.  Env}'." 

"  Sir  !  "shrieks  the  painter  ;  but  he  is  addressing  himself  to 
the  tails  of  Phil's  coat,  the  superior  half  of  Mr.  Firmin's  bod}' 
is  stretching  out  of  the  window.  Now,  3'ou  may  speak  of  a 
man  behind  his  back,  but  not  to  him.  So  Mr.  Jarman  with- 
draws, and  addresses  himself,  face  to  face,  to  somebody  else  in 
the  company.  I  dare  say  he  abuses  that  upstart,  impudent, 
bumptious  young  doctor's  son.  Have  I  not  owned  that  Philip 
was  often  very  rude?  and  to-night  he  is  in  a  specially  bad 
humor. 


216  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

As  he  continues  to  stare  into  the  street,  who  is  that  who  has 
just  reeled  up  to  the  railings  below,  and  is  talking  in  at  Mrs. 
Brandon's  window?  Whose  blackguard  voice  and  laugh  are 
those  which  Phil  recognizes  with  a  shudder?  It  is  the  voice 
and  laugh  of  our  friend  Mr.  Hunt,  whom  Philip  left  not  very 
long  since,  near  his  father's  house  in  Old  Parr  Street ;  and  both 
of  those  familiar  sounds  are  more  vinous,  more  odious,  more 
impudent  than  they  were  even  two  hours  ago. 

"Holloa!  I  say  !"  he  calls  out  with  a  laugh  and  a  curse. 
"Pst!  Mrs.  What-d'3'ou-call-'em !  Hang  it!  don't  shut  the 
window.  Let  a  fellow  in  !  "  and  as  he  looks  towards  the  upper 
window,  where  Philip's  head  and  bust  appear  dark  before  the 
light.  Hunt  cries  out,  "Holloa!  what  game's  up  now,  I  won- 
der? Supper  and  ball.  Shouldn't  be  surprised."  And  he 
hiccups  a  waltz  tune,  and  clatters  time  to  it  with  his  dirty 
boots. 

"  Mrs.  What-d'you-call !  Mrs.  B !  "  the  sot  then  recom- 
mences to  shriek  out.  "  Must  see  3'ou  —  most  particular  busi- 
ness. Private  and  confidential.  Hear  of  something  to  your 
advantage."  And  rap,  rap,  rap,  he  is  now  thundering  at  the 
door.  In  the  clatter  of  twenty  voices  few  hear  Hunt's  noise 
except  Philip ;  or,  if  they  do,  only  imagine  that  another  of 
Ridley's  guests  is  arriving. 

At  the  hall-door  there  is  talk  and  altercation,  and  the  high 
shriek  of  a  well-known  odious  voice.  Philip  moves  quickly 
from  his  window,  shoulders  friend  Jarman  at  the  studio  door, 
and  hustling  past  him  obtains,  no  doubt,  more  good  wishes 
from  that  ingenious  artist.  Philip  is  so  rude  and  overbearing 
that  I  really  have  a  mind  to  depose  him  from  bis  place  of  hero 
—  only,  you  see,  we  are  committed.  His  name  is  on  the  page 
overhead,  and  we  can't  take  it  down  and  put  up  another.  The 
Little  Sister  is  standing  in  her  hall  by  the  just  opened  door, 
and  remonstrating  with  Mr.  Hunt,  who  appears  to  wish  to  force 
his  way  in. 

' '  Pooh  !  shtuff,  mj'  dear !  If  he's  here  I  musht  see  him  — 
particular  business  —  get  out  of  that !  "  and  he  reels  forward 
and  against  little  Caroline's  shoulder. 

"  Get  away,  j'ou  brute,  3-0U  !  "  cries  the  little  lady.  "  Go 
home,  Mr.  Hunt ;  3'ou  are  worse  than  you  were  this  morning." 
She  is  a  resolute  little  woman,  and  puts  out  a  firm  little  arm 
against  this  odious  invader.  She  has  seen  patients  in  hospital 
raging  in  fever :  she  is  not  frightened  hy  a  tipsy  man.  "  La  ! 
is  it  3'ou,  Mr.  Philip  ?    Who  ever  will  take  this  horrid  man  ? 


ON  HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  217 

He  ain't  fit  to  go  up  stairs  among  the  gentlemen  ;  indeed  he 
ain't." 

"  You  said  Firmin  was  here  —  and  it  isn't  the  father.  It's 
the  cub!  I  want  the  doctor.  Where's  the  doctor?"  hiccups 
the  chaplain,  lurching  against  the  wall ;  and  then  he  looks  at 
Philip  with  bloodshot  eyes,  that  twinkle  hate.  "  Who  wantsh 
3^ou,  I  shUke  to  know?  Had  enough  of  you  already-  to-da}'. 
Conceited  brute.  Don't  look  at  me  in  that  sortawa}- !  I 
ain't  afraid  of  3'ou  —  ain't  afraid  anybod}'.  Time  was  when 
I  was  a  young  man  fight  you  as  soon  as  look  at  30U.  I  say, 
Philip ! " 

"  Go  home,  now.  Do  go  home,  there's  a  good  man,"  says 
the  landlad}'. 

"  I  saj- !  Look  here  —  hie  —  hi !  Philip  !  On  3'our  word  as 
a  gentleman,  your  father's  not  here?  He's  a  sly  old  boots, 
Brummell  Firmin  is  —  Trinity  man  —  I'm  not  a  Trinit}'  man  — 
Corpus  man.  I  say,  Phihp,  give  us  3'our  hand.  Bear  no 
mahce.  Look  here  —  something  ver3'^  particular.  After  dinner 
—  went  into  Air  Street  —  30U  know  —  rouge  gagne,  et  couleur  — 
cleaned  out.  Cleaned  out,  on  the  honor  of  a  gentleman  and 
master  of  arts  of  the  Universit3'  of  Cambridge.  So  was  30ur 
father  —  no,  he  went  out  in  medicine.  I  sa3',  Philip,  hand  us 
out  five  sovereigns,  and  let's  tr3-  the  luck  again !  What,  30U 
won't !     It's  mean,  I  say.     Don't  be  mean." 

"  Oh,  here's  five  shillings!  Go  and  have  a  cab.  Fetch  a 
cab  for  him,  Virgilio,  do !  "  cries  the  misti'ess  of  the  house. 

"That's  not  enough,  m3'  dear!"  cries  the  chaplain,  advan- 
cing towards  Mrs.  Brandon,  with  such  a  leer  and  air,  that  Philip, 
half  choked  with  passion,  runs  forward,  grips  Hunt  113-  the 
coUar,  and  crying  out,  ' '  You  filthy  scoundrel !  as  this  is  not 
m3'  house,  I  may  kick  3-ou  out  of  it !  "  —  in  another  instant  has 
run  Hunt  thi-ough  the  passage,  hurled  him  down  the  steps,  and 
sent  him  sprawling  into  the  kennel. 

"  Row  down  below,"  says  Rosebur3'.  placidly,  looking  from 
above.  "  Personal  conflict.  Intoxicated  individual — in  gutter. 
Our  impetuous  friend  has  floored  him." 

Hunt,  after  a  moment,  sits  up  and  glares  at  Philip.  He  is 
not  hurt.  Perhaps  the  shock  has  sobered  him.  He  thinks, 
perhaps,  Philip  is  going  to  strike  again.  "Hands  off",  Bas- 
TAKD  ! "  shiieks  out  the  prostrate  wretch. 

"O  PhiUp,  Philip!  He's  mad,  he's  tipsy  !"  cries  out  the 
Little  Sister,  running  into  the  street.  She  puts  her  arms  round 
Philip.  "Don't  mind  him,  dear  —  he's  mad!  Policeman! 
The  gentleman  has  had  too  much.    Come  in,  Philip  ;  come  in  !  " 


218  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

She  took  him  into  her  httle  room.  She  was  pleased  with 
the  gallantr}^  of  the  boy.  She  Uked  to  see  him  just  now,  stand- 
ing over  her  enem}',  courageous,  victorious,  her  champion. 
"La!  how  savage  he  did  look;  and  how  brave  and  strong 
you  are  !  But  the  little  wretch  ain't  fit  to  stand  before  such 
as  you ! "  And  she  passed  her  little  hand  down  his  arm, 
of  which  the  muscles  we're  all  in  a  quiver  from  the  recent 
skirmish. 

"What  did  the  scoundrel  mean  by  calling  me  bastard?" 
said  Philip,  the  wild  blue  eyes  glaring  round  about  with  more 
than  ordinary  fierceness. 

"  Nonsense,  dear  !  Who  minds  anything  he  says,  that  beast? 
His  language  is  always  horrid  ;  he's  not  a  gentleman.  He  had 
had  too  much  this  morning  when  he  was  here.  What  matters 
what  he  says?  He  won't  know  anything  about  it  to-morrow. 
But  it  was  kind  of  my  Philip  to  rescue  his  poor  little  nurse, 
wasn't  it?  Like  a  novel.  Come  in,  and  let  me  make  yoii  some 
tea.  Don't  go  to  no  more  smoking :  you  have  had  enough. 
Come  in  and  talk  to  me." 

And,  as  a  mother,  with  sweet  pious  face,  yearns  to  her  little 
children  from  her  seat,  she  fondles  him,  she  watches  him ;  she 
fills  her  teapot  from  her  singing  kettle.  She  talks  —  talks  in 
her  homely  wa}',  and  on  this  subject  and  that.  It  is  a  wonder 
how  she  prattles  on,  who  is  generallj^  rather  silent.  She  won't 
see  Phil's  eyes,  which  are  following  her  about  very  strangely 
and  fiercely.  And  when  again  he  mutters,  ""What  did  he 
mean  by  ...  "  "La,  mj'  dear,  how  cross  30U  are!"  she 
breaks  out.  "It's  always  so;  you  won't  be  happy  without 
your  cigar.  Here's  a  cheroot,  a  beauty  !  Pa  brought  it  home 
from  the  club.  A  China  captain  gave  him  some.  You  must 
light  it  at  the  little  end.  There  ! "  And  if  I  could  draw  the 
picture  which  my  mind  sees  of  her  lighting  Phil's  cheroot  for 
him,  and  smiling  the  while,  the  little  innocent  Delilah  coaxing 
and  wheedling  this  young  Samson,  I  know  it  would  be  a  pretty 
picture.     I  wish  Ridley  would  sketch  it  for  me. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  219 


CHAPTER  Xn. 

DAMOCLES. 

On  the  next  morning,  at  an  hour  so  early  that  Old  Parr 
Street  was  scarce  awake,  and  even  the  maids  who  wash  the 
broad  steps  of  the  houses  of  the  tailors  and  medical  gentlemen 
who  inhabit  that  region  had  not  yet  gone  down  on  their  knees 
before  their  respective  doors,  a  ring  was  heard  at  Dr.  Firmin's 
night-bell,  and  when  the  door  was  opened  by  the  yawning  at- 
tendant, a  little  person  in  a  gray  gown  and  a  black  bonnet 
made  her  appearance,  handed  a  note  to  the  servant,  and  said 
the  case  was  most  urgent  and  the  doctor  must  come  at  once. 
Was  not  Lady  Humandhaw  the  noble  person  whom  we' last 
mentioned,  as  the  invalid  about  whom  the  doctor  and  the  nurse 
had  spoken  a  few  words  on  the  previous  evening?  The  Little 
Sister,  for  it  was  she,  used  the  very  same  name  to  the  servant, 
who  retired  grumbling  to  waken  up  his  master  and  deliver  the 
note. 

Nurse  Brandon  sat  awhile  in  the  great  gaunt  dining-room 
where  hung  the  portrait  of  the  doctor  in  his  splendid  black 
collar  and  cuffs,  and  contemplated  this  masterpiece  until  an 
invasion  of  housemaids  drove  her  from  the  apartment,  when 
she  took  refuge  in  that  other  little  room  to  which  Mrs.  Firmin's 
portrait  had  been  consigned. 

"That's  like  him  ever  so  many  years  and  years  ago,"  she 
thinks.  "  It  is  a  little  handsomer;  but  it  has  his  wicked  look 
that  I  used  to  think  so  killing,  and  so  did  my  sisters,  both  of 
them  —  thej^  were  ready  to  tear  out  each  other's  eyes  for  jeal- 
ousy. And  that's  Mrs.  Firmin  !  Well,  I  suppose  the  painter 
haven't  flattered  her.  If  he  have  she  could  have  been  no  great 
things,  Mrs.  F.  couldn't."  And  the  doctor,  entering  softly  by 
the  opened  door  and  over  the  thick  Turkey  carpet,  comes  up 
to  her  noiselessly,  and  finds  the  Little  Sister  gazing  at  the  por- 
trait of  the  departed  lad}'. 

"  Oh,  it's  you,  is  it?  I  wonder  whether  3'ou  treated  her  no 
better  than  you  treated  me.  Dr.  F.  I've  a  notion  she's  not 
the  only  one.  She  don't  look  happ}-,  poor  thing,"  says  the 
little  lady. 

"  What  is  it,  Caroline?  "  asks  the  deep-voiced  doctor ;  "  and 
what  brings  you  so  early  ? " 


220  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

The  Little  Sister  then  explains  to  him.  "Last  night  after 
he  went  away  Hunt  came,  sure  enough.  He  had  been  drink- 
ing. He  was  very  rude,  and  Philip  wouldn't  bear  it.  Philip 
had  a  good  coui'age  of  his  own  and  a  hot  blood.  And  Philip 
thought  Hunt  was  insulting  her,  the  Little  Sister.  So  he  up 
with  his  hand  and  down  goes  Mr.  Hunt  on  the  pavement. 
Well,  when  he  was  down  he  was  in  a  dreadful  way,  and  he 
called  Philip  a  dreadful  name." 

"A  name?  what  name?"  Then  Caroline  told  the  doctor 
the  name  Mr.  Hunt  had  used  ;  and  if  Firmin's  face  usually 
looked  wicked,  I  dare  say  it  did  not  seem  ver^'  angelical  when 
he  heard  how  this  odious  name  had  been  applied  to  his  son. 
"Can  he  do  Philip  a  mischief?"  Caroline  continued.  "I 
thought  I  was  bound  to  tell  his  father.  Look  here,  Doctor  F., 
I  don't  want  to  do  my  dear  boy  a  harm.  But  suppose  what  3'ou 
told  me  last  night  isn't  true  —  as  I  don't  think  you  much  mind  ! 
—  mind  —  saying  things  as  are  incorrect,  you  know,  when  us 
women  are  in  the  case.  But  suppose  when  you  played  the 
villain,  thinking  only  to  take  in  a  poor  innocent  girl  of  sixteen, 
it  was  you  who  were  took  in,  and  that  I  was  your  real  wife 
after  all  ?     There  would  be  a  punishment !  " 

"I  should  have  an  honest  and  good  wife,  Caroline,"  said 
the  doctor,  with  a  groan. 

"  This  would  be  a  punishment,  not  for  you,  but  for  ni}'  poor 
Phihp,"  the  woman  goes  on.  "What  has  he  done,  that  his 
honest  name  should  be  took  from  him  —  and  his  fortune  per- 
haps ?  I  have  been  lying  broad  awake  all  night  thinking  of 
him.  Ah,  George  Brandon  !  Why,  why  did  you  come  to  my 
poor  old  father's  house,  and  bring  this  misery  down  on  me, 
and  on  your  child  unborn  ?  " 

"  On  myself,  the  worst  of  all,"  says  the  doctor. 

"  You  deserve  it.  But  it's  us  innocent  that  has  had,  or  will 
have,  to  suffer  most.  O  George  Brandon  !  Think  of  a  poor 
child,  flung  away,  and  left  to  starve  and  die,  without  even  so 
much  as  knowing  your  real  name  !  Think  of  your  boy,  perhaps 
brought  to  shame  and  poverty  through  your  fault !  " 

' '  Do  you  suppose  I  don't  often  think  of  my  Avrong  ?  "  says 
the  doctor.  "  That  it  does  not  cause  me  sleepless  nights,  and 
hours  of  anguish  ?  Ah  !  Caroline  !  "  and  he  looks  in  the  glass  ; 
"  I  am  not  shaved,  and  it's  very  unbecoming,"  he  thinks  ;  that 
is,  if  I  may  dare  to  read  his  thoughts,  as  I  do  to  report  his  un- 
heard words. 

"  You  think  of  3'our  wrong  now  it  may  be  found  out,  I  dare 
say  !  "  saj'S  Caroline.     "  Suppose  this  Hunt  turns  against  you? 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  221 

He  is  desperate  ;  mad  for  drink  and  money ;  has  been  in  gaol 
—  as  lie  said  this  very  night  to  me  and  my  papa.  He'll  do  or 
say  anything.  If  you  treat  him  hard,  and  Philip  have  treated 
him  hard  —  not  harder  than  served  him  right  though  —  he'Jl 
pull  the  house  down  and  himself  under  it ;  but  he'll  be  re- 
venged. Perhaps  he  drank  so  much  last  night  that  he  may 
have  forgot.  But  I  fear  he  means  mischief,  and  I  came  here 
to  sa}'  so,  and  hoping  that  you  might  be  kep'  on  your  guard, 
Doctor  F.,  and  if  3'OU  have  to  quarrel  with  him,  I  don't  know 
what  you  ever  will  do,  I  am  sure  —  no  more  than  if  you  had  to 
fight  a  chimney-sweep  in  the  street.  I  have  been  awake  all 
night  thinking,  and  as  soon  as  ever  I  saw  the  daylight,  I  de- 
termined I  would  run  and  tell  you." 

"  When  he  called  Philip  that  name,  did  the  boy  seem  much 
disturbed  ? "  asked  the  doctor. 

' '  Yes  ,  he  referred  to  it  again  and  again  —  though  I  tried 
to  coax  him  out  of  it.  But  it  was  on  his  mind  last  night,  and 
I  am  sure  he  will  think  of  it  the  first  thing  this  morning.  Ah, 
yes,  doctor !  conscience  will  sometimes  let  a  gentleman  doze  ; 
but  after  discovery  has  come,  and  opened  your  curtains,  and 
said,  '  You  desired  to  be  called  earl^^ ! '  there's  little  use  in  try- 
ing to  sleep  much.  You  look  very  much  frightened,  Doctor  F. ," 
the  nurse  continues.  "You  haven't  such  a  courage  as  Philip 
has  ;  or  as  you  had  when  3'ou  were  a  young  man,  and  came  a 
leading  poor  girls  astray.  You  used  to  be  afraid  of  nothing 
then.  Do  3'ou  remember  that  fellow  on  board  the  steamboat 
in  Scotland  in  our  wedding-trip,  and,  la  !  I  thought  you  was 
going  to  kill  him.  That  poor  little  Lord  Cinqbars  told  me  ever 
so  many  stories  then  about  yoiw  courage  and  shooting  people. 
It  wasn't  very  courageous,  leaving  a  poor  girl  without  even  a 
name,  and  scarce  a  guinea,  was  it?  But  I  ain't  come  to  call 
up  old  stories  —  only  to  warn  3-ou.  Even  iij  old  times,  when 
he  married  us,  and  I  thought  he  was  doing  a  kindness,  I  never 
could  abide  this  horrible  man.  In  Scotland,  when  vou  was 
awaj'  shooting  with  ^'our  poor  little  lord,  the  things  Hunt  used 
to  say  and  look  was  dreadful.  I  wonder  how  ever  3'ou,  who 
were  gentlemen,  could  put  up  with  such  a  fellow  !  Ah,  that 
was  a  sad  honeymoon  of  ours  !  I  wonder  why  I'm  a-thinking 
of  it  now  ?  I  suppose  it's  from  having  seen  the  picture  of  the 
other  one  —  poor  lady  !  " 

"  I  have  told  you,  Caroline,  that  I  was  so  wild  and  desperate 
at  that  unhapp}'  time,  I  was  scarcely'  accountal)le  for  my  ac- 
tions. If  I  left  you,  it  was  because  I  had  no  other  resource 
but  flight.     I  was  a  ruined,  penniless  man,  but  for  my  marriage 


222  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

with  Ellen  Ringwood.  You  don't  suppose  the  marriage  was 
happy  ?  Happy  !  when  have  I  ever  been  happ}-  ?  M}"^  lot  is  to 
be  wretched,  and  bring  wretchedness  down  on  those  I  love  ! 
Qp  you,  on  my  father,  on  my  wife,  on  m}-  boj'  —  I  am  a  doomed 
man.  Ah,  that  the  innocent  should  sutler  for  me  !  "  And  our 
friend  looks  askance  in  the  glass,  at  the  blue  chin,  and  hollow 
eyes  which  make  his  guilt  look  the  more  haggard.  ^ 

"I  never  had  my  lines,"  the  Little  Sister  continued,  "I" 
never  knew  there  were  papers,  or  writings,  or  anything  but  a 
ring  and  a  clergy-man,  when  3'ou  married  me.  But  I've  heard 
tell  that  people  in  Scotland  don't  want  a  clergj^man  at  all ;  and 
if  they  call  themselves  man  and  wife,  they  are  man  and  wife. 
Now,  sir,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brandon  certainly  did  travel  together 
in  Scotland  —  witness  that  man  whom  3-ou  were  going  to  throw 
into  the  lake  for  being  rude  to  3'our  wife  —  and  ...  .  La ! 
Don't  fly  out  so  !  It  wasn't  me,  a  i)oor  girl  of  sixteen,  who 
did  wrong.  It  was  you,  a  man  of  the  world,  who  was  years 
and  years  older." 

When  Brandon  carried  off  his  poor  little  victim  and  wife, 
there  had  been  a  journey  to  Scotland,  where  Lord  Ciuqbars, 
then  alive,  had  sporting  quarters.  His  lordship's  chaplain,  Mr. 
Hunt,  had  been  of  the  partj-,  which  fate  very  soon  afterwards 
separated.  Death  seized  on  Cinqbars  at  Naples.  Debt  caused 
Firmin — Brandon,  as  he  called  himself  then  —  to  fly  the  coun- 
try. The  chaplain  wandered  from  gaol  to  gaol.  And  as  for 
poor  little  Caroline  Brandon,  I  suppose  the  husband  who  had 
married  her  under  a  false  name  thought  that  to  escape  her, 
leave  her,  and  disown  her  altogether  was  an  easier  and  less 
dangerous  plan  than  to  continue  relations  with  her.  So  one 
da}',  four  months  after  their  marriage,  the  young  couple  being 
then  at  Dover,  Caroline's  husband  happened  to  go  out  for  a 
walk.  But  he  sent  away  a  portmanteau  by  the  back-door 
Avhen  he  went  out  for  the  walk,  and  as  Caroline  was  waiting  for 
her  little  dinner  some  hours  after,  the  porter  who  carried  the 
luggage  came  with  a  little  note  from  her  dearest  G.  B.  :  and  it 
was  full  of  little  fond  expressions  of  regard  and  affection,  such 
as  gentlemen  put  into  little  notes  ;  but  dearest  G.  B.  said  the 
baiUffs  were  upon  him,  and  one  of  them  had  arrived  that  morn- 
ing, and  he  must  fly  :  and  he  took  half  the  money  he  had,  and 
left  half  for  his  little  Carry.  And  he  would  be  back  soon,  and 
arrange  matters  ;  or  tell  her  where  to  write  and  follow  him. 
And  she  was  to  take  care  of  her  little  health,  and  to  write  a 
great  deal  to  her  Gcorgy.  And  she  did  not  know  how  to  write 
very  Tfell  then  ;  but  she  did  her  best,  and  improved  a  great 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  223 

deal ;  for,  indeed,  she  wrote  a  great  deal,  poor  thing.  Sheets 
and  sheets  of  paper  she  blotted  with  ink  and  tears.  And  then 
the  money  was  spent ;  and  the  next  monej' ;  and  no  more  came, 
and  no  more  letters.  And  she  was  alone  at  sea,  sinking,  sink- 
ing, when  it  pleased  heaven  to  send  that  friend  who  rescued 
her.  It  is  such  a  sad,  sad  little  story,  that  in  fact  I  don't  like 
dwelling  on  it ;  not  caring  to  look  upon  poor  innocent,  trusting 
creatures  in  pain. 

.  Well,  then,  when  Caroline  exclaimed,  "La!  don't  fly. 
out  so,  Dr.  Firmin  !  "  I  suppose  the  doctor  had  been  crying 
out,  and  swearing  fiercely,  at  the  recollections  of  his  friend 
Mr.  Brandon,  and  at  the  danger  which  possibly  hung  over  that 
gentleman.  Marriage  ceremonies  are  dangerous  risks  in  jest 
or  in  earnest.  You  can't  pretend  to  marry  even  a  poor  old 
bankrupt  lodging-house-keeper's  daughter  without  some  risk  of 
being  brought  subsequently  to  book.  If  you  have  a  vulgar 
wife  alive,  and  afterwards  choose  to  leave  her  and  many  an 
earl's  niece,  j'ou  will  come  to  trouble,  however  well  connected 
you  are  and  highly  placed  in  societ}'.  If  you  have  had  thirty 
thousand  pounds  with  wife  No.  2,  and  have  to  pay  it  back  on 
a  sudden,  the  payment  ma}'  be  inconvenient.  Y^ou  ma}^  be 
tried  for  bigam}',  and  sentenced,  goodness  knows  to  what  pun- 
ishment. At  any  rate,  if  the  matter  is  made  public,  and  you 
are  a  most  respectable  man,  moving  in  the  highest  scientific 
and  social  circles,  those  circles  ma}-  be  disposed  to  request  j'ou 
to  walk  out  of  their  circumference.  A  novelist,  I  know,  ought 
to  have  no  likes,  dislikes,  pity,  partiality  for  his  characters ; 
but  I  declare  I  cannot  help  feeling  a  respectful  compassion  for 
a  gentleman  who,  in  consequence  of  a  youthful,  and,  I  am  sure, 
sineerel}-  regretted  foil}-,  ma}'  be  liable  to  lose  his  fortune,  his 
place  in  society,  and  his  considerable  practice.  Piuiishment 
hasn't  a  right  to  come  with  such  a  pede  claudo.  There  ought 
to  be  limitations  ;  and  it  is  shabby  and  revengeful  of  Justice  to 
present  her  little  bill  when  it  has  been  more  than  twenty  }cars 
owing:.  .  .  .  Havins:  had  his  talk  out  with  the  Little  Sis- 
ter,  having  a  long-past  crime  suddenly  taken  down  from  the 
shelf;  having  a  remorse  long  since  supposed  to  be  dead  and 
buried,  suddenly  starting  up  in  the  most  blustering,  boisterous, 
inconvenient  manner ;  having  a  rage  and  terror  tearing  him 
within ;  I  can  fancy  this  most  respectable  physician  going 
about  his  day's  work,  and  most  sincerely  sympathize  with  him. 
Who  is  to  hoal  the  physician?  Is  he  not  more  sick  at  heart 
than  most  of  his  patients  that  day  ?  He  has  to  listen  to  Lady 
Megrim  cackling  for  half  an  hour  at  least,  and  describing  her 


224  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

little  ailments.  He  has  to  listen,  and  never  once  to  dare  to 
say,  "Confound  you,  old  chatterbox!  What  are  jou  prating 
about  your  ailments  to  me,  who  am  suffering  real  torture  whilst 
I  am  smirking  in  your  face?"  He  has  to  wear  the  inspiriting 
smile,  to  breathe  the  gentle  joke,  to  console,  to  whisper  hope, 
to  administer  remedy  ;  and  all  day,  perhaps,  he  sees  no  one  so 
utterly  sick,  so  sad,  so  despairing,  as  himself. 

The  first  person  on  whom  he  had  to  practise  hypocrisy  that 
day  was  his  own  son,  who  chose  to  come  to  breakfast  —  a  meal 
of  which  son  and  father  seldom  now  partook  in  company-. 
"What  does  he  know,  and  what  does  he  suspect?"  are  the 
father's  thoughts  ;  but  a  louring  gloom  is  on  Philip's  face,  and 
the  father's  eyes  look  into  the  son's,  but  cannot  penetrate  their 
darkness. 

"  Did  3-ou  stay  late  last  night,  Philip?  "  says  papa. 

"Yes,  sir,  rather  late,"  answers  the  son. 

"  Pleasant  part}'?" 

"  No,  sir,  stupid.  Your  friend  Mr.  Hunt  wanted  to  come 
in.  He  was  drunk,  and  rude  to  Mrs.  Brandon,  and  I  was 
obliged  to  put  him  out  of  the  door.  He  was  dreadfully  violent 
and  abusive." 

"  Swore  a  good  deal,  I  suppose?" 

"  J^iercely,  sir,  and  called  names." 

I  dare  sa}'  Philip's  heart  beat  so  when  he  said  these  last 
words,  that  they  were  inaudible  :  at  all  events,  Philip's  father 
did  not  appear  to  pay  much  attention  to  the  words,  for  he  was 
bus}^  reading  the  Morning  Post,  and  behind  that  sheet  of  fash- 
ionable news  hid  whatever  expression  of  agony  there  might  be 
on  his  face.  Philip  afterwards  told  his  present  biographer  of 
this  breakfast  meeting  and  dreary  tete-a-tete.  "  I  burned  to  ask 
what  was  the  meaning  of  that  scoundrel's  words  of  the  past 
night,"  PhiUp  said  to  his  biographer;  "but  I  did  not  dare, 
somehow.  You  see,  Pendenuis,  it  is  not  pleasant  to  say  point- 
blank  to  30ur  father,  '  Sir,  are  3'ou  a  confirmed  scoundrel,  or  are 
3'ou  not?  Is  it  possible  that  3'ou  have  made  a  double  marriage, 
as  yonder  other  rascal  hinted  ;  and  that  my  own  legitimacy  and 
my  mother's  fair  fame,  as  well  as  poor,  harmless  Caroline's 
honor  and  happiness,  have  been  destroyed  by  your  crime?' 
But  I  had  lain  awake  all  night  thinking  about  that  scoundrel 
Hunt's  words,  and  whether  there  was  an}'  meaning  beyond 
drunken  malice  in  what  he  said."  So  we  find  that  three  people 
had  passed  a  bad  night  in  consequence  of  Mr.  Firmin's  evil 
behavior  of  five-and-twenty  3'ears  back,  which  surely  was  a 
most  unreasonable  punishment  for  a  sin  of  such  old  date.     I 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WOULD.  225 

wish,  dearly  beloved  brother  sinners,  we  could  take  all  the  pun- 
ishment for  our  individual  crimes  on  our  individual  shoulders  : 
but  we  drag  them  all  down  with  us  —  that  is  the  fact ;  and 
when  Macheath  is  condemned  to  hang,  it  is  Polly  and  Lucy 
who  have  to  weep  and  suffer  and  wear  piteous  mourning  in 
their  hearts  long  after  the  dare-devil  rogue  has  jumped  off  the 
Tyburn  ladder. 

"  Well,  sir,  he  did  not  say  a  word,"  said  Philip,  recounting 
the  meeting  to  his  friend  ;  "  not  a  word,  at  least,  regarding  the 
matter  both  of  us  had  on  our  hearts.  But  about  fashion,  par- 
ties, politics,  he  discoursed  much  more  freely  than  was  usual 
with  him.  He  said  I  might  have  had  Lord  Eingwood's  seat 
for  Whipham  but  for  m^'  unfortunate  politics.  What  made  a 
Radical  of  me,  he  asked,  who  was  naturally  one  of  the  most 
haughty  of  men?  (and  that,  I  think,  perhaps  I  am,"  says  Phil, 
"  and  a  good  many  liberal  fellows  are.")  "  I  should  calm  down, 
he  was  sure  —  I  should  calm  down,  and  be  of  the  politics  des 
homm.es  du  monde." 

Philip  could  not  say  to  his  father,  "Sir,  it  is  seeing  3^ou 
cringe  before  great  ones  that  has  set  mj'  own  back  up."  There 
were  countless  points  about  which  father  and  son  could  not 
speak ;  and  an  invisible,  unexpressed,  perfectly  unintelligible 
mistrust,  always  was  present  when  those  two  were  tete-a-tete. 

Their  meal  was  scarce  ended  when  entered  to  them  Mr. 
Hunt,  with  his  hat  on.  I  was  not  present  at  the  time,  and 
cannot  speak  as  a  certainty  ;  but  1  should  think  at  his  ominous 
appearance  Philip  may  have  turned  red  and  his  father  pale. 
"  Now  is  the  time,"  both,  I  dare  say,  thought;  and  the  doctor 
remembered  his  storm}'  young  da^'s  of  foreign  gambling,  in- 
trigue, and  duel,  when  he  was  put  on  his  ground  before  his 
adversar}',  and  bidden,  at  a  given  signal,  to  fire.  One,  two, 
three  !  Each  man's  hand  was  armed  with  malice  and  murder. 
Philip  had  plenty  of  pluck  for  his  part,  but  I  should  think  on 
such  an  occasion  might  be  a  little  nervous  and  fluttered,  whereas 
his  father's  ej'e  was  keen,  and  his  aim  rapid  and  steady. 

"  You  and  Philip  had  a  difference  last  night,  Philip  tells  me," 
said  the  doctor. 

"  Yes,  and  I  promised  he  should  pay  me,"  said  the  clergy- 
man. 

"  And  I  said  I  should  desire  no  better,"  says  Mr.  Phil. 

"He  struck  his  senior,  his  father's  friend  —  a  sick  man,  a 
clergyman,"  gasped  Hunt. 

"  Were  you  to  repeat  what  you  did  last  night,  I  should  re- 
peat what  I  did,"  said  Phil.     "  You  insulted  a  good  woman." 

15 


226  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

"  It's  a  lie,  sir,"  cries  the  other. 

"  You  insulted  a  good  woman,  a  lad}'  in  her  own  house,  and 
I  turned  you  out  of  it,"  said  Phil. 

"  I  sa}'  again,  it  is  a  lie,  sir  !  "  screams  Hunt,  with  a  stamp 
on  the  table. 

"  That  you  should  give  me  the  lie,  or  otherwise,  is  perfectl}^ 
immaterial  to  me.  But  "whenever  you  insult  Mrs.  Brandon,  or 
anj'  harmless  Avoman  in  my  presence,  I  shall  do  my  best  to 
chastise  3'ou,"  cries  Philip  of  the  red  moustaches,  curling  them 
with  much  dignity. 

"  You  hear  him,  Firmin?"  sa^'s  the  parson. 

"  Faith,  I  do.  Hunt !  "  says  the  ph3'sician  ;  "  and  I  think  he 
means  what  he  says,  too." 

"  Oh  !  you  take  that  line,  do  you?  "  cries  Hunt  of  the  dirty 
hands,  the  dirty  teeth,  the  dirt}'  neck-cloth. 

' '  I  take  what  3'ou  call  that  line  ;  and  whenever  a  rudeness 
is  offered  to  that  admirable  woman  in  my  son's  hearing,  I  shall 
be  astonished  if  he  does  not  resent  it,"  says  the  doctor.  ' '  Thank 
you,  Philip  !  " 

The  father's  resolute  speech  and  behavior  gave  Philip  great 
momentary  comfort.  Hunt's  words  of  the  night  before  had 
been  occup^-ing  the  3'oung  man's  thoughts.  Had  Firmin  been 
criminal,  he  could  not  be  so  bold. 

"You  talk  this  wa}'  in  presence  of  3'our  son?  You  have 
been  talking  over  the  matter  together  before  ?  "  asks  Hunt. 

"  We  have  been  talking  over  the  matter  before  — yes.  We 
were  engaged  on  it  when  you  came  in  to  breakfast,"  says  the 
doctor.  "  Shall  we  go  on  with  the  conversation  where  we  left 
it  off? " 

"  Well,  do  —  that  is,  if  you  dare,"  said  the  clergyman,  some- 
what astonished. 

"Philip,  my  dear,  it  is  ill  for  a  man  to  hide  his  head  before 
his  own  son  ;  but  if  I  am  to  speak  —  and  speak  I  must  one  da}' 
or  the  other  —  why  not  now  ?  " 

"Why  at  all,  Firmin?"  asks  the  clergj-man,  astonished  at 
the  other's  rather  sudden  resolve. 

"  Why?  Because  I  am  sick  and  tired  of  you,  Mr.  Tufton 
Plunt,"  cries  the  physician,  in  his  most  lofty  manner,  "  of  3'ou 
and  your  presence  in  my  house  ;  your  blackguard  behavior  and 
your  rascal  extortions  —  because  you  will  force  me  to  speak  one 
day  or  the  other  —  and  now,  Philip,  if  you  like,  shall  be  the 
day," 

"  Hang  it,  I  say  !     Stop  a  bit !  "  cries  the  clergj^man. 

"  I  understand  you  want  some  more  mone}'  from  me." 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  227 

"I  did  promise  Jacobs  I  would  pa}^  him  to-day,  and  that 
was  what  made  me  so  sulky  last  night ;  and,  perhaps,  I  took  a 
little  too  much.  You  see  my  mind  was  out  of  order  ;  and  what's 
the  use  of  telling  a  story  that  is  no  good  to  any  one,  Firmin  — 
least  of  all  to  3'ou,"  cries  the  parson,  darkly. 

"  Because,  3'ou  ruffian,  I'll  bear  with  you  no  more,"  cries  the 
doctor,  the  veins  of  his  forehead  swelhng  as  he  looks  fiercely  at 
his  dirty  adversar3^  "In  the  last  nine  months,  Philip,  this 
man  has  had  nine  hundred  pounds  from  me." 

"  The  luck  has  been  so  very  bad,  so  bad,  upon  my  honor, 
now,"  grumbles  the  parson. 

"  To-morrow  he  will  want  more;  and  the  next  day  more; 
and  the  next  day  more  ;  and,  in  fine,  I  won't  live  with  this  ac- 
cursed man  of  the  sea  round  my  neck.  You  shall  have  the 
story ;  and  Mr.  Hunt  shall  sit  b}'  and  witness  against  his  own 
crime  and  mine.  I  had  been  very  wild  at  Cambridge,  when  I 
was  a  young  man.  I  had  quarrelled  with  m3'  father,  lived  with 
a  dissipated  set,  and  beyond  my  means  ;  and  had  had  my  debts 
paid  so  often  by  your  grandfather,  that  I  was  afraid  to  ask  for 
more.  He  was  stern  to  me  ;  I  was  not  dutiful  to  him.  I  own 
my  fault.     Mr.  Hunt  can  bear  witness  to  what  I  say. 

"  I  was  in  hiding  at  Margate,  under  a  false  name.  You 
know  the  name." 

"Yes,  sir,  I  think  I  know  the  name,"  Philip  said,  thinking 
he  liked  his  father  better  now  than  he  had  ever  liked  him  in  his 
life,  and  sighing,  "Ah,  if  he  had  always  been  frank  and  true 
with  me  !  " 

"  I  took  humble  lodgings  with  an  obscure  familj' ."  [If  Dr. 
Firmin  had  a  prodigious  idea  of  his  own  grandeur  and  impor- 
tance, you  see  I  cannot  help  it  —  and  he  was  long  held  to  be 
such  a  respectable  man.]  "  And  there  I  found  a  young  girl  — 
one  of  the  most  innocent  beings  that  ever  a  man  plaj'ed  with 
and  betrayed.  Betrayed,  I  own  it,  heaven  forgive  me  !  The 
crime  has  been  the  shame  of  my  life,  and  darkened  my  whole 
career  with  misery.  I  got  a  man  worse  than  myself,  if  that 
could  be.  I  got  Hunt  for  a  few  pounds,  which  he  owed  me,  to 
make  a  sham  marriage  between  me  and  poor  Caroline.  Mj^ 
money  was  soon  gone.  My  creditors  were  after  me.  I  fled 
the  country,  and  I  left  her." 

"A  sham  marriage!  a  sham  marriage!"  cries  the  clergy- 
man. "  Didn't  you  make  me  perform  it  b}-  holding  a  pistol  to 
my  throat?  A  fellow  won't  risk  transportation  for  nothing. 
But  I  owed  him  money  for  cards,  and  he  had  my  bill,  and  he 
said  he  would  let  me  off,  and  that's  why  I  helped  him.     Never 


228  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

mind.  I  am  out  of  the  business  now,  Mr.  Brummell  Firmin, 
and  you  are  in  it.  I  liave  read  tlie  Act,  sir.  Tlie  clergyman 
who  performs  the  marriage  is  liable  to  punishment,  if  informed 
against  within  three  years,  and  it's  twenty  j-ears  or  more.  But 
3'ou,  Mr.  Brummell  Firmin,  —  your  case  is  difierent ;  and  you, 
mj'  young  gentleman,  with  the  tier}'  whiskers,  who  strike  down 
old  men  of  a  night,  —  you  may  find  some  of  us  know  how  to 
revenge  ourselves,  though  we  are  down."  And  with  this,  Hunt 
rushed  to  his  greas}'  hat,  and  quitted  the  house,  discharging  im- 
precations at  his  hosts  as  he  passed  through  the  hall. 

Son  and  father  sat  awhile  silent,  after  the  departure  of  their 
common  enemy.     At  last  the  father  spoke. 

"  This  is  the  sword  that  has  always  been  hanging  over  my 
head,  and  it  is  now  falling,  Philip." 

"What  can  the  man  do?  Is  the  first  marriage  a  good 
marriage?"  asked  Philip,  with  alarmed  face. 

"It  is  no  marriage.  It  is  void  to  all  intents  and  purposes. 
You  may  suppose  I  have  taken  care  to  learn  the  law  about  that. 
Your  legitimacy  is  safe,  sure  enough.  But  that  man  can  ruin 
me,  or  nearly  so.  He  will  try  to-morrow,  if  not  to-day.  As 
long  as  you  or  I  can  give  him  a  guinea,  he  will  take  it  to  the 
gambling-house.  I  had  the  mania  on  me  myself  once.  My 
poov  father  quarrelled  with  me  in  consequence,  and  died  with- 
out seeing  me.  I  married  your  mother  —  heaven  help  her, 
poor  soul !  and  forgive  me  for  being  but  a  harsh  husband  to 
her  —  with  a  view  of  mending  my  shattered  fortunes.  I  wished 
she  had  been  more  happ}^,  poor  thing.  But  do  not  blame  me 
utterh-,  Philip.  I  was  desperate,  and  she  wished  for  the 
marriage  so  much !  I  had  good  looks  and  high  spirits  in 
those  days.  People  said  so."  [And  here  he  glances  obliquely 
at  his  own  handsome  portrait.]  "  Now  I  am  a  wreck,  a 
wreck !  " 

"  I  conceive,  sir,  that  this  will  annoj'  you  ;  but  how  can  it 
ruin  you?"  asked  Philip. 

"  What  becomes  of  my  practice  as  a  family  ph3-sician?  The 
practice  is  not  now  what  it  was,  between  ourselves,  Philip, 
and  the  expenses  greater  than  you  imagine.  I  have  made 
unlucky  speculations.  If  you  count  of  much  increase  of 
wealth  from  me,  m}'  bo3',  3'OU  will  be  disapi)ointed  ;  though 
you  were  never  mercenar}',  no,  never.  But  the  story  bruited 
about  by  this  rascal,  of  a  physician  of  eminence  engaged  in 
two  marriages,  do  you  suppose  my  rivals  won't  hear  it, 
and  take  advantage  of  it  —  my  patients  hear  it,  and  avoid 
me?" 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  229 

"Make  terms  with  the  man  at  once,  then,  sir,  and  silence 
him." 

"  To  make  terms  with  a  gambler  is  impossible.  M}^  purse  is 
alwajs  there  open  for  him  to  thrust  his  hand  into  when  he 
loses.  No  man  can  withstand  such  a  temptation.  I  am  glad 
you  have  never  fallen  into  it.  I  have  quarrelled  with  you  some- 
times for  living  with  people  below  your  rank :  perhaps  you 
were  right,  and  I  was  wrong.  I  have  liked,  alwa^'s  did,  I  don't 
disguise  it,  to  live  with  persons  of  station.  And  these,  when  I 
was  at  the  University,  taught  me  pla}'  and  extravagance  ;  and 
in  the  world  haven't  helped  me  much.  Who  would?  Who 
would?"  and  the  doctor  relapsed  into  meditation. 

A  little  catastrophe  presently  occurred,  after  which  Mr. 
Philip  Firmin  told  me  the  substance  of  this  story.  He  de- 
scribed his  father's  long  acquiescence  in  Hunt's  demands,  and 
sudden  resistance  to  them,  and  was  at  a  loss  to  account  for  the 
change.  I  did  not  tell  my  friend  in  express  terms,  but  I  fancied 
I  could  account  for  the  change  of  behavior.  Dr.  Firmin,  in  his 
interviews  with  Caroline,  had  had  his  mind  set  at  rest  about  one 
part  of  his  danger.  The  doctor  need  no  longer  fear  the  charge 
of  a  double  marriage.  The  Little  Sister  resigned  her  claims 
past,  present,  future. 

If  a  gentleman  is  sentenced  to  be  hung,  I  wonder  is  it  a 
matter  of  comfort  to  him  or  not  to  know  beforehand  the  clay  of 
the  operation?  Hunt  would  take  his  revenge.  When  and 
how?  Dr.  Firmin  asked  himself.  Na}^  possibh",  30U  will  have 
to  learn  that  this  eminent  practitioner  walked  about  with  more 
than  danger  hanging  imminent  over  him.  Perhaps  it  was  a 
rope  :  perhaps  it  was  a  sword  :  some  weapon  of  execution,  at 
any  rate,  as  we  frequentlj'  may  see.  A  day  passes  :  no  assassin 
darts  at  the  doctor  as  he  threads  the  dim  opera-colonnade 
passage  on  his  way  to  his  club.  A  week  goes  by :  no  stiletto 
is  plunged  into  his  well-wadded  breast  as  he  steps  from  his 
carriage  at  some  noble  patient's  door.  Philip  says  he  never 
knew  his  father  more  pleasant,  eas}^,  good-humored,  and  affable 
than  during  this  period,  when  he  must  have  felt  that  a  danger 
was  hanging  over  him  of  which  his  son  at  this  time  had  no  idea. 
I  dined  in  Old  Parr  Street  once  in  this  memorable  period 
(memorable  it  seemed  to  me  from  immediately  subsequent 
events).  Never  was  the  dinner  better  served  :  the  wine  more 
excellent :  the  guests  and  conversation  more  gravely  respectable 
than  at  this  entertainment ;  and  mj-  neighbor  remarked  with 
pleasure  how  the  ftither  and  son  seemed  to  be  on  much  better 
terms  than  ordinary.     The  doctor  addressed  Philip  pointedly 


230  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

once  or  twice  ;  alluded  to  his  foreign  travels,  spoke  of  his 
mother's  family  —  it  was  most  gratifying  to  see  the  pair  to- 
gether. Day  after  day  passes  so.  The  enemy  has  disappeared. 
At  least,  the  lining  of  his  dirty  hat  is  no  longer  visible  on  the 
broad  marble  table  of  Dr.  Firmiu's  hall. 

But  one  day  —  it  may  be  ten  days  after  the  quarrel  —  a  little 
messenger  comes  to  Philip  and  saj-s,  "  Philip  dear,  I  am  sure 
there  is  something  wrong ;.  that  horrible  Hunt  has  been  here 
with  a  very  quiet,  soft-spoken  old  gentleman,  and  the}'  have 
been  going  on  with  my  poor  pa  about  my  wrongs  and  his  — 
his,  indeed !  —  and  they  have  worked  him  up  to  believe  that 
somebody  has  cheated  his  daughter  out  of  a  great  fortune  ;  and 
who  can  that  somebody  be  but  3'our  father?  And  whenever 
they  see  me  coming,  papa  and  that  horrid  Hunt  go  off  to  the 
'  Admiral  B^'ng  : '  and  one  night  when  papa  came  home  he  said, 
'Bless  you,  bless  you,  my  poor,  innocent,  injured  child;  and 
blessed  3'ou  will  be,'  mark  a  fond  father's  words  ! '  They  are 
scheming  something  against  Philip  and  Philip's  father.  Mr. 
Bond  the  soft-spoken  old  gentleman's  name  is  :  and  twice  there 
has  been  a  Mr.  Walls  to  inquire  if  Mr.  Hunt  was  at  our  house." 

"  Mr.  Bond?  —  Mr.  Walls?  —  A  gentleman  of  the  name  of 
Bond  was  uncle  Twj'sden's  attorney.  An  old  gentleman,  with 
a  bald  head,  and  one  eye  bigger  than  the  other?" 

"Well,  this  old  man  has  one  smaller  than  the  other,  I  do 
think,"  sa3's  Caroline.  "First  man  who  came  was  Mr.  Walls 
—  a  rattling  3"0ung  fashionable  chap,  alwa^'s  laughing,  talking 
about  theatres,  operas,  everything  —  came  home  from  the 
'  Byng '  along  with  pa  and.  his  new  friend  —  oh  !  I  do  hate 
him,  that  man,  that  Hunt !  —  then  he  brought  the  old  man,  this 
Mr.  Bond.  What  are  they  scheming  against  you,  Philip?  I 
tell  you  this  matter  is  all  about  you  and  your  father." 

Years  and  years  ago,  in  the  poor  mother's  lifetime,  Philip 
remembered  an  outbreak  of  wrath  on  his  father's  part,  who 
called  uncle  Twj'sden  a  swindling  miser,  and  this  very  Mr. 
Bond  a  scoundrel  who  deserved  to  be  hung,  for  interfering  in 
some  way  in  the  management  of  a  part  of  the  property'  which 
Mrs.  Twysden  and  her  sister  inherited  from  their  own  mother. 
That  quarrel  had  been  made  up,  as  such  quarrels  are.  The 
brothers-in-law  had  continued  to  mistrust  each  other  ;  but  there 
was  no  reason  why  the  feud  should  descend  to  the  children  ; 
and  Philip  and  his  aunt,  and  one  of  her  daughters  at  least,  were 
on  good  terms  together.  Philip's  uncle's  lawyers  engaged  with 
his  father's  debtor  and  enemy  against  Dr.  Firmin  :  the  alliance 
boded  no  good. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  231 

"I  won't  tell  you  what  I  think,  Philip,"  said  the  father. 
"You  are  fond  of  3'our  cousin?" 

"Oh!  for  ev— " 

' '  For  ever,  of  course  !  At"  least  until  we  change  our  mind, 
or  one  of  us  grows  tired,  or  finds  a  better  mate." 

"Ah,  sir!"  cries  Philip,  but  suddenly  stops  in  his  remon- 
strance, f 

' '  What  were  you  going  to  sa}',  Philip,  and  why  do  you  pause  ?  " 

"  I  was  going  to  say,  father,  if  I  might  without  offending, 
that  I  think  you  judge  hardly  of  women.  I  know  two  who  have 
been  very  faithful  to  3'ou." 

"  And  I  a  traitor  to  both  of  them.  Yes  ;  and  my  remorse, 
Philip,  my  remorse  !  "  says  his  father  in  his  deepest  tragedy 
voice,  clutching  his  hand  over  a  heart  that  I  believe  beat  very 
coolly.  '  But,  psha !  why  am  I,  Philip's  biographer,  going  out 
of  the  way  to  abuse  Philip's  papa?  Is  not  the  threat  of  big- 
amy and  exposure  enough  to  disturb  any  man's  equanimity? 
I  say  again,  suppose  there  is  another  sword  —  a  rope,  if  3'ou 
will  so  call  it  —  hanging  over  the  head  of  our  Damocles  of- Old 
Parr  Street?  ....  Howbeit,  the  father  and  the  son  met  and 
parted  in  these  da3's  with  unusual  gentleness  and  cordiality. 
And  these  were  the  last  days  in  which  thc}^  were  to  meet 
together.  Nor  could  Philip  recall  without  satisfaction,  after- 
wards, that  the  hand  which  he  took  was  pressed  and  given  with 
a  real  kindness  and  cordiality. 

Why  were  these  the  last  days  son  and  father  were  to  pass 
together?  Dr.  Firmin  is  still  alive.  Philip  is  a  very  tolerably 
prosperous  gentleman.  He  and  his  father  parted  good  friends, 
and  it  is  the  biographer's  business  to  narrate  how  and  where- 
fore. When  Philip  told  his  father  that  Messrs.  Bond  and 
Selby,  his  uncle  Twysden  s  attorneys,  were  suddenly  inter- 
ested about  Mr.  Brandon  and  his  affairs,  the  father  instantly 
guessed,  though  the  son  was  too  simple  as  yet  to  understand, 
how  it  was  that  these  gentlemen  interfered.  If  Mr.  Brandon- 
Firmin's  marriage  with  Miss  Ringwood  was  null,  her  son  was 
illegitimate,  and  her  fortune  went  to  her  sister.  Painful  as 
such  a  duty  might  be  to  such  tender-hearted  people  as  our 
•Twj'sden  acquaintances  to  deprive  a  dear  nephew  of  his  for- 
tune, yet,  after  all,  duty  is  duty,  and  a  parent  must  sacrifice 
every thijig  for  justice  and  his  own  children.  "  Had  I  been  in 
such  a  case,"  Talbot  Twj-sden  subsequently  and  repeatedly 
declared,  "I  should  never  have  been  easy  a  moment  if  I 
thought  I  possessed  wrongfully  a  beloved  nephew's  property. 
I«could  not  have  slept  in  peace ;  I  could  not  have  shown  my 


232  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

face  at  my  own  dub,  or  to  my  own  conscience,  had  I  the 
weight  of  such  an  injustice  on  my  mind."  In  a  word,  when  he 
found  that  there  was  a  chance  of  annexing  Philip's  share  of 
the  property  to  his  own,  Tw^'sden  saw  clearly  that  his  duty  was 
to  stand  by  his  own  wife  and  children. 

The  information  upon  which  Talbot  Twysden,  Esq.,  acted, 
was  brought  to  him  at  his  office  by  a  gentleman  in  dingy  black, 
who,  after  a  long  interview  with  him,  accompanied  him  to  his 
lawyer,  Mr.  Bond,  before  mentioned.  Here,  in  South  Square, 
Gray's  Inn,  the  three  gentlemen  held  a  consultation,  of  which 
the  results  began  quickly  to  show  themselves.  Messrs.  Bond 
and  Selby  had  an  exceedingl}'  lively,  cheerful,  jovial,  and  intel- 
ligent confidential  clerk,  who  combined  business  and  pleasure 
with  the  utmost  affability,  and  was  acquainted  with  a  thou- 
sand queer  things,  and  queer  histories  about  queer  people  in 
this  town  ;  who  lent  mone}' ;  who  wanted  monej^ ;  who  was  in 
debt :  and  who  was  outrunning  the  constable  ;  whose  diamonds 
were  in  pawn  ;  whose  estates  were  over-mortgaged ;  who  was 
over-building  himself;  who  was  casting  eyes  of  longing  at 
what  pretty  opera  dancer  —  about  races,  fights,  bill  brokers, 
quicquid  agunt  homines.  This  Tom  Walls  had  a  deal  of  infor- 
mation, and  imparted  it  so  as  to  make  you  die  of  laughing. 

The  Reverend  Tufton  Hunt  brought  this  joll}^  fellow  fiist  to 
the  "Admiral  B^ng,"  where  his  amiabilit}'  won  all  hearts  at 
the  club.  At  the  "Byng"  it  was  not  very  difficult  to  gain 
Captain  Gann's  easy  confidence.  And  this  old  man  was,  in 
the  course  of  a  verj'  trifling  consumption  of  rum-and  water, 
brought  to  see  that  his  daughter  had  been  the  object  of  a 
wicked  conspiracy,  and  w'as  the  rightful  and  most  injured 
wife  of  a  man  who  ought  to  declare  her  fair  fame  before  the 
world,  and  put  her  in  possession  of  a  portion  of  his  great  for- 
tune. 

A  great  fortune?  How  great  a  fortune?  Was  it  three 
hundred  thousand,  say?  Those  doctors,  many  of  them,  had 
fifteen  thousand  a-year.  Mr.  Walls  (who  perhaps  knew  bet- 
ter) was  not  at  libert}^  to  say  what  the  fortune  was :  but  it  was 
a  shame  that  Mrs.  Brandon  was  kept  out  of  her  rights,  that 
was  clear.  • 

Old  Gann's  excitement,  when  this  matter  was  first  broached 
to  him  (under  vows  of  pi'ofound  secrecy)  was  so  intense  that 
his  old  reason  tottered  on  its  ricket}'  old  throne.  He  well- 
nigh  burst  with  longing  to  speak  upon  this  m3'stery.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Oves,  the  esteemed  landlord  and  lady  of  the  "  Bj-ng," 
never  saw  him  so  excited.      He  had  a  great   opinion  of  the 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  233 

judgment  of  his  friend,  Mi'.  Ridley ;  in  fact,  he  must  have 
gone  to  Bedlam,  unless  he  had  talked  to  somebody  on  tliis 
most  nefarious  transaction,  which  might  make  the  blood  of 
every  Briton  curdle  with  horror  —  as  he  was  free  to  say. 

Old  Mr.  Ridley  was  of  a  much  cooler  temperament,  and 
altogether  a  more  cautious  person.  The  doctor  rich?  He 
wished  to  tell  no  secrets,  nor  to  meddle  in  no  gentleman's 
affairs  :  but  he  have  heard  very  different  statements  regarding 
Dr.  Firmin's  affairs. 

When  dark  hints  about  treason,  wicked  desertion,  rights 
denied,  "and  a  great  fortune  which  ^-ou  are  kep' out  of,  my 
poor  Caroline,  b\'  a  rascall}'  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing,  you  are  ; 
and  I  alwa3's  mistrusted  him  from  the  moment  I  saw  him,  and 
said  to  3'our  mother,  '  Emil}',  that  Brandon  is  a  bad  fellow, 
Brandon  is  ; '  and  bitterly,  bitterly  I've  rued  ever  receiving  him 
under  mj^  roof"  When  speeches  of  this  nature  were  made  to 
Mrs.  Caroline,  strange  to  sa}',  the  little  lad}^  made  light  of 
them.  "  Oh,  nonsense,  Pa  !  Don't  be  bringing  that  sad  old 
story  up  again.  I  have  suffered  enough  from  it  alreadj'.  If 
Mr.  F.  left  me,  he  wasn't  the  only  one  who  flung  me  away ; 
and  I  have  been  able  to  live,  thank  mere}',  through  it  all." 

This  was  a  hard  hit,  and  not  to  be  parried.  The  truth  is, 
that  when  poor  Caroline,  deserted  by  her  husband,  had  come 
back,  in  wretchedness,  to  her  father's  door,  the  man,  and  the 
wife  who  then  ruled  him,  had  thought  fit  to  thrust  her  awa3^ 
And  she  had  forgiven  them  :  and  had  been  enabled  to  heap  a 
rare  quantity  of  coals  on  that  old  gentleman's  head. 

When  the  Captain  remarked  his  daughter's  indifference  and 
unwillingness  to  reopen  this  painful  question  of  her  sham  mar- 
riage with  Firmin,  his  wrath  was  moved,  and  his  suspicion  ex- 
cited. "Ha!"  saj-s  he,  "have  this  man  been  a  tampering 
with  3'ou  again  ?  " 

"Nonsense,  Pa!"  once  more  sa3's  Caroline.  "I  tell  you, 
it  is  this  fine-talking  lawyers'  clerk  has  been  tampering  with 
you.  You're  made  a  tool  of,  Pa !  and  3'ou've  been  made  a  tool 
of  all  3-our  life  !  " 

"  Well,  now,  upon  m3'  honor,  m3'^  good  madam,"  interposes 
Mr.  Walls. 

"  Don't  talk  to  me,  sir  !  I  don't  want  an3'  law3'ers'  clerks 
to  meddle  in  m3'  business  ! "  cries  Mrs.  Brandon,  ver3^  briskl3\ 
"  I  don't  know  what  you're  come  about.  I  don't  want  to  know, 
and  I'm  most  certain  it  is  for  no  good." 

I  suppose  it  was  the  ill  success  of  his  ambassador  that 
brought  Mr.  Bond  himself  to  Thornhaugh  Street ;  and  a  more 


234  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

kind,  fatherly,  little  man  never  looked  than  Mr.  Bond,  although 
he  may  have  had  one  eye  smaller  than  the  other,  "What  is 
this,  my  dear  madam,  I  hear  from  m^'  confidential  clerk,  Mr. 
Walls?"  he  asked  of  the  Little  Sister.  "You  refuse  to  give 
him  your  confidence  because  he  is  only  a  clerk?  I  wonder 
whether  3'ou  will  accord  it  to  me  as  a  principal?" 

"She  may,  sir,  she  may  —  every  confidence!"  says  the 
Captain,  laying  his  hand  on  that  snuffy  satin  waistcoat  which 
all  his  friends  so  long  admired  on  him.  ' '  She  might  have 
spoken  to  Mr.  Walls." 

"  Mr.  Walls  is  not  a  family  man.  I  am.  I  have  children 
at  home,  Mrs.  Brandon,  as  old  as  you  are,"  says  the  benevo- 
lent Bond.  "I  would  have  justice  done  them,  and  for  you 
too." 

"  You're  very  good  to  take  so  much  trouble  about  me  all  of 
a  sudden,  to  be  sure,"  says  Mrs.  Brandon,  demurely.  "  I  sup- 
pose 3'ou  don't  do  it  for  nothing." 

"I  should  not  require  much  fee  to  help  a  good  woman  to 
her  rights  ;  and  a  lady  I  don't  think  needs  much  persuasion  to 
be  helped  to  her  advantage,"  remarks  Mr.  Bond. 

"  That  depends  who  the  helper  is." 

"-Well,  if  I  can  do  j^ou  no  harm,  and  help  you  possibly  to  a 
name,  to  a  fortune,  to  a  high  place  in  the  world,  I  don't  think 
you  need  be  frightened.  I  don't  look  very  wicked  or  very  art- 
ful, do  I?" 

"  Many  is  that  don't  look  so.  I've  learned  as  much  as  that 
about  3'Ou  gentlemen,"  remarks  Mrs.  Brandon. 

"  You  have  been  wronged  by  one  man,  and  doubt  all." 

"Not  all.     Some,  sir!" 

"  Doubt  about  me  if  I  can  by  an}^  possibility  injure  j^ou. 
But  how  and  why  should  I  ?  Your  good  father  knows  what  has 
brought  me  here.  I  have  no  secret  from  him.  Have  I,  Mr. 
Gann,  or  Captain  Gann,  as  I  have  heard  you  addressed?" 

"Mr.,  sir  —  plain  Mr. — No,  sir;  your  conduct  have  been 
most  open,  honorable,  and  like  a  gentleman.  Neither  would  you, 
sir,  do  aught  to  disparage  Mrs.  Brandon ;  neither  would  I, 
her  father.  No  ways,  I  think,  would  a  parent  do  harm  to  his 
own  child.  May  I  oflfer  you  any  refreshment,  sir?"  and  a 
shak}',  a  ding3%  but  a  hospitable  hand,  is  laid  upon  the  glossy 
cupboard,  in  which  Mrs.  Brandon  keeps  her  modest  little  store 
of  strong  waters. 

"  Not  one  drop,  thank  j^ou  !  You  trust  me,  I  think,  more 
than  Mrs.  Firm — I  beg  your  pardon — -Mrs.  Brandon,  is  dis- 
posed to  do." 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  235 

At  the  utterance  of  that  inonos3'llable  Firm  Caroline  became 
so  white,  and  trembled  so,  that  her  interlocutor  stopped,  rather 
alarmed  at  the  eflfect  of  his  word  —  his  word  !  —  his  syllable  of 
a  word. 

The  old  law3'er  recovered  himself  with  much  grace. 

"Pardon  me,  madam,"  he  said  ;  "  I  know  your  wrongs  ;  I 
know  your  most  melancholy  histor}-  ;  I  know  your  name,  and 
was  going  to  use  it,  but  it  seemed  to  renew  painful  recollections 
to  3'ou,  which  I  would  not  needlessly  recall." 

Captain  Gann  took  out  a  snuffy  pocket-handkerchief,  wiped 
two  red  e^'cs  and  a  shirt-front,  and  winked  at  the  attorne}'', 
and  gaspecl  in  a  pathetic  manner. 

"  You  know  m}'  stor3^  and  name,  sir,  who  are  ji  stranger  to 
me.  Have  you  told  this  old  gentleman  all  about  me  and  my 
affairs,  Pa?"  asks  Caroline,  with  some  asperity.  "  Have  you 
told  him  that  my  ma  never  gave  me  a  word  of  kindness  —  that 
I  toiled  for  you  and  her  like  a  servant  —  and  when  I  came  back 
to  you,  after  being  deceived  and  deserted,  that  3'ou  and  ma 
shut  the  door  in  my  face  ?  You  did  !  3'ou  did  !  I  forgive  3'ou  ; 
but  a  hundred  thousand  billion  3'ears  can't  mend  that  injur3', 
father,  while  3'ou  broke  a  poor  child's  heart  with  it  that  day  ! 
M3'  pa  has  told  3'ou  all  this,  Mr.  What's-your-uame  ?  I'm 
s'prized  he  didn't  find  something  pleasanter  to  talk  about,  I'm 
sure  !  " 

"  M3'  love  !  "  interposed  the  Captain. 

"  Pretty  love  !  to  go  and  tell  a  stranger  in  a  public-house, 
and  ever  so  man3"  thei*e  besides,  I  suppose,  3'our  daughter's 
misfortunes,  pa.  Prett3'  love !  That's  what  I've  had  from 
you  !  " 

"  Not  a  soul,  on  the  honor  of  a  gentleman,  except  me  and 
Mr.  Walls." 

' '  Then  what  do  3'Ou  come  to  talk  about  me  at  all  for  ?  and 
what  scheme  on  hearth  are  3'Ou  driving  at?  and  what  brings 
this  old  man  here?"  cries  the  landlad3"  of  Thornhaugh  Street, 
stamping  her  foot. 

"Shall  I  tell  3-ou  frankl3',  my  good  lad3'?  I  called  you 
Mrs.  Firmin  now,  because,  on  my  honor  and  word,  I  believe 
such  to  be  3-our  rightful  name  —  because  3-ou  are  the  lawful 
wife  of  George  Brand  Firmin.  If  such  be  your  lawful  name, 
others  bear  it  who  have  no  right  to  bear  it  -^  and  inherit  prop- 
erty to  which  they  can  la3'  no  just  claim.  In  the  year  1827, 
you,  Caroline  Gann,  a  child  of  sixteen,  were  married  by  a 
clergyman  whom  you  know,  to  George  Brand  Firmin,  calling 
himself  George  Brandon.     He  was  guilt3'  of  deceiving  3-ou ; 


236  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

but  3'ou  were  guilty  of  no  deceit.  He  was  a  hardened  and  wily 
man  ;  but  3'ou  were  an  innocent  child  out  of  a  schoolroom. 
And  though  he  thought  the  marriage  was  not  binding  upon 
him,  binding  it  is  by  Act  of  Parliament  and  judges'  decision ; 
and  you  are  as  assuredly  George  Firmin's  wife,  madam,  as 
Mrs.  Bond  is  mine  !  " 

"You  have  been  cruelly  injured,  Caroline,"  says  the  Cap- 
tain, wagging  his  old  nose  over  his  handkerchief. 

Caroline  seemed  to  be  very  well  versed  in  the  law  of  the 
transaction.  "You  mean,  sir,"  she  said  slowlj^,  "  that  if  me 
and  Mr.  Brandon  was  married  to  each  other,  he  knowing  that 
he  was  only  playing  at  marriage,  and  me  believing  that  it  was 
all  for  good,  we  are  reall}'  married." 

"  Undoubtedly  you  ai'e,  madam  —  my  client  has  —  that  is, 
I  have  had  advice  on  the  point." 

"But  if  we  both  knew  that  it  was  —  was  only  a  sort  of  a 
marriage  —  an  irregular  marriage,  you  know?" 

' '  Then  the  Act  says  that  to  all  intents  and  purposes  the 
marriage  is  null  and  void." 

"  But  you  didn't  know,  m}'  poor  innocent  child  !  "  cries  Mr. 
Gann.  "How  should  you?  How  old  was  you?  She  was  a 
chifd  in  the  nursery,  Mr.  Bond,  when  the  villain  inveigled  her 
away  from  her  poor  old  father.  She  knew  nothing  of  irregular 
marriages." 

"  Of  course  she  didn't,  the  poor  creature,"  cries  the  old 
gentleman,  rubbing  his  hands  together  with  perfect  good-humor. 
"  Poor  young  thing,  poor  young  thing  !  " 

As  he  was  speaking,  Caroline,  very  pale  and  still,  was  sitting 
looking  at  Ridley's  sketch  of  Philip,  which  hung  in  her  little 
room.  Presentl}'  she  turned  round  on  the  attorney,  folding  her 
little  hands  over  her  work. 

"  Mr.  Bond,"  she  said,  "  girls,  though  they  may  be  ever  so 
young,  know  more  than  some  folks  fancy.  I  was  more  than 
sixteen  when  that  —  that  business  happened.  I  wasn't  happy 
at  home,  and  eager  to  get  away.  I  knew  that  a  gentleman  of 
his  rank  wouldn't  be  likely  really  to  marry  a  poor  Cinderella 
out  of  a  lodging-house,  hke  me.  If  the  truth  must  be  told,  I  — 
I  knew  it  was  no  marriage  —  never  thought  it  was  a  marriage 
—  not  for  good,  you  know." 

And  she  folds  her  little  hands  together  as  she  utters  the 
words,  and  I  dare  say  once  more  looks  at  Philip's  portrait. 

"  Gracious  goodness,  madam,  yo\x  must  be  under  some 
error!"  cries  the  attorney.  "How  should  a  child  like  you 
know  that  the  marriage  was  irregular?" 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  237 

"  Because  I  had  no  lines  !  "  cries  Caroline  quickl}'.  "  Never 
asked  for  none  !  And  our  maid  we  had  then  said  to  me,  '  Miss 
Carr}-,  where's  3'our  lines?  And  it's  no  good  without.'  And 
I  knew  it  wasn't !  And  I'm  read_y  to  go  before  the  Lord  Chan- 
cellor to-morrow  and  say  so  !  "  cries  Caroline,  to  the  bewilder- 
ment of  her  father  and  her  cross-examinant. 

"  Pause,  pause  !  my  good  madam  !  "  exclaims  the  meek  old 
gentleman,  rising  from  his  chair. 

"  Go  and  tell  this  to  them  as  sent  3'Ou,  sir  !  "  cries  Caroline, 
very  imperiousl}',  leaving  the  lawyer  amazed,  and  her  father's 
face  in  a  bewilderment,  over  which  we  will  fling  his  snuffy  old 
pocket-handkerchief. 

"If  such  is  unfortunatel}-  the  case  —  if  3'ou  actuall}' mean 
to  abide  by  this  astonishing  confession  —  which  deprives  you  of 
a  high  place  in  society  —  and  —  and  casts  down  the  hope  we  had 
formed  of  redressing  your  injured  reputation  —  I  have  nothing 
for  it!  I  take  my  leave,  madam  !  Good  morning,  Mr,  Hum! 
—  Mr.  Gann ! "  And  the  old  lawyer  walks  out  of  the  Little 
Sister's  room. 

' '  She  won't  own  to  the  marriage  !  She  is  fond  of  some  one 
else  —  the  little  suicide  !  "  thinks  the  old  lawj'er,  as  he  clatters 
down  the  street  to  a  neighboring  house,  where  his  anxious 
principal  was  in  waiting.     "  She's  fond  of  some  one  else  !  " 

Yes.  But  the  some  one  else  whom  Caroline  loved  was 
Brand  Firmin's  son :  and  it  was  to  save  Philip  from  ruin 
that  the  poor  Little  Sister  chose  to  forget  her  marriage  to  his 
father. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

LOVE    ME   LOVE   MY   DOG. 

Whilst  the  battle  is  raging,  the  old  folks  and  ladies  peep 
over  the  battlements,  to  watch  the  turns  of  the  combat,  and 
the  behavior  of  the  knights.  To  princesses  in  old  days,  whose 
lovel}^  hands  were  to  be  bestowed  upon  the  conqueror,  it  must 
have  been  a  matter  of  no  small  interest  to  know  whether  the 
slim  young  champion  with  the  lovely  e^^es  on  the  milk-white 
steed  should  vanquish,  or  the  dumpy,  elderly,  square-shoul- 
dered, squinting,  carrot}'  whiskerando  of  a  warrior  who  was 
laying  about  him  so  savagely  ;  and  so  in  this  battle,  on  the 


238  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

issue  of  which  depended  the  keeping  or  losing  of  poor  Philip's 
inheritance,  there  were  several  non-combatants  deeply  in- 
terested. Or  suppose  we  withdraw  the  chivalrous  simile  (as  in 
fact  the  conduct  and  views  of  certain  parties  engaged  in  the 
matter  were  anything  but  what  we  call  chivalrous),  and  im- 
agine a  wily  old  monkey  who  engages  a  cat  to  take  certain 
chestnuts  out  of  the  tire,  and  puss}-  putting  her  paw  through 
the  bars,  seizing  th^  nut  and  then  dropping  it?  Jacko  is  dis- 
appointed and  angry,  shows  his  sharp  teeth,  and  bites  if  he 
dares.  When  the  attorney  went  down  to  do  battle  for  Philip's 
patrimon}',  some  of  those  who  wanted  it  were  spectators  of  the 
fight,  and  lurking  up  a  tree  hard  by.  When  Mr.  Bond  came 
forward  to  try  and  seize  Phil's  chestnuts,  there  was  a  wily  old 
monkey  who  thrust  the  cat's  paw  out,  and  proposed  to  gobble 
up  the  smoking  prize. 

If  j-ou  have  ever  been  at  the  "  Admiral  Byng,"  j'ou  know, 
my  dear  madam,  that  the  parlor  where  the  club  meets  is  just 
behind  Mrs.  Oves's  bar,  so  that  by  lifting  up  the  sash  of  the 
window  which  communicates  between  the  two  apartments,  that 
good-natured  woman  ma}'  put  her  face  into  the  club-room,  and 
actually  be  one  of  the  society.     Sometimes  for  company,  old 

Mr.  Ridley  goes  and  sits  with  Mrs.  O- in  her  bar,  and  reads 

the  paper  there.  He  is  slow  at  his  reading.  The  long  words 
puzzle  the  worthy  gentleman.  As  he  has  plenty  of  time  to 
spare,  he  does  not  grudge  it  to  the  study  of  his  paper. 

On  the  day  when  Mr.  Bond  went  to  persuade  Mrs.  Brandon 
in  Thornhaugh  Street  to  claim  Dr.  Firmin  for  her  husband,  and 
to  disinherit  poor  Philip,  a  little  gentleman  wrapt  most  solemnly 
and  mysteriously  in  a  great  cloak  appeared  at  the  bar  of  the 
"Admiral  Byng,"  and  said  in  an  aristocratic  manner,  "You 
have  a  parlor,  show  me  to  it."     And  being  introduced  to  the 

parlor,  (where  there  are  fine  pictures  of  Oves,  Mrs.  O ,  and 

"  Spotty-nose,"  their  favorite  defunct  bull-dog,)  sat  down  and 
called  for  a  glass  of  sherry  and  a  newspaper. 

The  civil  and  intelligent  potboy  of  the  "Byng"  took  the 
party  Tlie  Advertiser  of  yesterday  (which  to-day's  paper  was  in 
'and)  and  when  the  gentleman  began  to  swear  over  the  old 
paper,  Frederic  gave  it  as  his  opinion  to  his  mistress  that  the 
new  comer  was  a  harbitrary  gent,  —  as,  indeed,  he  was,  with 
the  omission,  perhaps,  of  a  single  letter ;  a  man  who  bulbed 
everybody  who  would  submit  to  be  bullied.  In  fact,  it  was 
our  friend  Talbot  Twysden,  Esq.,  Commissioner  of  the  Powder 
and  Pomatum  Office  ;  and  I  leave  those  who  know  him  to  saj'' 
whether  he  is  arbitrary-  or  not. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  239 

To  him  present!}'  came  that  bland  old  gentleman,  Mr.  Bond, 
who  also  asked  for  a  parlor  and  some  sherrj'-and-water ;  and 
this  is  how  Philip  and  his  veracious  and  astute  biographer  came 
to  know  for  a  certainty  that  dear  uncle  Talbot  was  the  person 
who  wished  to —  to  have  Phihp's  chestnuts. 

Mr.  Bond  and  Mr.  Tw3'^sden  had  been  scarcely'  a  minute 
together,  when  such  a  storm  of  imprecations  came  clattering 
throuafh  the  glass-window  which  communicates  with  Mrs.  Oves's 
bar,  that  I  dare  saj"  they  made  the  jugs  and  tumblers  clatter  on 
the  shelves,  and  Mr.  Ridle}',  a  very  modest-spoken  man,  read- 
ing his  paper,  lay  it  down  with  a  scared  face,  and  say  —  "  Well, 
I  never."     Nor  did  he  often,  I  dare  to  say. 

This  volley-  was  fired  by  Talbot  Twysden,  in  consequence  of 
his  rage  at  the  news  which  Mr.  Bond  brought  him. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Bond  ;  well,  Mr.  Bond  !  What  does  she  say?" 
he  asked  of  his  emissar3^ 

"  She  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  business,  Mr.  Twys- 
den. We  can't  touch  it ;  and  I  don't  see  how  we  can  move  her. 
She  denies  the  marriage  as  much  as  Firmin  does  :  sa3'S  she 
knew  it  was  a  mere  sham  when  the  ceremonj-  was  performed." 

"  Sir,  you  didn't  bribe  her  enough,"  shrieked  Mr.  Tw3'sden. 
"You  have  bungled  this  business  ;   by  George  you  have,  sir," 

"  Go  and  do  it  yourself,  sir,  if  you  are  not  ashamed  to  appear 
in  it,"  says  the  lawyer.  "  Y'ou  don't  suppose  I  did  it  because 
I  liked  it ;  or  want  to  take  that  poor  young  fellow's  inheritance 
from  him,  as  3'ou  do.." 

"  I  wish  justice  and  the  law,  sir.  If  I  were  wrongfully  de- 
taining his  property  I  would  give  it  up.  I  would  be  the  first  to 
give  it  up.  I  desire  justice  and  law,  and  emploj'  yon  because 
you  are  a  law  agent.     Are  you  not  ?  " 

"  And  I  liave  been  on  your  errand,  and  shall  send  in  my  bill 
in  due  time ;  and  there  will  be  an  end  of  my  connection  with 
you  as  3'our  law  agent,  Mr.  Twysden,"  cried  the  old  lawyer. 

"  You  know,  sir,  how  badly  Firmin  acted  to  me  in  the  last 
matter." 

"  Faith,  sir,  if  3'ou  ask  m}'  opinion  as  a  law  agent,  I  don't 
think  there  was  much  to  choose  between  you.  How  much  is 
the  sherry-and-water  ?  —  keep  the  change.  Sorry  I'd  no  better 
news  to  bring  you,  Mr.  T.,  and  as  you  are  dissatisfied,  again 
recommend  you  to  employ  another  law  agent." 

"My  good  sir,  I  —  " 

"  My  good  sir,  I  have  had  other  dealings  with  your  family, 
and  am  no  more  going  to  put  up  with  your  highti-tightiness  than 
1  would  with  Lord  Ringwood's  when  I  was  one  of  /lis  law  agents. 


240  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

T  am  not  going  to  tell  Mr.  Philip  Firmin  that  his  uncle  and 
aunt  propose  to  ease  him  of  his  property  ;  but  if  anj'body  else 
does  —  that  good  little  Mrs.  Brandon  —  or  that  old  goose  Mr. 
What-d'3'e-call-um,  her  father  —  I  don't  suppose  he  will  be  over 
well  pleased.  I  am  speaking  as  a  gentleman  now,  not  as  a  law 
agent.  You  and  your  nephew  had  each  a  half-share  of  Mr. 
Philip  Firrain's  grandfather's  property,  and  you  wanted  it  all, 
that's  the  truth,  and  set  a  law  agent  to  get  it  for  3'ou  ;  and  swore 
at  him  because  he  could  not  get  it  from  its  right  owner.  And 
so,  sir,  I  wish  you  a  good  morning,  and  recommend  you  to  take 
your  papers  to  some  other  agent,  Mr.  Twysden."  And  with 
this,  exit  Mr.  Bond.  And  now,  I  ask  3'ou,  if  that  secret  could 
be  kept  which  was  known  through  a  trembling  glass-door  to 
Mrs.  Oves  of  the  "  Admiral  Byng,"  and  to  Mr.  Ridley  the  father 
of  J.  J.,  and  the  obsequious  husband  of  Mrs.  Ridle}-?  On  that 
very  afternoon,  at  tea-time,  Mrs.  Ridley  was  made  acquainted 
by  her  husband  (in  his  noble  and  circumlocutory  manner)  with 
the  conversation  which  he  had  overheard.  It  was  agreed  that 
an  embassy  should  be  sent  to  J.  J.  on  the  business,  and  his 
advice  taken  regarding  it ;  and  J.  J.'s  opinion  was  that  the 
conversation  certainly  should  be  reported  to  Mr.  Philip  Firmin, 
who  might  afterwards  act  upon  it  as  he  should  think  best. 

What?  His  own  aunt,  cousins,  and  uncle  agreed  in  a  scheme 
to  overthrow  his  legitimacy,  and  deprive  him  of  his  grand- 
father's inheritance?  It  seemed  impossible.  Big  with  the 
tremendous  news,  Philip  came  to  his  adviser,  Mr.  Pendennis, 
of  the  Temple,  and  told  him  what  had  occurred  on  the  part  of 
father,  uncle,  and  Little  Sister.  Her  abnegation  had  been  so 
noble,  that  you  may  be  sure  Philip  appreciated  it ;  and  a  tie  of 
friendship  was  formed  between  the  3'oung  man  and  the  little 
lad}'  even  more  close  and  tender  than  that  which  had  bound 
them  previously.  But  the  Twysdens,  his  kinsfolk,  to  employ  a 
lawyer  in  order  to  rob  him  of  his  inheritance  !  —  Oh,  it  was 
dastardly  !  Philip  bawled,  and  stamped,  and  thumped  his  sense 
of  the  wrong  in  his  usual  energetic  manner.  As  for  his  cousin 
Ringwood  Twysden,  Phil  had  often  entertained  a  strong  desire 
to  wring  his  neck  and  pitch  him  down  stairs.  "  As  for  Uncle 
Talbot :  that  he  is  an  old  pump,  that  he  is  a  pompous  old 
humbug,  and  the  queerest  old  sycophant,  I  grant  j-ou  ;  but  I 
couldn't  have  believed  him  guilty  of  this.  And  as  for  the  girls 
—  oh,  Mrs.  Pendennis,  you  who  are  good,  3-ou  who  are  kind, 
although  you  hate  them,  I  know  you  do  —  j-ou  can't  sa}',  3'ou 
won't  say,  that  they  M'ere  in  the  conspiracy?" 

"But  suppose  Twysden  was  asking  onlj'  for  what  he  con- 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  241 

ceives  to  be  his  rights?"  asked  Mr.  Pendennis.  "  Had  3'our 
fatlier  been  married  to  Mrs.  Brandon,  you  would  not  have  been 
Dr.  Firmin's  legitimate  son.  Had  you  not  been  his  legitimate 
son,  you  had  no  right  to  a  half-share  of  your  grandfather's 
property.  Uncle  Talbot  acts  only  the  part  of  honor  and  jus- 
tice in  the  transaction.  He  is  Brutus,  and  he  orders  you  off  to 
death,  with  a  bleeding  heart." 

"  And  he  orders  his  family  out  of  the  "waj"  roars  Phil,  "  so 
that  they  mayn't  be  pained  by  seeing  the  execution  !  I  see  it 
all  now.  I  wish  somebod}"  would  send  a  knife  through  me  at 
once,  and  put  an  end  to  me.  I  see  it  all  now.  Do  you  know 
that  for  the  last  week  I  have  been  to  Beaunash  Street,  and 
found  nobody?  Agnes  had  the  bronchitis,  and  her  mother  was 
attending  to  her  ;  Blanche  came  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  was  as 
cool  —  as  cool  as  I  have  seen  Lad^^  Iceberg  be  cool  to  her. 
Then  they  must  go  awa}^  for  change  of  air.  The}'  have  been 
gone  these  three  da3'S  :  whilst  Uncle  Talbot  and  that  viper  of  a 
Rino-wood  have  been  closeted  with  their  nice  new  friend,  Mr. 
Hunt.  Oh,  conf —  !  I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am  ;  but  I  know 
you  always  allow  for  the  energy  of  my  language." 

"I  should  like  to  see  that  Little  Sister,  Mr.  Firmin.     She 
has  not  been  selfish,  or  had  am'  scheme  but  for  your  good,' 
remarks  my  wife. 

"A  little  angel  who  drops  her  A's  —  a  little  heart,  so  good 
and  tender  that  I  melt  as  I  think  of  it,"  says  Philip,  drawing 
his  big  hand  over  his  eyes.  "  What  have  men  done  to  get  the 
love  of  some  women?  We  don't  earn  it;  we  don't  deserve  it, 
perhaps.  We  don't  return  it.  They  bestow  it  on  us.  I  have 
given  nothing  back  for  all  this  love  and  kindness,  but  I  look  a 
little  like  my  father  of  old  days,  for  whom  — for  whom  she  had 
an  attachment.  And  see  now  how  she  would  die  to  serve  me  ! 
You  are  wonderful,  women  are  !  your  fidelities  and  your  fickle- 
nesses ahke  marvellous.  What  can  any  woman  have  found  to 
adore  in  the  doctor?  Do  you  think  my  father  could  ever  have 
been  adorable,  Mrs.  Pendennis  ?  And  yet  I  have  heard  my  poor 
mother  say  she  was  obliged  to  marr}-  him.  She  knew  it  was  a 
bad  match,  but  she  couldn't  resist  it.  In  what  was  my  father 
so  irresistible?  He  is  not  to  jvij  taste.  Between  ourselves,  I 
think  he  is  a — well,  never  mind  what." 

"  I  think  we  had  best  not  mind  what?  "  says  my  wife  with 
a  smile. 

"  Quite  right  —  quite  right ;  only  I  blurt  out  everything  that 
is  on  my  mind.  Can't  keep  it  in,"  cries  Phil,  gnawing  his 
mustachios.     "  If  my  fortune  depended  on  my  silence  I  should 

16 


242  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  THILIP 

be  a  beggar,  that's  the  fact.  And,  3'ou  see,  if  3'ou  had  such  a 
father  as  mine,  you  yourself  would  find  it  rather  difficult  to  hold 
3'our  tongue  about  him.  But  now,  tell  me  :  this  ordering  away 
of  the  girls  and  Aunt  Twysden,  whilst  the  little  attack  upon  my 
property  is  being  carried  on  —  isn't  it  queer?" 

"The  question  is  at  an  end,"  said  Mr.  Pendennis.  "You 
are  restored  to  your  atavis  regibus  and  ancestral  honors.  Now 
that  Uncle  Twysden  can't  get  the  property  without  you  ;  have 
courage,  my  boy  —  he  may  take  it,  along  with  the  encumbrance." 

Poor  Piiil  had  not  known  —  but  some  of  us,  who  are  prett}' 
clear-sighted  when  our  noble  selves  are  not  concerned,  had  per- 
ceived that  Philip's  dear  aunt  was  playing  fast  and  loose  with 
the  lad,  and  when  his  back  was  turned  was  encouraging  a 
richer  suitor  for  her  daughter. 

Hand  on  heart  I  can  say  of  nw  wife,  that  she  meddles  with 
her  neighbors  as  little  as  any  person  I  ever  knew ;  but  when 
treacheries  in  love-affairs  are  in  question,  she  fires  up  at  once, 
and  would  persecute  to  death  almost  the  heartless  male  or 
female  criminal  who  would  break  love's  sacred  laws.  The  idea 
of  a  man  or  woman  trifling  with  that  holy  compact  awakens 
in  her  a  flame  of  indignation.  In  curtain  confidences  (of  which 
let  me  not  vulgarize  the  arcana)  she  had  given  me  her  mind 
about  some  of  Miss  Twysden's  behavior  with  that  odious  black- 
amoor, as  she  chose  to  call  Captain  Woolcoinb,  who,  I  own, 
had  a  very  slight  tinge  of  complexion  ;  aud  when,  quoting  the 
words  of  Hamlet  regarding  his  father  and  mother,  I  asked, 
"  Could  she  on  this  fair  mountain  leave  to  feed,  and  batten  on 
this  Moor?"  Mrs.  Pendennis  cried  out  that  this  matter  was  all 
too  serious  for  jest,  and  wondered  how  her  husband  could  make 
word  plays  about  it.  Perhaps  she  has  not  the  exquisite  sense 
of  humor  possessed  by  some  folks  ;  or  is  it  that  she  has  more 
reverence?  In  her  creed,  if  not  in  her  church,  marriage  is  a 
sacrament,  and  the  fond  believer  never  speaks  of  it  without 
awe. 

Now,  as  she  expects  both  parties  to  the  marriage  engage- 
ment to  keep  that  compact  holy,  she  no  more  understands  trifling 
with  it  than  she  could  comprehend  laughing  and  joking  in  a 
church.  She  has  no  patience  with  flirtations  as  they  are  called. 
"Don't  tell  me,  sir,"  saj^s  the  enthusiast,  "a  light  word  be- 
tween a  man  and  a  married  woman  ought  not  to  be  permitted." 
And  this  is  why  she  is  harder  on  the  woman  than  the  man,  in 
cases  where  such  dismal  matters  happen  to  fall  under  discus- 
sion. A  look,  a  word  from  a  woman,  she  says,  will  check  a 
libertine  thought  or  word  in  a  man ;  and  these  cases  might  be 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  243 

stopped  at  once  if  the  woman  but  showed  the  slightest  resoUi- 
tion.  She  is  thus  more  angry  (I  am  only  mentioning  the 
peculiarities,  not  defending  the  ethics  of  this  individual  moral- 
ist) —  she  is,  I  sa}',  more  angrilj'  disposed  towards  the  woman 
than  the  man  in  such  delicate  cases  ;  and,  1  am  afraid,  considers 
that  women  are  for  the  most  part  only  victims  because  they 
choose  to  be  so. 

Now,  we  had  happened  during  this  season  to  be  at  several 
entertainments,  routs,  and  so  forth,  where  poor  Phil,  owing  to 
his  unhapp3'  Bohemian  prefei'ences  and  love  of  tobacco,  &c., 
was  not  present  —  and  where  we  saw  Miss  Agnes  Twysden 
carrying  on  such  a  game  with  the  tawny  Woolcomb  as  set 
Mrs.  Laura  in  a  tremor  of  indignation.  What  though  Agnes's 
blue-eyed  mamma  sat  near  her  blue-eyed  daughter  and  kept 
her  keen  clear  orbs  perfectly'  wide  open  and  cognizant  of  all 
that  happened  ?  So  much  the  worse  for  her,  the  worse  for  both. 
It  was  a  shame  and  a  sin  that  a  Christian  English  mother  should 
suffer  her  daughter  to  deal  lightly'  with  the  most  holy,  the  most 
awful  of  human  contracts  ;  should  be  preparing  her  child  who 
knows  for  what  after  miseiy  of  mind  and  soul.  Three  months 
ago,  3"ou  saw  how  she  encouraged  poor  Philip,  and  now  see  her 
with  this  mulatto ! 

"Is  he  not  a  man,  and  a  brother,  my  dear?"  perhaps  at 
this  Mr.  Pendennis  interposes. 

"Oh,  for  shame.  Pen,  no  levity  on  this  —  no  sneers  and 
laughter  on  this  the  most  sacred  subject  of  all."  And  here,  I 
dare  say  the  woman  falls  to  caressing  her  own  children  and 
hugging  them  to  her  heart  as  her  manner  was  when  moved. 
Que  voulcz-voiis?  There  are  some  women  in  the  world  to  whom 
love  and  truth  are  all  in  all  here  below.  Other  ladies  there  are 
who  see  the  benefit  of  a  good  jointure,  a  town  and  country 
house,  and  so  forth,  and  who  are  not  so  very  particular  as  to 
the  character,  intellect,  or  complexion  of  gentlemen  who  are  in 
a  position  to  offer  their  dear  girls  these  benefits.  In  fine,  I 
sa}',  that  regarding  this  blue-eyed  mother  and  daughter,  Mrs. 
Laura  Pendennis  was  in  such  a  state  of  mind  that  she  was 
readv  to  tear  their  blue  eyes  out. 

Nay,  it  was  with  no  little  tlifliculty  that  Mrs.  Laura  could  be 
induced  to  hold  her  tongue  upon  the  matter  and  not  give  Philip 
her  opinion.  "  What?"  she  would  ask,  "  the  poor  young  man 
is  to  be  deceived  and  cajoled  ;  to  be  taken  or  left  as  it  suits 
these  people  ;  to  be  made  miserable  for  life  certainly  if  she 
marries  hiin  ;  and  his  friends  are  not  to  dare  to  warn  him? 
The  cowards  !     The  cowardice  of  you  men,  Pen,  upon  matters 


244  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

of  opinion,  of  jou  masters  and  lords  of  creation,  is  really  des- 
picable, sir !  You  dare  not  have  opinions,  or  holding  them  yoxi 
dare  not  declare  them  and  act  by  them.  You  compromise  with 
crime  every  da}^  because  you  think  it  would  be  officious  to  de- 
clare yourself  and  interfere.  You  are  not  afraid  of  outraging 
morals,  but  of  inflicting  ennui  upon  societ}',  and  losing  your 
popularity.  You  are  as  cynical  as  —  as,  what  was  the  name  of 
the  horrid  old  man  who  lived  in  the  tub  —  Demosthenes  ?  —  well, 
Diogenes,  then,  and  the  name  does  not  matter  a  pin,  sir.  You 
are  as  cynical,  onl}'  you  wear  fine*  ruffled  shirts  and  wristbands, 
and  you  carr^'  your  lantern  dark.  It  is  not  right  to  '  put  your 
oar  in,'  as  3'ou  say  in  30ur  jargon  (and  even  jour  slang  is  a  sort 
of  cowardice,  sir,  for  you  are  afraid  to  speak  the  feelings  of 
your  heart :  — )  it  is  not  right  to  meddle  and  speak  the  truth, 
not  right  to  rescue  a  poor  soul  who  is  drowning  —  of  course 
not.  What  call  have  jou  fine  gentlemen  of  the  world  to  put 
your  oar  in?  Let  him  perish!  What  did  he  in  that  galley? 
That  is  the  language  of  the  world,  baby,  darling.  And,  my 
poor,  poor  child,  when  you  are  sinking,  nobody  is  to  stretch  out 
a  hand  to  save  3'ou  !  "  As  for  that  wife  of  mine,  when  she  sets 
forth  the  maternal  plea,  and  appeals  to  the  exuberant  school  of 
philosophers,  I  know  there  is  no  reasoning  with  her.  I  i-etire 
to  my  books,  and  leave  her  to  kiss  out  the  rest  of  the  argument 
over  the  children. 

Philip  did  not  know  the  extent  of  the  obligation  which  he 
owed  to  his  little  friend  and  guardian,  Caroline  ;  but  he  was 
aware  that  he  had  no  better  friend  than  herself  in  the  world ; 
and,  I  dare  say,  returned  to  her,  as  the  wont  is  in  such  bar- 
gains between  man  and  woman  —  woman  and  man,  at  least  —  a 
sixpence  for  that  pure  gold  treasure,  her  sovereign  affection. 
I  suppose  Caroline  thought  her  sacrifice  gave  her  a  little  au- 
thority to  counsel  Philip :  for  she  it  was  who,  I  believe,  first 
bid  him  to  inquire  whether  that  engagement  which  he  had  vir- 
tually contracted  with  his  cousin  was  likel}'  to  lead  to  good, 
and  was  to  be  binding  upon  him  but  not  on  her?  She  brought 
Ridley  to  add  his  doubts  to  her  remcTnstrances.  She  showed 
Philip  that  not  only  his  uncle's  conduct,  but  his  cousin's,  was 
interested,  and  set  him  to  inquire  into  it  further. 

That  peculiar  form  of  bronchitis  under  which  poor  dear 
Agnes  was  suffering  was  relieved  by  Absence  from  London. 
The  smoke,  the  crowded  parties  and  assemblies,  the  late  hours, 
and,  perhaps,  the  gloom  of  the  house  in  Beaunash  Street,  dis- 
tressed the  poor  dear  child  ;  and  her  cough  was  very  much 
soothed  by  that  fine,  cutting  east  wind,  which  blows  so  liberally 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  245 

along  the  Brighton  chffs,  and  which  is  so  good  for  coughs,  as 
we  all  know.  But  there  was  one  fault  in  Brighton  which  could 
not  be  helped  in  her  bad  case  :  it  is  too  near  London.  The  air, 
that  chartered  li))ertine,  can  blow  down  from  London  quite 
easily  ;  or  people  can  come  from  London  to  Brighton,  bringing, 
I  dare  say,  the  insidious  London  fog  along  with  them.  At  any 
rate,  Agnes,  if  she  wished  for  quiet,  poor  thitig,  might  have 
gone  farther  and  fai-ed  better.  Why,  if  you  owe  a  tailor  a  bill, 
he  can  run  down  and  present  it  in  a  few  hours.  Vulgar,  in- 
convenient acquaintances  thrust- themselves  upon  you  at  every 
moment  and  corner.  Was  ever  such  a  tohubohu  of  people  as 
there  assembles?  You  can't  be  tranquil,  if  you  will.  Organs 
pipe  and  scream  without  cease  at  your  windows.  Your  name 
is  put  down  in  the  papers  when  3'ou  arrive  ;  and  everybody 
naeets  everybody  ever  so  man}'  times  a  day. 

On  finding  that  his  uncle  had  set  lawyers  to  work,  with  the 
charitable  purpose  of  ascertaining  whether  Philip's  property 
was  legitimately  his  own,  Philip  was  a  good  deal  disturbed  in 
mind.  He  could  not  appreciate  that  high  sense  of  moral  obli- 
gation by  which  Mr.  Tw3'sden  was  actuated.  At  least,  he 
thought  that  these  inquiries  should  not  have  been  secretly  set 
a- foot ;  and  as  he  himself  was  perfectly  open  —  a  great  deal  too 
open,  perhaps  —  in  his  words  and  his  actions,  he  was  hard 
with  those  who  attempted  to  hoodwink  or  deceive  him. 

II  could  not  be  ;  ah !  no,  it  never  could  be,  that  Agnes  the 
pure  and  gentle  was  privy  to  this  conspiracy.  But  then,  how 
very  —  ver}*  often  of  late  she  has  been  from  home  ;  how  very, 
very  cold  Aunt  Tw}sden's  shoulder  had  somehow  become. 
Once,  when  he  reached  the  door,  a  fishmonger's  boy  was  leaving 
a  fine  salmon  at  the  kitchen, — a  salmon  and  a  tub  of  ice. 
Once,  twice,  at  five  o'clock,  when  he  called,  a  smell  of  cooking 
pervaded  the  hall,  —  that  hall  which  culinary  odors  very  seldom 
visited.  Some  of  those  noble  Twysden  dinners  were  on  the 
tapis^  and  Philip  was  not  asked.  .  Not  to  be  asked  was  no  great 
deprivation  ;  but  who  were  the  guests?  To  be  sure,  these  were 
trifles  light  as  air ;  but  Philip  smelt  mischief  in  the  steam  of 
those  Twysden  dinners.  He  chewed  that  salmon  with  a  bitter 
sauce  as  he  saw  it  sink  down  the  area  steps  and  disappear  with 
its  attendant  lobster  in  the  dark  kitchen  regions. 

Yes  ;  eyes  were  somehow  averted  that  used  to  look  into  his 
very  frankl}- ;  a  glove  somehow  had  grown  over  a  little  hand 
which  once  used  to  lie  ver^'  comfortably  in  his  broad  palm. 
Was  anybody  else  going  to  seize  it,  and  was  it  going  to  paddle 
in  that  blackamoor's  unblest  fingers  ?     Ah  !  fiends  and  tortures  ! 


246  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

a  gentleman  may  cease  to  love,  but  does  he  like  a  woman  to 
cease  to  love  him  ?  People  cany  on  ever  so  long  for  fear  of 
that  declaration  that  all  is  over.  No  confession  is  more  dis- 
mal to  make.  The  sun  of  love  has  set.  We  sit  in  the  dark. 
I  mean  jou,  dear  madam,  and  Cor3'don,  or  I  and  Amarjilis  ; 
uncomfortably,  with  nothing  more  to  say  to  one  another ;  with 
the  night  dew  falling,  and  a  risk  of  catching  cold,  drearily  con- 
templating the  fading  west,  with  "  the  cold  remains  of  lustre 
gone,  of  fire  long  passed  away."  Sink,  fire  of  love  !  Rise, 
gentle  moon,  and  mists  of  chilly  evening.  And,  my  good 
Madam  Amaryllis,  let  us  go  home  to  some  tea  and  a  fire. 

So  Philip  determined  to  go  and  seek  his  cousin.  Arrived 
at  his  hotel,  (and  if  it  were  the  *  *  I  can't  conceive  Philip 
in  much  better  quarters),  he  had  the  opportunity  of  inspecting 
those  delightful  newspaper  arrivals,  a  perusal  of  which  has  so 
often  edified  us  at  Brighton.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Penfold,  he  was 
informed,  continued  their  residence.  No.  9G,  Horizontal  Place ; 
and  it  was  with  those  guardians  he  knew  his  Agnes  was  sta}'- 
ing.  He  speeds  to  Horizontal  Place.  Miss  Twysden  is  out. 
He  heaves  a  sigh,  and  leaves  a  card.  Has  it  ever  happened 
to  you  to  leave  a  card  at  that  house  —  that  house  which  was 
once  THE  house  —  almost  your  own  ;  where  you  were  ever  wel- 
come ;'  where  the  kindest  hand  was  ready  to  grasp  3'ours,  the 
brightest  eye  to  greet  you?  And  now  your  friendship  has 
dwindled  away  to  a  little  bit  of  pasteboard,  shed  once  a  year, 
and  poor  dear  Mrs.  Jones  (it  is  with  J.  3'ou  have  quarrelled) 
still  calls  on  the  ladies  of  ^our  famih^  and  slips  her  husband's 
ticket  upon  the  hall  table.  Oh,  life  and  time,  that  it  should  have 
come  to  this  !  Oh,  gracious  powers  !  Do  j'ou  recall  the  time 
when  Arabella  Briggs  was  Arabella  Thompson  ?  You  call  and 
taX^  fadaises  to  her  (at  first  she  is  rather  nervous,  and  has  the 
children  in)  ;  3'ou  talk  rain  and  fine  weather ;  the  last  novel ; 
the  next  party;  Thompson  in  the  City?  Yes,  Mr.  Thompson 
is  in  the  City.  He's  pretty  well,  thank  you.  Ah !  Daggers, 
ropes,  and  poisons,  has  it  come  to  this?  You  are  talking  about 
the  weather,  and  another  man's  health,  and  another  man's  chil- 
dren, of  which  she  is  mother,  to  her'^  Time  was  the  weather 
was  all  a  burning  sunshine,  in  which  30U  and  she  basked  ;  or 
if  clouds  gathered,  and  a  storm  fell,  such  a  glorious  rainbow 
haloed  round  you,  such  delicious  tears  fell  and  refreshed  you, 
that  the  storm  was  more  ravishing  than  the  calm.  And  now 
another  man's  children  are  sitting  on  her  knee  —  their  mother's 
knee  ;  and, once  a  3'ear  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Thompson  request 
the  honor  of  Mr.  Brown's  companj'  at  dinner  ;  and  once  a  yeax 


ON  HIS  WAY   THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  247 

yon  read  in  The  Times ^  "In  Nursery  Street,  the  wife  of  J. 
Thompson,  Esq.,  of  a  Son."  To  come  to  the  once-beloved 
one's  door,  and  find  the  knocker  tied  up  with  a  white  kid  glove, 
is  humiliating  —  say  what  j'ou  will,  it  is  humiliating. 

Philip  leaves  his  card,  and  walks  on  to  the  Cliff,  and  of 
course,  in  three  minutes,  meets  CUnker.  Indeed,  who  ever 
went  to  Brighton  for  half  an  hour  without  meeting  Clinker? 

"Father  pretty  well?  His  old  patient.  Lady  Geminy,  is 
down  here  with  the  children  ;  what  a  number  of  them  there 
are,  to  be  sure!  Come  to  make  any  staj'?  See  your  cousin, 
Miss  Twysden,  is  here  with  the  Penfolds.  Little  party  at  the 
Grigsons'  last  night ;  she  looked  uncommonly  well ;  danced 
ever  so  many  times  with  the  Black  Prince,  Woolcomb  of  the 
Greens.  Suppose  I  ma}^  congratulate  you.  Six  thousand  five 
hundred  a  year  now,  and  thirteen  thousand  when  his  grand- 
mother dies  ;  but  those  negresses  live  for  ever.  I  suppose  the 
thing  is  settled.  I  saw  them  on  the  pier  just  now,  and  Mrs. 
Penfold  was  reading  a  book  in  the  arbor.  Book  of  sermons 
it  was  —  pious  woman,  Mrs.  Penfold.  I  dare  say  they  are  on 
the  pier  still."  Striding  with  hurried  steps  Philip  Firrain  makes 
for  the  pier.  The  breathless  Clinker  cannot  keep  alongside  of 
his  face.  I  should  like  to  have  seen  it  when  Clinker  said  that 
"the  thing"  was  settled  between  Miss  Twysden  and  the  cav- 
alry gentleman. 

There  were  a  few  nurser}'  governesses,  maids,  and  children, 
paddling  about  at  the  end  of  the  pier ;  and  there  was  a  fat 
woman  reading  a  book  in  one  of  the  arbors  —  but  no  Agnes, 
no  Woolcomb.  Where  can  they  be?  Can  they  be  weighing 
each  other?  or  buying  those  mad  pebbles,  which  people  are 
known  to  purchase?  or  having  their  s^7//o«e/';es  done  in  black? 
Ha  !  ha !  Woolcomb  would  hardly  have  his  face  done  in  black. 
The  idea  would  provoke  odious  comparisons.  I  see  Philip 
is  in  a  dreadfully  bad  sarcastic  humor. 

Up  there  comes  from  one  of  those  trap-doors  which  lead 
down  from  the  pier-head  to  the  green  sea-waves  ever  restlessly 
jumping  below  —  up  there  comes  a  little  Skye-terrier  dog  with 
a  red  collar,  who  as  soon  as  she  sees  Philip,  sings,  squeaks, 
whines,  runs,  jumps,  jlwvps  up  on  him,  if  I  may  use  the  ex- 
pression, kisses  his  hands,  and  with  eyes,  tongue,  paws,  and 
tail  shows  him  a  thousand  marks  of  welcome  and  affection. 
"  What,  Brownie,  Brownie  ! "  Philip  is  glad  to  see  the  dog,  an 
old  friend  who  has  many  a  time  licked  his  hand  and  bounced 
upon  his  knee. 

The  greeting  over,  Brownie,  wagging  her  tail  with  prodig- 


248  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

ious  activity,  trots  before  Philip  —  trots  down  an  opening,  down 
the  steps  under  which  the  waves  shimmer  greenly,  and  into 
quite  a  quiet  remote  corner  just  over  the  water,  whence  you  may 
command  a  most  beautiful  view  of  the  sea,  the  shore,  the  Marine 
Parade,  and  the  "Albion  Hotel,"  and  where,  were  I  five-and- 
twenty  say,  with  nothing  else  to  do,  I  would  gladly  pass  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  talking  about  "  Glaucus,  or  the  Wonders  of 
the  Deep  "  with  the  object  of  m}^  affections. 

Here,  amongst  the  labyrinth  of  piles,  Brownie  goes  flouncing 
along  till  she  comes  to  a  young  couple  who  are  looking  at  the 
view  just  described.  In  order  to  view  it  better,  the  young  man 
has  laid  his  hand,  a  pretty  little  hand  most  delicately  gloved, 
on  the  lady's  hand  ;  and  Brownie  comes  up  and  nuzzles  against 
her,  and  whines  and  talks  as  much  as  to  sa}^  "Here's  some- 
body," and  the  lady  says,  "Down,  Brownie,  miss." 

"It's  no  good,  Agnes,  that  dog,"  says  the  gentleman  (he 
has  very  curly,  not  to  sa}^  wooll}'  hair,  under  his  natty  little 
hat) .  "  I'll  give  you  a  pug  with  a  nose  you  can  hang  your  hat 
on.  I  do  know  of  one  now.  My  man  Rummins  knows  of  one. 
Do  you  like  pugs  ? " 

"  I  adore  them,"  says  the  lady. 

"  I'Jl  give  you  one,  if  I  have  to  pay  fifty  pounds  for  it. 
And  they  fetch  a  good  figure,  the  real  pugs  do,  I  can  tell  you. 
Once  in  London  there  was  an  exhibition  of  'em,  and  —  " 

"Brownie,  Brownie,  down!"  cries  Agnes.  The  dog  was 
jumping  at  a  gentleman,  a  tall  gentleman  with  a  red  moustache 
and  beard,  who  advances  through  the  chequered  shade,  under 
the  ponderous  beams,  over  the  translucent  sea. 

"Pray  don't  mind,  Brownie  won't  hurt  me,"  says  a  per- 
fectly well-known  voice,  the  sound  of  which  sends  all  the  color 
shuddering  out  of  Miss  Agnes's  pink  cheeks. 

"  You  see  I  gave  my  cousin  this  dog.  Captain  Woolcomb," 
says  the  gentleman  ;  "  and  the  little  slut  remembers  me.  Per- 
haps Miss  Twysden  prefers  the  pug  better." 

"Sir!" 

"  If  it  has  a  nose  you  can  hang  your  hat  on,  it  must  be  a 
very  pretty  dog,  and  I  suppose  you  intend  to  hang  your  hat  on 
it  a  good  deal." 

"  Oh,  Philip  !  "  says  the  lady  ;  but  an  attack  of  that  dread- 
ful coughing  stops  further  utterance. 


Hand  and  Glove. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  249 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

CONTAINS   TWO    OF   PHILIP's   >nSHAPS. 

You  know  that,  in  some  parts  of  India,  infanticide  is  the 
common  custom.  It  is  part  of  the  religion  of  the  land,  as,  in 
other  districts,  widow-burning  used  to  be.  I  can't  imagine 
that  ladies  hke  to  destroy  either  themselves  or  their  children, 
though  they  submit  with  bravery,  and  even  cheerfulness,  to  the 
decrees  of  that  religion  which  orders  them  to  make  away  with 
their  own  or  their  young  ones'  hves.  Now,  suppose  you  and  I, 
as  Europeans,  happened  to  drive  up  where  a  young  creature 
was  just  about  to  roast  herself,  under  the  advice  of  her  family 
and  the  highest  dignitaries  of  her  church  ;  what  could  we  do  ? 
Rescue  her  ?  No  such  thing.  We  know  better  than  to  interfere 
with  her,  and  the  laws  and  usages  of  her  country.  We  turn 
away  with  a  sigh  from  the  mournful  scene  ;  we  pull  out  our 
pocket-handkerchiefs,  tell  coachman  to  drive  on,  and  leave  her 
to  her  sad  fate. 

Now  about  poor  Agnes  Twysden :  how,  in  the  name  of 
goodness,  can  we  help  her?  You  see  she  is  a  well-brought-up 
and  religious  young  woman  of  the  Brahminical  sect.  If  she 
is  to  be  sacrificed,  that  old  Brahmin,  her  ftither,  that  good  and 
devout  mother,  that  most  special  Brahmin  her  brother,  and  that 
admirable  girl  her  strait-laced  sister,  all  insist  upon  her  under- 
going the  ceremony,  and  deck  her  with  flowers  ere  they  lead 
her  to  that  dismal  altar  flame.  Suppose,  I  say,  she  has  made 
up  her  mind  to  throw  over  poor  Philip,  and  take  on  with  some 
one  else  ?  What  sentiment  ought  our  virtuous  bosoms  to  enter- 
tain towards  her?  Anger?  I  have  just  been  holding  a  conver- 
sation with  a  young  fellow  in  rags  and  without  shoes,  whose 
bed  is  commonly  a  dry  arch,  who  has  been  repeatedly  in  prison, 
whose  father  and  mother  were  thieves,  and  whose  grandfathers 
were  thieves  ;  —  are  we  to  be  angry  with  him  for  following  tlie 
paternal  profession?  With  one  eye  brimming  with  pity,  the 
other  steadily  keeping  watch  over  the  family  spoons,  I  listen 
to  his  artless  tale.  I  have  no  anger  against  that  child  ;  nor 
towards  thee,  Agnes,  daughter  of  Talbot  the  Brahmin. 

For  though  duty  is  dut}',  when  it  comes  to  the  pinch,  it  is 
often  hard  to  do.  Though  dear  papa  and  mamma  say  that  here 
is  a  gentleman  with  ever  so  man}'  thousands  a  year,  an  un- 


250  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

doubted  part  in  So-and-so-shire,  and  whole  islands  in  the 
western  main,  who  is  wildly  in  love  with  3-our  fair  skin  and 
blue  eyes,  and  is  read}^  to  fling  all  his  treasures  at  your  feet ; 
yet,  after  all,  when  30U  consider  that  he  is  very  ignorant, 
though  very  cunning ;  very  stingy,  though  very  rich ;  very  ill- 
tempered,  probably,  if  faces  and  e3'es  and  mouths  can  tell 
truth  :  and  as  for  Philip  Firmin  —  though  actually  his  legiti- 
mac}'  is  dubious,  as  we  have  lately  heard,  in  which  case  his 
maternal  fortune  is  ours  —  and  as  for  his  paternal  inheritance, 
we  don't  know  whether  the  doctor  is  worth  thh'ty  thousand 
pounds  or  a  shilling  ;  —  yet,  after  all  —  as  for  Philip  —  he  is  a 
man  ;  he  is  a  gentleman  ;  he  has  brains  in  his  head,  and  a  great 
lionest  heart  of  which  he  has  offered  to  give  the  best  feelings 
to  his  cousin  :  —  I  sa^' ,  when  a  poor  girl  has  to  be  off  with  that 
old  love,  that  honest  and  fair  love,  and  be  on  with  the  new  one, 
the  dark  one,  I  feel  for  her ;  and  though  the  Brahmins  are,  as 
we  know,  the  most  genteel  sect  in  Plindostan,  I  rather  wish  the 
poor  child  could  have  belonged  to  some  lower  and  less  rigid 
sect.  Poor  Agnes  !  to  think  that  he  has  sat  for  hours,  with 
mamma  and  Blanche  or  tlie  governess,  of  course,  in  the  room 
(for,  you  know,  when  she  and  Pliilip  were  quite  wee  wee  things 
dear  mamma  had  little  amiable  plans  in  view)  ;  has  sat  for 
hours  by  Miss  Twysden's  side  pouring  out  his  heart  to  her ; 
has  had,  mayhap,  little  precious  moments  of  confidential  talk — ■ 
little  hasty  whispers  in  coriidors,  on  stairs,  behind  window- 
curtains,  and  —  and  so  forth  in  fact.  She  must  remember  all 
this  past ;  and  can't,  without  some  pang,  listen  on  the  same 
sofa,  behind  the  same  window-curtains,  to  her  dark  suitor  pour- 
ing out  his  artless  tales  of  barracks,  boxing,  horseflesh,  and  the 
tender  passion.  He  is  dull,  he  is  mean,  he  is  ill-tempered,  he- 
is  ignorant,  and  the  other  was  .  .  .  .  ;  but  she  will  do  her 
duty  :  oh,  3'es  !  she  will  do  her  duty  !  Poor  Agnes  !  Vest  a 
fendre  h  cceur.     I  declare  I  quite  feel  for  her. 

When  Philip's  temper  was  roused,  I  have  been  compelled, 
as  his  biographer,  to  own  how  very  rude  and  disagreeable  he 
could  be  ;  and  you  must  acknowledge  that  a  .young  man  has 
some  reason  to  be  displeased,  when  he  finds  the  girl  of  his  heart 
hand-in-hand  with  another  young  gentleman  in  an  occult  and 
shady  recess  of  the  wood-work  of  Biighton  Pier.  The  green 
waves  are  softh^  murmuring  :  so  is  the  ofHcer  of  the  Life-Guards 
Green.  The  waves  are  kissing  the  beach.  Ah,  agonizing 
thought !  I  will  not  pursue  the  simile,  which  ma}'  be  but  a 
jealous  man's  mad  fantas}'.  Of  this  I  am  sure,  no  pebble  on 
that  beach  is  cooler  than  polished  Agnes.     But,  then,  Philip 


ON  HIS  WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  251 

drunk  with  jealousy  is  not  a  reasonable  being  like  Philip  sober. 
"  He  had  a  dreadful  temper,"  Philip's  dear  aunt  said  of  him 
afterwards,  —  "I  trembled  for  my  dear  gentle  child,  united  for 
ever  to  a  man  of  that  violence.  Never,  in  my  secret  mind, 
could  I  think  that  their  union  could  be  a  happy  one.  Besides, 
you  know,  the  nearness  of  their  relationship.  My  scruples  on 
that  score,  dear  Mrs.  Candor,  never,  never,  could  be  quite  got 
over."  And  these  scruples  came  to  weigh  whole  tons,  when 
Mangrove  Hall,  the  house  in  Berkeley  Square,  and  Mr.  Wool-, 
comb's  West  India  island  were  put  into  the  scale  along  with 
them. 

Of  course  there  was  no  good  in  remaining  amongst  those 
damp,  reeking  timbers,  now  that  the  prett}'  little  tete-a-tete  was 
over.  Little  Brownie  hung  fondling  and  whining  round  Philip's 
ankles,  as  the  part}-  ascended  to  the  upper  air.  "  My  child, 
how  pale  you  look  !  "  cries  Mrs.  Penfold,  putting  down  her  vol- 
ume. Out  of  the  Captain's  opal  eyeballs  shot  lurid  flames,  and 
hot  blood  burned  behind  his  yellow  cheeks.  In  a  quarrel,  Mr. 
Phihp  Firmin  could  be  particularly  cool  and  self-possessed. 
When  Miss  Agnes  rather  piteously  introduced  him  to  Mrs. 
Penfold,  he  made  a  bow  as  polite  and  gracious  as  an}-  per- 
formed by  his  royal  father.  "  My  little  dog  knew  me,"  he  said, 
caressing  the  animal.  "  She  is  a  faithful  little  thing,  and  she 
led  me  down  to  my  cousin  ;  and  —  Captain  Woolcomb,  I  think, 
is  your  name,  sir?  " 

As  Philip  curls  his  moustache  and  smiles  blandly.  Captain 
Woolcomb  pulls  his  and  scowls  fiercely.  "  Yes,  sir,"  he  mut- 
ters, "  my  name  is  Woolcomb."  Another  bow  and  a  touch  of 
the  hat  from  Mr.  Firmin.  A  touch? —  a  gracious  wave  of  the 
hat ;  acknowledged  b}-  no  means  so  gracefully  by  Captain 
Woolcomb. 

To  these  remarks  Mrs.  Penfold  says,  "Oh!"  In  fact, 
"  Oh  !  "  is  about  the  best  thing  that  could  be  said  under  the 
circumstances. 

"  M}'  cousin.  Miss  Twysden,  looks  so  pale  because  she  was 
out  very  late  dancing  last  night.  I  hear  it  was  a  very  pretty 
ball.  But  ought  she  to  keep  such  late  hours,  Mrs.  Penfold, 
with  her  delicate  health?  Indeed,  you  ought  not,  Agnes! 
Ought  she  to  keep  late  hours.  Brownie?  There  —  don't,  you 
little  foolish  thing  !  I  gave  m}-  cousin  the  dog  :  and  she's  very 
fond  of  me  —  the  dog  is  —  still.  You  were  saying.  Captain 
Woolcomb,  when  I  came  up,  that  you  would  give  Miss  Twys- 
den a  dog  on  whose  nose  you  could  hang  your  ....  I  beg 
pardon  ?  " 


252  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

Mr.  "Woolcomb,  as  Philip  made  this  second  allusion  to  the 
peculiar  nasal  formation  of  the  pug,  ground  his  little  white 
teeth  together,  and  let  "slip  a  most  improper  monosyllable. 
More  acute  bronchial  suffering  was  manifested  on  the  part 
of  Miss  Twjsden.  Mrs.  Penfold  said,  "  The  day  is  cloud- 
ing over.  I  think,  Agnes,  I  will  have  my  chair,  and  go 
home." 

"  May  I  be  allowed  to  wallc  with  you  as  far  as  your  house  ?  " 
says  Philip ,  twiddling  a  little  locket  which  he  wore  at  his  watch- 
chain.  It  was  a  little  gold  locket,  with  a  little  pale  hair  inside. 
Whose  hair  could  it  have  been  that  was  so  pale  and  fine  ?  As 
for  the  pretty,  hieroglyphical  A.  T.  at  the  back,  those  letters 
might  indicate  Alfred  Tennyson,  or  Anthony  Trollope,  who 
might  have  given  a  lock  of  their  golden  hair  to  Philip,  for  I 
know  he  is  an  admirer  of  their  works. 

Agnes  looked  guiltily  at  the  little  locket.  Captain  Wool- 
comb  pulled  his  moustache  so,  that  3'ou  would  have  thought  he 
would  have  pulled  it  off ;  and  his  opal  eyes  glared  with  fearful 
confusion  and  wrath. 

' '  Will  3' ou  please  to  fall  back  and  let  me  speak  to  you, 
Agnes?  Pardon  me.  Captain  Woolcomb,  I  have  a  private 
message  for  m^y  cousin ;  and  I  came  from  London  expressly  to 
deliver  it." 

"  If  Miss  Tw3'sden  desires  me  to  withdraw,  I  fall  back  in 
one  moment,"  sa^s  the  Captain,  clenching  the  little  lemon- 
colored  gloves. 

"  My  cousin  and  I  have  lived  together  all  our  lives,  and  I 
bring  her  a  family  message.  Have  you  any  particular  claim  to 
hear  it.  Captain  Woolcomb  ?  " 

' '  Not  if  Miss  Twysden  don't  want  me  to  hear  it D — 

the  little  brute." 

"  Don't  kick  poor  little  harmless  Brownie  !  He  shan't  kick 
you,  shall  he,  Brownie?" 

"If  the  brute  comes  between  my  shins,  I'll  kick  her!" 
shrieks  the  Captain.  "Hang  her,  I'll  throw  her  into  the 
sea  !  " 

' '  Whatever  you  do  to  my  dog,  I  swear  I  will  do  to  you !  " 
whispers  Philip  to  the  Captjtln. 

"Where  are  you  staging?"  shrieks  the  Captain.  "Hang 
you,  3'ou  shall  hear  from  me." 

"  Quiet  —  '  Bedford  Hotel.'  Easy,  or  I  shall  think  3'ou  want 
the  ladies  to  overhear." 

"  Your  conduct  is  horrible,  sir,"  says  Agnes,  rapidl3',  in  the 
French  language.     "  Mr.  does  not  comprehend  it." 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  253 

" it !    If  you  have  any  secrets  to  talk,  I'll  withdraw  fast 

enough,  Miss  Agnes,"  says  Othello. 

"Oh,  Grenville  !  can  I  have  any  secrets  from  you?  Mr. 
Firmin  is  my  first-cousin.  We  have  lived  together  all  our  lives. 
Philip,  I —  I  don't  know  whether  mamma  announced^  to  3'ou  — 
my — my  engagement  with  Captain  Grenville  Woolcomb."  The 
agitation  has  brought  on  another  severe  bronchial  attack.  Poor, 
poor,  little  Agnes  !     What  it  is  to  have  a  delicate  throat ! 

The  pier  tosses  up  to  the  skies,  as  though  it  had  left  its 
moorings  —  the  houses  on  the  cliff  dance  and  reel,  as  though 
an  earthquake  was  driving  them  —  the  sea  walks  up  into  the 
lodging-houses  —  and  Philip's  legs  are  failing  from  under  him  :  it 
is  only  for  a  moment.  When  you  have  a  large,  tough  double- 
tooth  out,  doesn't  the  chair  go  up  to  the  ceiling,  and  your  head 
come  off  too  ?  But,  in  the  next  instant,  there  is  a  grave  gentle- 
man before  you,  making  you  a  bow,  and  concealing  something 
in  his  right  sleeve.  The  crash  is  over.  You  are  a  man  again. 
Philip  clutches  hold  of  the  chain-pier  for  a  minute  :  it  does  not 
sink  under  him.  The  houses,  after  reeling  for  a  second  or  two, 
reassume  the  perpendicular,  and  bulge  their  bow-windows 
towards  the  main.  He  can  see  the  people  looking  from  the 
windows,  the  carriages  passing,  Professor  Spurrier  riding  on 
the  cliff  with  eighteen  young  ladies,  his  pupils.  In  long  after- 
days  he  remembers  those  absurd  little  incidents  wdth  a  curious 
tenacit3\ 

"This  news,"  Philip  says,  "was  not  —  not  altogether  un- 
expected. I  congratulate  my  cousin,  I  am  sure.  Captain 
Woolcomb,  had  I  known  this  for  certain,  I  am  sure  I  should 
not  have  interrupted  you.  You  were  going,  perhaps,  to  ask  me 
to  your  hospitable  house,  Mrs.  Penfold?" 

"  Was  she,  though?  "  cries  the  Captain. 

"I  have  asked  a  friend  to  dine  with  me  at  the  'Bedford,' 
and  shall  go  to  towai,  I  hope,  in  the  morning.  Can  I  take  any- 
thing for  j'ou,  Agnes?  Good-by  :  "  and  he  kisses  his  hand  in 
quite  a  decjage  manner,  as  Mrs.  Penfold's  chair  turns  eastward 
and  he  goes  to  the  west.  Silently  the  tall  Agnes  sweeps  along, 
a  fair  hand  laid  upon  her  friend's  chair. 

It's  over !  it's  over !  She  has  done  it.  He  was  bound, 
and  kept  his  honor,  but  she  did  not :  it  was  she  who  for- 
sook him.  And  I  fear  very  much  Mr.  Philip's  heart  leaps 
with  pleasure  and  an  immense  sensation  of  relief  at  thinking 
he  is  free.  He  meets  half  a  dozen  acquaintances  on  the 
cliff.  He  laughs,'  jokes,  shakes  hands,  invites  two  or  three 
to  dinner  in  the  gayest  manner.     He  sits  down  on  that  green, 


254  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

not  very  far  from  his  inn,  and  is  laughing  to  himself,  when 
he  suddenly  feels  something  nestling  at  his  knee,  —  rub- 
bing, and  nestling,  and  whining  plaintively.  "What,  is  that 
you?"     It  is  little  Brownie  who  has  followed  him.     Poor  little 


rogue 


Then  Philip  bent  down  his  head  over  the  dog,  and  as  it 
jumped  on  him  with  little  bleats,  and  whines,  and  innocent 
caresses,  he  broke  out  into  a  sob,  and  a  great  refreshing  rain 
of  tears  fell  from  his  eyes.  Such  a  little  illness  !  Such  a  mild 
fever  !  Such  a  speedy  cure  !  Some  people  have  the  comi^laint 
so  mildl3-  that  they  are  scarcely  ever  kept  to  their  beds.  Some 
bear  its  scars  for  ever. 

Philip  sat  resolutely  at  the  hotel  all  night,  having  given 
special  orders  to  the  porter  to  sa}'  that  he  was  at  home,  in  case 
any  gentleman  should  call.  He  had  a  faint  hope,  he  after- 
wards owned,  that  some  friend  of  Captain  Woolcomb  might 
wait  on  him  on  that  officer's  part.  He  had  a  faint  hope  that  a 
letter  might  come  explaining  that  treason,  —  as  people  will  have 
a  sick,  gnawing,  yearning,  foolish  desire  for  letters  —  letters 
which  contain  nothing,  which  never  did  contain  anything  — 
letters  which,  nevertheless,  you — .  You  know,  in  ftict,  about 
those  letters,  and  there  is  no  earthlv  use  in  asking  to  read 
Philip's.  Have  we  not  all  read  those  love-letters  which,  after 
love-quarrels,  come  into  court  sometimes?  We  have  all  read 
them;  and  how  many  have  written  them ?  Nine  o'clock.  Ten 
o'clock.  Eleven  o'clock.  No  challenge  from  the  Captain ; 
no  explanation  from  Agnes.  Philip  declares  he  slept  perfectly 
well.  But  poor  little  Brownie  the  dog  made  a  piteous  howling 
all  night  in  the  stables.  She  was  not  a  well-bred  dog.  You 
could  not  have  hung  the  least  hat  on  her  nose. 

We  compared  anon  our  dear  Agnes  to  a  Brahmin  lady, 
meekly  offering  herself  up  to  sacrifice  according  to  the  practice 
used  in  her  highly-  respectable  caste.  Did  we  speak  in  anger 
or  in  sorrow  ?  —  surel}'  in  terms  of  respectful  grief  and  sympa- 
thy. And  if  we  pit}-  her,  ought  we  not  likewise  to  pity  her 
highl}'  respectable  parents  ?  When  the  notorious  Brutus  or- 
dered his  sons  to  execution,  3-ou  can't  suppose  he  was  such  a 
brute  as  to  be  pleased?  All  three  parties  suffered  b}-  the  trans- 
action :  the  sons,  probabl}',  even  more  than  their  austere  father  ; 
but  it  stands  to  reason  that  the  whole  trio  Avere  very  melan- 
choly. At  least,  were  I  a  poet  or  musical  composer  depicting 
that  business,  I  certainly  should  make  them  so.  The  sons, 
piping  in  a  very  minor  key  indeed  ;  the  father's  manly  basso 
accompanied  by  deep  wind  instruments,  and  interrupted  by  ap- 


ON   HIS  WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  255 

propriate  sobs.  Though  pretty  fair  Agnes  is  being  led  to  exe- 
cution, I  don't  suppose  she  likes  it,  of  that  her  parents  are 
happy,  who  are  compelled  to  order  the  tragedy. 

That  the  rich  young  proprietor  of  Mangrove  Hall  should  be 
fond  of  her  was  merely  a  coincidence,  Mrs.  Twysden  afterwards 
always  averred.  Not  for  mere  wealth  —  ah,  no  !  not  for  mines 
of  gold  —  would  the_y  sacrifice  their  darling  child.  But  when 
that  sad  P'irmia  affair  happened,  3'ou  see  it  also  happened  that 
Captain  Woolcomb  was  much  struck  b}'  dear  Agnes,  whom  he 
met  everywhere.  Her  scapegrace  of  a  cousin  would  go  no- 
where. He  preferred  his  bachelof  associates,  and  horrible 
smoking  and  drinking  habits,  to  the  amusements  and  pleasures 
of  more  refined  societ}'.  He  neglected  Agnes.  There  is  not 
the  slightest  doubt  he  neglected  and  mortified  her,  and  his  wil- 
ful and  frequent  alisence  showed  how  little  he  cared  for  her. 
Would  you  blame  the  dear  girl  for  coldness  to  a  man  who  him- 
self showed  such  indifference  to  her?  "■  No,  my  good  Mrs. 
Candor.  Had  Mr.  Firmin  been  ten  times  as  rich  as  Mr.  Wool- 
comb,  I  should  have  counselled  my  child  to  refuse  him.  /take 
the  responsibilit}' of  the  measure  entirely  on  m3'self — I,  and 
her  father,  and  her  brother."  So  Mrs.  Twysden  afterwards 
spoke,  in  circles  where  an  absurd  and  odious  rumor  ran,  that 
the  Tw3-sdens  had  forced  their  daughter  to  jilt  young  Mr.  Firmin 
in  order  to  marry  a  wealthy  quadroon.  People  will  talk,  you 
know,  de  me,  de  te.  If  Woolcomb's  dinners  had  not  gone  off  so 
after  his  marriage,  I  have  little  doubt  the  scandal  would  have 
died  awa}',  and  he  and  his  wife  might  have  been  prett}'  gener- 
all}'  respected  and  visited. 

Nor  must  you  suppose,  as  we  have  said, -that  dear  Agnes 
gave  up  her  first  love  without  a  pang.  That  bronchitis  showed 
how  acutely  the  poor  thing  felt  her  position.  It  broke  out  very 
soon  after  Mr.  Woolcomb's  attentions  became  a  little  particular  ; 
and  she  actuall}' left  London  in  consequence.  It  is  true  that 
he  could  follow  her  without  difficulty,  but  so,  for  the  matter  of 
that,  could  Philip,  as  we  have  seen  when  he  came  down  and 
behaved  so  rudely  to  Captain  Woolcomb.  And  l.>efore  Philip 
came,  poor  Agnes  could  plead,  "  My  father  pressed  me  sair," 
as  in  tlie  case  of  the  notorious  Mrs.  Robin  Gra3\ 

Father  and  mother  both  pressed  her  sair.  Mrs.  Twysden, 
I  think  I  have  mentioned,  wiote  an  admirable  letter,  and  was 
aware  of  her  accomplishment.  She  used  to  write  reams  of 
gossip  regularly  every  week  to  dear  uncle  Ringwood  when  he 
was  in  the  countrv :  and  when  her  daughter  Blanche  married, 
she  is  said  to  have  written  several  of  her  new  son's  sermons. 


256  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

As  a  Christian  mother,  was  she  not  to  give  lier  daughter  her  ad- 
vice at  this  momentous*period  of  her  life  ?  That  advice  went 
against  poor  Philip's  chances  with  his  cousin,  who  was  kept  ac- 
quainted with  aU  the  circumstances  of  the  controversy  of  which 
we  have  just  seen  the  issue.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  Mrs. 
Twysden  gave  an  impartial  statement  of  the  case.  What  par- 
ties in  a  lawsuit  do  spealv  impartially  on  their  own  side  or  tlieir 
adversaries'  ?  Mrs.  Twysden's  view,  as  I  have  learned  subse- 
quently, and  as  imparted  to  her  daughter,  was  this :  —  That 
most  unprincipled  man.  Dr.  Firmin,  who  had  already'  attempted, 
and  unjustl}-,  to  deprive  the  Twysdens  of  a  part  of  their  prop- 
erty, had  commenced  in  quite  earlj'  life  his  career  of  outrage 
and  wickedness  against  the  Ringwood  familj*.  He  had  led 
dear  Lord  Ringwood's  son,  poor  dear  Lord  Cinqbars,  into  a 
career  of  vice  and  extravagance  which  caused  the  premature 
death  of  that  unfortunate  young  nobleman.  Mr.  Firmin  had 
then  made  a  marriage,  in  spite  of  the  tears  and  entreaties  of 
Mrs.  Twysden,  with  her  late  unhappy  sister,  whose  whole  life 
had  been  made  wretched  by  the  doctor's  conduct.  But  the 
climax  of  outrage  and  wickedness  was,  that  when  he  —  he,  a 
low,  penniless  adventurer  —  married  Colonel  Ringwood's  daugh- 
ter, he  was  married  already',  as  could  be  sworn  b}'  the  repentant 
clergyman  who  had  been  forced,  by  threats  of  punishment  which 
Dr.  Firmin  held  over  him,  to  perform  the  rite  !  "  The  mind" 
—  Mrs.  Talbot  Tw,ysden's  fine  mind  — "  shiiddered  at  the 
thought  of  such  wickedness."  But  most  of  all  (for  to  think  ill 
of  any  one  whom  she  had  once  loved  gave  her  pain)  there  was 
reason  to  believe  that  the  unhappy  Philip  Firmin  was  his 
father's  accompliee,  and  that  he  knew  of  his  oicn  illegitimacy, 
Avhich  he  was  determined  to  set  aside  by  s^ny  fraud  or  artifice — > 
(she  trembled,  she  wept  to  have  to  say  this  :  O  heaven  !  that 
there  should  be  such  perversity  in  thy  creatures  !)  And  so  little 
store  did  Philip  set  by  his  mother  s  honor,  that  he  actually'  vis- 
ited the  abandoned  woman  who  acquiesced  in  her  own  infamy, 
and  had  brought  such  unspeakable  disgrace  on  the  Ringwood 
family  !  The  thought  of  this  crime  had  caused  Mrs.  Twysden 
and  her  dear  husband  nights  of  sleepless  anguish  —  had  made 
them  years  and  years  older  —  had  stricken  their  hearts  with  a 
glief  which  must  endure  to  the  end  of  their  days.  With  people 
so  unscrupulous,  so  grasping,  so  artful  as  Dr.  Firmin  and 
(must  she  say?)  his  son,  the}-  were  bound  to  be  on  their 
guard ;  and  though  the}^  had  avoided  Philip,  she  had  deemed 
it  right,  on  thg  rare  occasions  when  she  and  the  young  man 
whom  she  must  now  call  her  illegitimate  nephew  met,  to  be- 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  257 

have  as  though  she  knew  nothing  of  this  most  dreadful  con- 
troversy'. 

"And  now,  dearest  child"  .  .  .  Surely  the  moral  is  obvious? 
The  dearest  child  "  must  see  at  once  that  any  foolish  plans  which 
were  formed  in  childish  days  and  under  furmer  delusions  must 
be  cast  aside  for  ever  as  impossible,  as  unworthy  of  a  Twysden 
—  of  a  Ringwood.  Be  not  concerned  for  the  young  man  him- 
self," wrote  Mrs.  Twysden  —  "I  blush  that  he  should  bear 
that  dear  father's  name  who  was  slain  in  honor  on  Busaco's 
glorious  field.  P.  F.  has  associates  amongst  whom  he  has  ever 
been  much  more  at  home  than  in  our  refined  circle,  and  habits 
which  will  cause  him  to  forget  you  only  too  easily.  And  if 
near  you  is  one  whose  ardor  shows  itself  in  his  every  word  and 
action,  whose  wealth  and  property  may  raise  you  "to  a  place 
worthy  of  my  child,  need  I  say,  a  mother's,  a  father's  blessing 
go  with  you."  This  letter  was  brought  to  Miss  Tw3'sden,  at 
Brighton,  by  a  special  messenger ;  and  the  superscription  an- 
nounced that  it  was  "  honored  by  Captain  Grenville  Wool- 
comb." 

Now  when  Miss  Agnes  has  had  a  letter  to  this  eflject  (I  may 
at  some  time  tell  3^ou  howl  came  to  be  acquainted  with  its  con- 
tents) ;  when  she  remembers  all  the  abuse  her  brother  lavishes 
against  Philip  as,  heaven  bless  some  of  them !  dear  relatives 
can  best  do  ;  when  she  thinks  how  cold  he  has  of  late  been  — 
how  he  will  come  smelling  of  cigars  —  how  he  won't  conform  to 
the  usages  du  monde^  and  has  neglected  all  the  decencies  of 
society  —  how  she  often  can't  understand  his  strange  rhapsodies 
about  poetry,  painting,  and  the  like,  nor  how  he  can  live  with 
such  associates  as  those  who  seem  to  delight  him  —  and  now 
how  he  is  showing  himself  actually  imprincipled  and  abetting 
his  horrid  father ;  when  we  consider  mither  pressing  sair,  and 
all  these  points  in  mither's  favor,  I  don't  think  we  can  order 
Agnes  to  instant  execution  for  the  resolution  to  which  she 
IS  coming.  She  will  give  him  up  —  she  will  give  him  up. 
Good-b}-,  Philip.  Good-by  the  past.  Be  forgotten,  be  for- 
gotten, fond  words  spoken  in  not  unwilling  ears  !  Be  still  and 
breathe  not,  eager  lips,  that  have  trembled  so  near  to  one  an- 
other !  Unlock,  hands,  and  part  for  ever,  that  seemed  to  be 
formed  for  life's  long  journey  !  Ah,  to  part  for  ever  is  hard  ; 
but  harder  and  more  humiliating  still  to  part  without  regret! 

That  papa  and  mamma  had  influenced  Miss  Tw^-sden  in  her 
behavior  my  wife  and  I  could  easily  imagine,  when  Philip,  in 
his  wrath  and  grief,  came  to  us  and  poured  out  the  feehngs  of 
his  heart.     My  wife  is  a  repository  of  men's  secrets,  an  unth'ing 

17 


258  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

consoler  and  comforter ;  and  she  knows  many  a  sad  story 
whicli  we  are  not  at  libert}'  to  tell,  like  this  one  of  which  this 
person,  Mr.  Firmin,  has  given  us  possession. 

•'  Father  and  mother's  orders,"  shouts  Philip,  "  I  dare  say, 
Mrs.  Pendennis  ;  but  the  wish  was  father  to  the  thought  of 
parting,  and  it  was  for  the  blackamoor's  parks  and  acres  that 
the  girl  jilted  me.  Look  here.  I  told  you  just  now  that  I 
■slept  perfecth'  well  on  that  infernal  night  after  1  had  said  fare- 
well to  her.  Well,  1  didn't.  It  was  a  lie.  I  walked  ever  so 
many  times  the  whole  length  of  the  cliff,  from  Hove  to  Rotting- 
dean  almost,  and  then  went  to  bed  afterwards,  and  slept  a  little 
out  of  sheer  fatigue.  And  as  I  was  passing  b}'  Horizontal 
Terrace  ( —  I  happened  to  pass  by  there  two  or  three  times  in 
the  moonlight,  like  a  great  jackass — )  you  know  those  verses 
of  mine  which  I  have  hummed  here  sometimes?"  (hummed  !  he 
used  to  roar  them  !)  "  '  When  the  locks  of  burnished  gold,  ladj', 
shall  to  silver  turn ! '  Never  mind  the  rest.  You  know  the 
verses  about  fidelity  and  old  age?  She  was  singing  them  on 
that  night,  to  that  negro.  And  I  heard  the  beggar's  voice  say, 
'  Bravo  ! '  through  the  open  windows." 

"Ah,  Piiilip !  it  was  cruel,"  says  my  wife,  heartily  pitying 
our  friend's  anguish  and  misfortune.  "  It  was  cruel  indeed. 
I  am  sure  T«e  can  feel  for  3'Ou.  But  think  what  certain  misery 
a  marriage  with  such  a  person  would  have  been  !  Think  of 
3-our  warm  heart  given  away  for  ever  to  that  heartless  crea- 
ture." 

"Laura,  Laura,  have  you  not  often  warned  me  not  to  speak 
ill  of  people?"  says  Laura's  husband. 

"I  can't  help  it  sometimes,"  cries  Laura  in  a  transport. 
"I  try  and  do  my  best  not  to  speak  ill  of  my  neighbors  ;  but 
the  worldliness  of  those  people  shocks  me  so  that  I  can't  bear 
to  be  near  them.  The}-  are  so  utterly  tied  and  bound  by  con- 
ventionalities, so  perfectly  convinced  of  their  own  excessive 
high-breeding,  that  they  seem  to  me  more  odious  and  more 
vulgar  tiian  quite  low  people  ;  and  I'm  sure  Mr.  Philip's  friend, 
the  Little  vSister,  is  infinitely  more  lady-like  than  his  dreary 
aunt  or  either  of  his  supercilious  cousins  !  "  Upon  my  word, 
when  this  lady  did  speak  her  mind,  there  was  no  mistaking  her 


meaning. 


1  believe  Mr.  Fii-min  took  a  considerable  number  of  people 
into  his  confidence  regarding  this  love-affair.  He  is  one  of 
those  individuals  who  can't  keep  their  secrets  ;  and  when  hurt 
he  roars  so  loudly  that  all  his  friends  can  hear.  It  has  been 
remarked  that  the  sorrows  of  such  persons  do  not  endure  very 


ox   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  259 

long ;  nor  surely  was  there  an^'  great  need  in  this  instance  that 
Philip's  heart  should  wear  a  lengthened  mourning.  Ere  long 
he  smoked  his  pipes,  he  played  his  billiards,  he  sliouted  his 
songs  ;  he  rode  in  the  Park  for  the  pleasure  of  severely  cutting 
his  aunt  and  cousins  when  their  open  carriage  passed,  or  of 
riding  down  Captain  Woolcomb  or  his  cousin  liingwood,  should 
either  of  those  worthies  come  in  his  wa}'. 

One  day,  when  the  old  Lord  Ringwood  came  to  town  for 
his  accustomed  spring  visit,  Philip  condescended  to  wait  upon 
him,  and  was  announced  to  his  lordship  just  as  Talbot  Tw^s- 
den  and  Ringwood  his  son  were  taking  leave  of  their  noble 
kinsman.  Philip  looked  at  them  with  a  flashing  e^'e  and  a  dis- 
tended nostril,  according  to  his  swaggering  wont.  1  dare  sa}' 
the}'  on  their  part  bore  a  verj'  mean  and  hang-dog  appearance ; 
for  m}'  lord  laughed  at  their  discomfiture,  and  seemed  im- 
mensely amused  as  they  slunk  out  of  the  door  when  Philip 
came  hectoring  in. 

"  So,  sir,  there  has  been  a  family  row.  Heard  all  about  it: 
at  least,  their  side.  Your  father  did  me  the  favor  to  marr}'  my 
niece,  having  another  wife  already?" 

"Having  no  other  wife  already,  sir  —  though  my  dear 
relations  were  anxious  to  show  that  lie  had." 

"  Wanted  your  money ;  thirty  thousand  pound  is  not  a 
trifle.  Ten  thousand  apiece  for  those  children.  And  no  more 
need  of  an}'  confounded  pinching  and  scraping,  as  the}-  have 
to  do  at  Beaunash  Street.  Affair  off  between  you  and  Agnes? 
Absurd  affair.     So  much  the  better." 

"  Yes,  sir,  so  much  the  better." 

"  Have  ten  thousand  apiece.  Would  have  twenty  thousand 
if  they  got  yours.      Quite  natural  to  want  it." 

"Quite." 

"Woolcomb  a  sort  of  negro,  I  understand.  Fine  property 
here  :  besides  the  West  India  rubbish.  Violent  man  —  so 
people  tell  me.  Luckily  Agnes  seems  a  cool,  easy-going 
woman,  and  must  put  up  with  the  rough  as  well  as  the  smooth 
in  marrying  a  property  like  that.  Very  lucky  for  you  that 
that  woman  persists  there  was  no  marriage  with  your  father. 
Tw\-sden  says  the  doctor  bribed  her.  Take  it  he's  not  got 
much  money  to  bribe  unless  you  gave  some  of  yours." 

"  I  don't  bribe  people  to  bear  false  witness,  my  lord  —  and 
if—" 

"  Don't  be  in  a  huff;  I  didn't  say  so.  Twysden  says  so  — 
perhaps  tliinks  so.  When  people  are  at  law  they  believe  any- 
thing of  one  another." 


260  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

"  I  don't  know  what  other  people  may  do,  sir.  If  I  had 
another  man's  money,  I  should  not  be  easy  until  I  had  paid 
him  back.  Had  my  share  of  my  grandfather's  property  not 
been  lawfull}'  mine  —  and  for  a  few  hours  I  thought  it  was 
not  —  please  God,  I  would  have  given  it  up  to  its  rightful 
owners — at  least,  my  father  would." 

"  Why,  haug  it  all,  man,  you  don't  mean  to  say  your  father 
has  not  settled  with  you  ?  " 

Philip  blushed  a  little.  He  had  been  rather  surprised  that 
there  had  been  no  settlement  between  him  and  his  father. 

"I  am  only  of  age  a  few  months,  sir.  I  am  not  under  any 
apprehension.  I  get  my  dividends  regularly  enough.  One 
of  my  grandfather's  trustees.  General  Baynes,  is  in  India. 
He  is  to  return  almost  immediately,  or  we  should  have  sent  a 
power  of  attorney  out  to  him.  There's  no  hurry  about  the 
business." 

Philip's  maternal  grandfather,  and  Lord  Ringwood's  brother, 
the  late  Colonel  Philip  Ringwood,  had  died  possessed  of  but 
trifling  property  of  his  own  ;  but  his  wife  had  brought  him  a 
fortune  of  sixty  thousand  pounds,  which  was  settled  on  their 
children,  and  in  the  names  of  trustees  —  Mr.  Briggs,  a  lawyer, 
and  Colonel  Baynes,  an  East  India  officer,  and  friend  of 
Mrs.  PhiUp  Ringwood's  family.  Colonel  Baynes  had  been  in 
England  some  eight  years  before  ;  and  Philip  remembered  a 
kind  old  gentleman  coming  to  see  him  at  school,  and  leaving 
tokens  of  his  bounty  behind.  The  other  trustee,  Mr.  Briggs, 
a  lawyer  of  considerable  countj^  reputation,  was  dead  long 
since,  having  left  his  affairs  in  an  involved  conditiori.  During 
the  trustee's  absence  and  the  son's  minority,  Philip's  father 
received  the  dividends  on  his  son's  property,  and  liberally  spent 
them  on  the  boy.  Indeed,  I  believe  that  for  some  little  time  at 
college,  and  during  his  first  journe3's  abroad,  Mr.  Philip  spent 
rather  more  than  the  income  of  his  maternal  inheritance,  being 
freely  supplied  by  his  father,  who  told  him  not  to  stint  himself. 
He  was  a  sumptuous  man.  Dr.  Firmin  —  open-handed  —  sub- 
scribing to  many  charities  —  a  lover  of  solemn  good  cheer. 
The  doctor's  dinners  and  the  doctor's  equipages  were  models 
in  their  waj^ ;  and  I  remember  the  sincere  respect  with  which 
my  uncle  the  Major  (the  family  guide  in  such  matters)  used  to 
speak  of  Dr.  Firmin's  taste.  "  No  duchess  in  London,  sir," 
he  would  say,  "  drove  better  horses  than  Mrs.  Firmin.  Sir 
George  Warrender,  sir,  could  not  give  a  better  dinner,  sir, 
than  that  to  which  we  sat  down  yesterday."     And  for  the  exer- 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  261 

cise  of  these  civic  virtues  the  doctor  had  the  hearty  respect  of 
the  good  Major. 

"Don't  tell  me,  sir,"  on  the  other  hand,  Lord  Ringwood 
would  sa}^ ;  "I  dined  with  the  fellow  once  —  a  swaggering  fel- 
low, sir ;  but  a  servile  fellow.  The  way  he  bowed  and  flat- 
tered was  perfectly  absurd.  Those  fellows  think  we  like  it  — 
and  we  may.  Even  at  m}^  age,  I  like  flattery  —  any  quantity 
of  it ;  and  not  what  you  call  delicate,  but  strong,  sir.  I  like  a 
man  to  kneel  down  and  kiss  my  shoe-strings.  I  have  my  own 
opinion  of  him  afterwards,  but  that  is  what  I  like  —  what  all 
men  like  ;  and  that  is  what  Fii-min  gave  in  quantities.  But 
you  could  see  that  his  house  was  monstrously'  expensive.  His 
dinner  was  excellent,  and  you  saw  it  was  good  everyday — ■ 
not  like  3'our  dinners,  my  good  Maria  ;  not  like  your  wines, 
Twysden,  which,  hang  it,  I  can't  swallow,  unless  I  send  'em  in 
myself.  Even  at  ni}'  own  house,  I  don't  give  that  kind  of  wine 
on  common  occasions  which  Firmin  used  to  give.  I  drink  the 
best  myself,  of  course,  and  give  it  to  some  who  know  ;  but  I 
don't  give  it  to  common  fellows,  who  come  to  hunting  dinners, 
or  to  girls  and  boys  who  are  dancing  at  my  balls." 

"Yes;  Mr.  Firrain's  dinners  were  very  handsome  —  and  a 
prett}^  end  came  of  the  handsome  dinners  !  "  sighed  Mrs.  Twys- 
den. 

"That's  not  the  question;  lam  only  speaking  about  the 
fellow's  meat  and  drink,  and  they  were  both  good.  And  it's 
my  opinion,  that  fellow  will  have  a  good  dinner  wherever  he 
goes." 

I  had  the  fortune  to  be  present  at  one  of  these  feasts,  which 
Lord  Ringwood  attended,  and  at  which  I  met  Philip's  trustee, 
General  Baj-nes,  who  had  just  arrived  from  India.  I  remem- 
ber now  the  smallest  details  of  the  little  dinner,  —  the  bright- 
ness of  the  old  plate,  on  which  the  doctor  prided  himself,  and 
the  quiet  comfort,  not  to  say  splendor  of  the  entertainment. 
The  General  seemed  to  take  a  great  liking  to  Philip,  whose 
grandfather  had  been  his  special  friend  and  comrade  in  arms. 
He  thought  he  saw  something  of  Philip  Ringwood  in  Philip 
Firmin's  face. 

"Ah,  indeed  !  "  growls  Lord  Ringwood. 

"You  ain't  a  bit  like  him,"  says  the  downright  General. 
"Never  saw  a  handsomer  or  more  open-looking  fellow  than 
Philip  Ringwood." 

"Oh!  I  dare  say  I  looked  pretty  open  myself  forty  years 
ago,"  said  my  lord ;  "now  I'm  shut,  I  suppose.  I  don't  see 
the  least  likeness  in  this  3'oung  man  to  my  brother." 


262  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

"  That  is  some  sherry  as  old  as  the  century,"  whispers  the 
host ;  "  it  is  the  same  the  Prince  Regent  liked  so  at  a  Mansion 
House  dinner,  five-and-twenty  years  ago." 

"Never  knew  anything  about  wine;  was  always  tippling 
liqueurs  and  punch.  What  did  j'ou  give  for  this  sherry, 
doctor?" 

The  doctor  siglied,  and  looked  up  to  the  chandelier. 
"Drink  it  while  it  lasts,  my  good  lord;  but  don't  ask  me  the 
price.     The  fact  is,  I  don't  like  to  say  what  I  gave  for  it." 

"You  need  not  stint  3'ourself  in  the  price  of  sherry,  doc- 
tor," cries  the  General  gayly  ;  "you  have  but  one  son,  and 
he  has  a  fortune  of  his  own,  as  I  happen  to  know.  You 
haven't  dipped  it,  Master  Philip?" 

"  I  fear,  sir,  I  may  have  exceeded  my  income  sometimes,  in 
the  last  three  years  ;  but  m}-  father  has  helped  me." 

"  Exceeded  nine  hundred  a  3'ear  !  Upon  my  word  !  When 
I  was  a  sub,  my  friends  gave  me  fiffc}^  pounds  a  3'ear,  and 
I  never  was  a  shilling  in  debt !  Wliat  are  men  coming  to 
now  ?  " 

"If  doctors  drink  Prince  Regent's  sherry  at  ten  guineas  a 
dozen,  what  can  you  expect  of  their  sons,  General  Ba3nes?" 
grumbles  my  lord. 

"  My  father  gives  you  his  best,  m}^  lord,"  sa^'s  Philip  ga}-^  ; 
"  if  3'ou  know  of  anj'  better,  he  will  get  it  for  30U.  Si  non  Ins 
utere  mecuni !     Please  to  pass  me  that  decanter,  Pen  !  " 

I  thought  the  old  lord  did  not  seem  ill  pleased  at  the  young 
man's  freedom  ;  and  now,  as  I  recall  it,  think  I  can  remember 
that  a  peculiar  silence  and  anxiety  seemed  to  weigh  ,upon  our 
host  —  upon  him  whose  face  was  commonly-  so  anxious  and 
sad. 

The  famous  sherry,  which  had  made  many  voyages  to  Indian 
climes  before  it  acquired  its  exquisite  flavor,  had  travelled  some 
three  or  four  times  round  the  doctor's  poUshed  table,  when 
Brice,  his  man,  entered  with  a  letter  on  his  silver  tray.  Per- 
haps Philip's  eyes  and  mine  exchanged  glances  in  which  ever 
so  small  a  scintilla  of  mischief  might  sparkle.  The  doctor 
often  had  letters  when  he  was  entertaining  his  friends  ;  and  his 
patients  had  a  knack  of  falling  ill  at  awkward  times. 

"Gracious  heavens  !"  cries  the  doctor,  when  he  read  the 
despatch  —  it  was  a  telegraphic  message.  "The  poor  Grand 
Duke !  " 

"  What  Grand  Duke?  "  asks  the  surly  lord  of  Ringwood. 

"  My  earliest  patron  and  friend  —  the  Grand  Duke  of  Gron- 
ino;en !     Seized  this  morning  at  eleven  at  Potzendorif !     Has 


ON  HIS  WAY   THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  263 

sent  for  me.  I  promised  to  go  to  him  if  ever  he  had  need  of 
me.  I  must  go  !  I  can  save  the  night-train  yet.  General ! 
our  visit  to  the  City  must  be  deferred  till  m^'  return.  Get  a 
portmanteau,  Brice  ;  and  call  a  cab  at  once.  Phihp  will  enter- 
tain m}-  friends  for  the  evening.  My  dear  lorxl,  ^ou  won't  mind 
an  old  doctor  leaving  you  to  attend  an  old  patient?  I  v\dll 
write  from  Groningen.  I  shall  be  there  on  P'riday  morning. 
Farewell,  gentlemen  !  Brice,  another  bottle  of  tliat  sherry  !  I 
pray,  don't  let  anybod^^  stir  !  God  bless  3'ou,  Philip,  my  boy  !  " 
And  with  this  the  doctor  went  up,  took  his  son  by  tlie  hand, 
and  laid  the  other  ver}'  kindly  on  the  young  man's  shoulder. 
Then  he  made  a  bow  round  the  table  to  his  guests  —  one  of  his 
graceful  bows,  for  which  he  was  famous.  I  can  see  the  sad 
smile  on  his  face  now,  and  the  light  from  the  chandelier  over 
the  dining-table  glancing  from  his  shining  forehead,  and  casting 
deep  shadows  on  to  his  cheek  from  his  heavy  brows. 

The  departure  was  a, little  abrupt,  and  of  course  cast  some- 
what of  a  gloom  upon  the  company. 

"  M}' carriage  ain't  ordered  till  ten  —  must  go  on  sitting 
here,  I  suppose.  Confounded  life  doctor's  must  be  !  Called 
up  an}-  hour  in  the  night !  Get  their  fees  !  Must  go  !  "  growled 
the  great  man  of  the  part}'. 

"People  are  glad  enough  to  have  them  when  the}^  are  ill, 
m}'  lord.  I  think  I  have  heard  that  once  when  3'Ou  were  at 
Ryde  ..." 

The  great  man  started  back  as  if  a  little  shock  of  cold  water 
had  fallen  on  him  ;  and  then  looked  at  Philii)  with  not  un- 
friendi}'  glances.  '•'  Treated  for  gout  —  so  he  did.  Very  well, 
too  !  "  said  my  lord  ;  and  whispered,  not  inaudibly,  "  Cool  hand, 
that  boy  !  "  And  then  his  lordship  fell  to  talk  with  General 
Baynes  about  his  campaigning,  and  his  earl}'  acquaintance  with 
his  own  brother,  Philip's  grandfather. 

The  General  did  not  care  to  brag  about  his  own  feats  of 
arms,  but  was  loud  in  praises  of  his  old  comrade.  Philip  was 
pleased  to  hear  his  grandsire  so  well  spoken  of.  The  General 
had  known  Dr.  Firmin's  father  also,  who  likewise  had  been  a 
colonel  in  the  famous  old  Peninsular  army.  "A  Tartar  that 
fellow  w\as,  and  no  mistake  !"  said  the  good  officer.  "Your 
father  has  a  strong  look  of  him  ;  and  you  have  a  glance  of  him 
at  times.  But  you  remind  me  of  Philip  Ringwood  not  a  little  ; 
and  you  could  not  belong  to  a  better  man." 

"•  Ha  !  "  says  ni}'  lord.  There  had  been  differences  between 
him  and  his  brother.  He  may  have  been  thinking  of  days  when 
the}'  were  friends.     Lord  Ringwood   now  graciously  asked  if 


264  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

General  Baynes  was  stajdng  in  London  ?  But  the  General  had 
only  come  to  do  this  piece  of  business,  which  must  now  be  de- 
layed. He  was  too  poor  to  live  in  London.  He  must  look  out 
for  a  country  place,  where  he  and  his  six  children  could  live 
cheaply.  "Three  bo3^s  at  school,  and  one  at  college,  Mr. 
Philip  —  3"ou  know  what  that  must  cost;  though,  thank  my 
stars,  my  college  bo}'  does  not  spend  nine  hundred  a  j'ear. 
Nine  hundred  !  Where  should  we  be  if  he  did  ?  "  In  fact,  the 
da^'s  of  nabobs  are  long  over,  and  the  General  had  come  back 
to  his  native  country  with  only  very  small  means  for  the  sup- 
port of  a  great  familj'. 

When  my  lord's  carriage  came,  he  departed,  and  the  other 
guests  presently  took  their  leave.  The  General,  who  was  a 
bachelor  for  the  nonce,  remained  awhile,  and  we  three  prattled 
over  cheroots  in  Philip's  smoking-room.  It  was  a  night  like  a 
hundred  I  have  spent  there,  and  yet  how  well  I  remember  it! 
We  talked  about  Philip's  future  prospects,  and  he  communicated 
his  intentions  to  us  in  his  lordly  way.  As  for  practising  at  the 
bar:  "  No,  sir,"  he  said,  in  reply  to  General  Ba3'nes's  queries, 
"  he  should  not  make  much  hand  of  that ;  shouldn't  if  he  were 
ever  so  poor.  He  had  his  own  money,  and  his  father's  ;  "  and 
he  condescended  to  say  that  "  he  might,  perhaps,  try  for  Par- 
liament should  an  eligible  opportunity  offer."  "  Here's  a  fellow 
born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  his  mouth,"  says  the  General,  as 
we  walked  away  together.  ' '  A  fortune  to  begin  with  ;  a  for- 
tune to  inherit.  My  fortune  was  two  thousand  pounds,  and 
the  price  of  my  two  first  commissions  ;  and  when  I  die  my 
children  will  not  be  quite  so  well  off  as  their  father  \^as  when 
he  began  !  " 

Having  parted  with  the  old  officer  at  his  modest  sleeping 
quarters  near  his  club,  I  walked  to  m3'  own  home,  little  think- 
ing that  yonder  cigar,  of  which  I  had  shaken  some  of  the  ashes 
in  Philip's  smoking-room,  was  to  be  the  last  tobacco  I  ever 
should  smoke  there.  The  pipe  was  smoked  out.  The  wine 
was  drunk.  When  that  door  closed  on  me,  it  closed  for  the 
last  time  —  at  least  was  never  more  to  admit  me  as  Philip's,  as 
Dr.  Firmin's,  guest  and  friend.  I  pass  the  place  often  now. 
My  3'outh  comes  back  to  me  as  I  gaze  at  those  blank,  shining 
windows.  I  see  myself  a  bo3'  and  Philip  a  child ;  and  his  fair 
mother ;  and  his  father,  the  hospitable,  the  melancholy,  the 
magnificent.  I  wish  I  could  have  helped  him.  I  wish  some- 
how he  had  borrowed  mone3'.  He  never  did.  He  gave  me  his 
often.  I  have  never  seen  him  since  that  night  when  his  own 
door  closed  upon  him. 


ON  HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  265 

On  the  second  day  after  the  doctor's  departure,  as  I  was  at 
breakfast  with  my  famil}',  I  received  the  following  letter :  — 

"  My  dear  Pendennis,  —  Could  I  have  seen  you  in  private  on  Tuesday 
niglit,  I  might  liave  warned  you  of  the  calamity  which  was  hanging  over 
my  house.  But  to  what  good  end  i  That  you  should  know  a  few  weeks, 
hours,  before  what  all  the  world  will  ring  with  to-morrow  ?  Neitlier  you 
nor  I,  nor  one  whom  we  both  love,  would  have  been  the  happier  for  know- 
ing my  misfortunes  a  few  hours  sooner.  In  four-and-twenty  hours  every 
club  in  London  will  be  busy  with  talk  of  the  departure  of  the  celebrated 
Dr.  Firmin — the  wealtliy  Dr.  Firmin ;  a  few  months  more  and  (I  have 
strict  and  conjidential  reason  to  believe)  hereditary  rank  would  liave  been 
mine,  but  Sir  George  Firmin  would  have  been  an  insolvent  man,  and  his 
son  Sir  Philip  a  beggar.  Perhaps  the  thought  of  this  honor  has  been  one 
of  the  reasons  which  has  determined  me  on  expatriating  myself  sooner 
than  I  otherwise  needed  to  have  done. 

"  George  Firmin,  the  honored,  the  wealthy  physician,  and  his  son  a 
beggar  ?  I  see  you  are  startled  at  the  news  !  You  wonder  how,  with  a 
great  practice,  and  no  great  ostensible  expenses,  such  ruin  should  have 
come  upon  me  —  upon  him.  It  has  seemed  as  if  for  years  past  Fate  has 
been  determined  to  make  war  upon  George  Brand  Firmin ;  and  who  can 
battle  against  Fate  1  A  man  universally  admitted  to  be  of  good  judgment, 
I  have  embarked  in  mercantile  speculations  the  most  promising.  Every- 
thing upon  which  I  laid  my  hand  has  crumbled  to  ruin  ;  but  I  can  say  with 
the  Roman  bard  '  Impavidum  ferient  ruinxe.'  And,  almost  j^enniiess,  almost 
aged,  an  exile  driven  from  my  country,  I  seek  another  where  I  do  not  de- 
spair—  /  even  have  ajirm  belief  that  I  shall  be  enabled  to  repair  my  shat- 
tered fortunes  !  My  race  has  never  been  deficient  in  courage,  and  Philip 
and  Philip's  father  must  use  all  theirs,  so  as  to  be  enabled  to  face  the  dark 
times  which  menace  them.  Si  celeres  guatit  pennas  Fortima,  we  must  resign 
what  she  gave  us,  and  bear  our  calamity  with  unshaken  hearts ! 

"  There  is  a  man,  I  own  to  you,  whom  I  cannot,  I  must  not  face.  Gen- 
eral Baynes  has  just  come  from  India,  with  but  very  small  savings,  I  fear; 
and  these  are  jeopardized  by  his  imprudence  and  my  most  cruel  and  un- 
expected misfortune.  I  need  not  tell  you  that  my  all  would  have  been  my 
boy's.  My  will,  made  long  since,  will  be  found  in  the  tortoise-shell  secre- 
taire standing  in  my  consulting-room  under  the  picture  of  Abraham  offer- 
ing up  Isaac.  In  it  you  will  see  that  everything  except  annuities  to  old 
and  deserving  servants  and  a  legacy  to  one  excellent  and  faithful  woman 
whom  I  own  I  have  wronged  —  my  all,  which  once  was  considerable,  zs 
lefi  to  my  hoy. 

"  I  am  now  worth  less  than  notliing,  and  have  compromised  Philip's 
property  along  with  my  own.  As  a  man  of  business.  General  Baynes, 
Colonel  Ringwood's  old  companion  in  arms,  was  culpably  careless,  and  I 
—  alas!  that  I  must  own  it — deceived  him.  Being  the  only  surviving 
trustee  (Mrs.  Philip  Ringwood's  other  trustee  was  an  unprincipled  attorney 
who  has  been  long  dead),  General  B.  signed  a  paper  authorizing,  as  he 
imagined,  my  bankers  to  receive  Philip's  dividends,  but,  in  fact,  giving  me 
the  power  to  dispose  of  the  capital  sum.  On  my  honor,  as  a  man,  as  a 
gentleman,  as  a  father,  Pendennis,  I  hoped  to  replace  it !  I  took  it ;  I 
embarked  it  in  speculations  in  which  it  sank  down  with  ten  times  the 
amount  of  my  own  private  property.  Half-year  after  half-j^ear,  with 
straitened  means  and  with  the  greatest  difficalty  to  mi/setf,  my  poor  boy  has 
had  his  dividend ;  and  he  at  least  has  never  known  what  was  want  or  anx- 
iety until  now.     Want  1     Anxiety  'i     Pray  Heaven  he  never  may  suffer 


266  THE   ADVENTURES  OF   PHILIP 

the  sleepless  anguisli,  the  racking  care  which  has  pursued  me !  *  Past. 
equileni  seikt  aim  cura,'  our  favorite  poet  says.  Ah  !  how  truly,  too,  does 
lie  remark,  '  Palrice  qiiis  exul.  se  quocjue  fuijit?'  Think  j'ou  where  I  go  grief 
and  remorse  will  not  follow  ;iie  1  Tliey  will  never  leave  me  until  I  shall 
return  to  this  country — for  that  I  shall  return,  my  heart  tells  me —  until 
I  can  reimburse  General  Baynes,  who  stands  indebted  to  Piiilip  through 
his  incautiousness  and  my  ovei-powering  necessity;  and  my  lieart — an 
erring  but  fond  father's  heart  —  tells  me  that  my  boy  will  not  eventually 
lose  a  penny  by  my  misfortune. 

"  I  own,  between  ourselves,  that  this  illness  of  the  Grand  Duke  of 
GriJningen  was  a  pretext  which  I  put  forward.  You  will  liear  of  me  ere 
long  from  the  place  whither  for  some  time  past  I  have  determined  on 
bending  my  steps.  I  placed  100/.  on  Saturday,  to  Philip's  credit,  at  his 
banker's.  I  take  little  more  than  that  sum  with  me  ;  depressed,  yet  full  of 
hope ;  liaving  done  wrong,  yet  cltcrmined  to  retrieve  it,  and  vowinj  that  ere 
I  die  my  poor  boy  shall  not  have  to  blush  at  bearing  the  name  of 

"  Geokge  Brand  Firmin. 

"  Good-by,  dear  Philip !  Your  old  friend  will  tell  you  of  my  misfor- 
tunes. When  I  write  again,  it  will  be  to  tell  you  wliex'e  to  address  me ; 
and  wherever  I  am,  or  whatever  misfortuues  oppress  me,  tliink  of  rae 
always  as  your  fond  Father." 


I  had  scarce  read  this  awful  letter  when  Philip  Firmin 
himself  came  into  our  breakfast-room  looking  very  much  dis- 
turbed. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

SAMARITANS.  ' 

The  children  trotted  up  to  their  friend  with  outstretched 
hands  and  their  usual  smiles  of  welcome.  Philip  patted  their 
heads,  and  sat  down  with  very  woe-begone  aspect  at  the  family 
table.     "  Ah,  friends,"  said  he,  "■  do  you  know  all?" 

"Yes,  we  do,"  said  Laura,  sadly,  who  has  ever  compassion 
for  others'  misfortunes. 

"  What !  is  it  all  over  the  town  already?  "  asked  poor  Philip. 

"We  have  a  letter  from  j'our  father  this  morning."  And 
we  brought  the  letter  to  him,  and  showed  him  the  affectionate 
special  message  for  himself. 

"  His  last  thought  was  for  j-ou,  Phihp  !  "  cries  Laura.  "  See 
here,  those  last  kind  words  !  " 

Philip  shook  his  liead.  "  It  is  not  untrue,  what  is  written 
here  :  but  it  is  not  all  the  truth."     And  Philip  Firmin  dismayed 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  267 

us  by  the  intelligence  which  he  proceeded  to  give.  There  was 
an  execution  in  the  house  fn  Old  Parr  Street.  A  hundred 
clamorous  creditors  had  alread}'  appeared  there.  Before  going 
awa}',  the  doctor  had  taken  considerable  sums  from  those  dan- 
gerous financiers  to  whom  he  had  been  of  late  resorting.  They 
were  in  possession  of  numberless  lately-  signed  bills,  upon  which 
the  desperate  man  had  raised  monej'.  He  had  professed  to 
share  with  Philip,  but  he  had  taken  the  great  share,  and  left 
Philip  two  hundred  pounds  of  his  own  money.  All  the  rest 
was  gone.  All  Phihp's  stock  had  been  sold  out.  The  father's 
fraud  had  made  him  master  of  the  trustee's  signature  :  and 
Phihp  Firmiu,  reputed  to  be  so  wealthy,  was  a  beggar,  iu  my 
room.  Luckily  he  had  few,  or  very  trifling  debts.  Mr.  Philip 
had  a  lordlj*  impatience  of  indebtedness,  and,  with  a  good 
bachelor-income,  had  paid  for  all  his  pleasures  as  he  enjo^'ed 
them. 

Well !  He  must  work.  A  young  man  ruined  at  two-and- 
twent}',  with  a  couple  of  hundred  pounds  yet  in  his  pocket, 
hardl}'  knows  that  he  is  ruined.  He  will  sell  his  horses  —  live 
in  chambers  —  has  enough  to  go  on  for  a  year.  "  When  I  am 
very  hard  put  to  it,"  says  Philip,  "I  will  come  and  dine  with 
the  children  at  one.  I  dare  say  you  haven't  dined  much  at 
WilUams's  in  the  Old  Bailey?  You  can  get  a  famous  dinner 
there  for  a  shilling  —  beef,  bread,  potatoes,  beer,  and  a  penny 
for  the  waiter."  Yes,  Philip  seemed  actually  to  enjoy  his  dis- 
comfiture. It  was  long  since  we  had  seen  him  in  such  spirits. 
"  The  weight  is  off  my  mind  now.  It  has  been  throttling  me 
for  some  time  past.  Without  understanding  whj'  or  wherefore, 
I  have  always  been  looking  out  for  this.  My  poor  father  had 
ruin  written  in  his  face :  and  when  those  bailiffs  made  their 
appearance  in  Old  Parr  Street  3'esterday,  I  felt  as  if  I  had 
known  them  before.  I  had  seen  their  hooked  beaks  in  my 
dreams." 

"That  unlucky  General  Baynes,  when  he  accepted  your 
mother's  trust,  took  it  with  its  consequences.  If  the  sentry 
falls  asleep  on  his  post,  he  must  pay  the  penalty,"  says  Mr. 
Pendennis,  ver}'  severeh'. 

"Great  powers,  you  would  not  have  me  come  down 
on  an  old  man  with  a  large  family,  and  ruin  them  all?"  cries 
Philip. 

"No:  I  don't  think  Philip  will  do  that,"  says  my  wife, 
looking  exceedingly  pleased. 

"If  men  accept  trusts  they  must  fulfil  them,  my  dear," 
cries  the  master  of  the  house. 


268  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

"  And  I  must  make  that  old  gentleman  suffer  for  my  father's 
wrong?     If  I  do,  may  I  starve  !  there  !  "  cries  Philip. 

"And  so  that  poor  Little  Sister  has  made  her  sacrifice  in 
vain  !  "  sighed  m}^  wife.  "  As  for  the  father  —  oh,  Arthur  !  I 
can't  tell  you  how  odious  that  man  was  to  me.  There  was 
something  dreadful  about  him.  And  in  his  mauuer  to  women 
—  oh!  —  " 

"  If  he  had  been  a  black  draught,  my  dear,  you  could  not 
have  shuddered  more  naturally." 

' '  Well,  he  was  horrible  ;  and  I  know  Philip  will  be  better 
now  he  is  gone." 

Women  often  make  light  of  ruin.  Give  them  but  the  be- 
loved  objects,  and  povert}'  is  a  trifling  sorrow  to  bear.  As  for 
Phihp,  he,  as  we  have  said,  is  gayer  than  he  has  been  for  3'ears 
past.  The  doctor's  flight  occasions  not  a  little  club  talk  :  but, 
now  he  is  gone,  many  people  see  quite  well  that  they  were  aware 
of  his  insolvenc}',  and  always  knew  it  must  end  so.  The  case 
is  told,  is  canvassed,  is  exaggerated  as  such  cases  will  be.  I 
dare  saj-  it  forms  a  week's  talk.  But  people  know  that  poor 
Philip  is  his  father's  largest  creditor,  and  eye  the  3'oung  man 
with  no  unfriendly  looks  when  he  comes  to  his  club  after  his 
mishap,  — with  burning  cheeks,  and  a  tingling  sense  of  shame, 
imagining  that  all  the  world  will  point  at  and  avoid  him  as  the 
guilty  fugitive's  son. 

No :  the  world  takes  very  little  heed  of  his  misfortune. 
One  or  two  old  acquaintances  are  kinder  to  him  than  before. 
A  few  say  his  ruin,  and  his  obligation  to  work,  wifl  do  him 
good.  Onlj'  a  very  ver}'  few  avoid  him,  and  look  unconscious 
as  he  passes  them  by.  Amongst  these  cold  countenances,  30U, 
of  course,  will  recognize  the  faces  of  the  whole  Twysden  famil3^ 
Three  statues,  with  marble  e3'es,  could  not  look  more  stou}'- 
calm  than  Aunt  Twysden  and  her  two  daughters,  as  thej'  pass 
in  the  stately  barouche.  The  gentlemen  turn  red  when  the}' 
see  Philip.  It  is  rather  late  times  for  Uncle  Tw^'sden  to  begin 
blushing,  to  be  sure.  "Hang  the  fellow!  he  will,  of  course, 
be  coming  for  mone}'.  Dawkins,  I  am  not  at  home,  mind, 
when  3'oung  Mr.  Firmin  calls."  So  says  Lord  Ringwood  re- 
garding Philip  fallen  among  thieves.  Ah,  thanks  to  Heaven, 
travellers  find  Samaritans  as  well  as  Levites  on  life's  hard  way  ! 
Philip  told  us  with  much  humor  of  a  rencontre  which  he  had  had 
with  his  cousin,  Ringwood  Twjsden,  in  a  public  place.  Twys- 
den was  enjoying  himself  with  some  3'oung  clerks  of  his  oflSce  ; 
but  as  Philip  advanced  upon  him,  assuming  his  fiercest  scowl 
and  most  hectoring  manner,  the  other  lost  heart,  and  fled.     And 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  269 

no  wonder,  "Do  you  suppose,"  says  Twj^sden,  "I  will  will- 
ingly sit  in  the  same  room  with  that  cad,  after  the  manner 
in  which  he  has  treated  my  famil}- !  No,  sir  !  "  And  so  the 
tall  door  in  Beaunash  Street  is  to  open  for  Philip  Firmin  no 
more. 

The  tall  .door  in  Beaunash  Street  flies  open  readily  enough 
for  another  gentleman.  A  splendid  cab-horse  reins  up  before 
it  every  da}- .  A  pair  of  varnished  boots  leap  out  of  the  cab, 
and  spring  up  the  broad  stairs,  where  somebody  is  waiting 
with  a  smile  of  genteel  welcome  —  the  same  smile  —  on  the 
same  sofa  —  the  same  mamma  at  her  table  writing  her  letters. 
And  beautiful  bouquets  from  Covent  Garden  decorate  the  room. 
And  after  half  an  hour  mamma  goes  out  to  speak  to  the  house- 
keeper, vous  comprenez.  And  there  is  nothing  particularly  new 
under  the  sun.  It  will  shine  to-morrow  upon  prett}'  much  the 
same  flowers,  sports,  pastimes,  &c,  which  it  illuminated  yes- 
terday. And  when  your  love-making  days  are  over,  miss,  and 
3'ou  are  married,  and  advantageousl}'  established,  shall  not 
your  little  sisters,  now  in  the  nursery',  trot  down  and  play  their 
little  games?  Would  you  on  your  conscience,  now — you  who 
are  rather  incliued  to  consider  Miss  Agnes  Twj-sden's  conduct 
as  heartless  —  would  you,  I  sa^-,  have  her  cry  her  pretty  eyes 
out  about  a  young  man  who  does  not  care  much  for  her,  for 
whom  she  never  did  care  much  herself,  and  who  is  now,  moreover, 
a  beggar,  with  a  ruined  and  disgraced  father  and  a  doubtful 
legitimacy?  Absurd!  That  dear  girl  is  like  a  beautiful  fra- 
grant bower-room  at  the  "  Star  and  Garter"  at  Richmond,  with 
honeysuckles  mayhap  trailing  round  the  windows,  from  which 
you  behold  one  of  the  most  lovely  and  pleasant  of  wood  and 
river  scenes.  The  tables  are  decorated  with  flowers,  rich  wine- 
cups  sparkle  on  the  board,  and  Captain  Jones's  party  have 
everything  they  can  desire.  Their  dinner  over  and  that  com- 
pany gone,  the  same  waiters,  the  same  flowers,  the  same  cups 
and  crystals,  array  themselves  for  Mr,  Brown  and  his  party. 
Or,  if  you  won't  haA'e  Agnes  Twysden  compared  to  the  "  Star 
and  Garter  Tavern,"  which  must  admit  mixed  company,  liken 
her  to  the  chaste  moon  who  shines  on  shepherds  of  all  com- 
plexions, swarthy  or  fair. 

When  oppressed  b}-  superior  odds,  a  commander  is  forced 
to  retreat,  we  like  him  to  show  his  skill  by  carrying  oft'  his  guns, 
treasure,  and  camp  equipages.  Doctor  Firmin,  beaten  by  for- 
tune and  compelled  to  fly,  showed  quite  a  splendid  skill  and 
coolness  in  his  manner  of  decamping,  and  left  the  very  smallest 
amount  of  spoils  in  the  hands  of  the  victorious  enemy.     His 


270  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

wines  had  been  famous  amongst  the  grave  epicures  with  whom 
he  dined :  he  used  to  boast,  Uke  a  worthy  hon  vivant  who  knows 
the  value  of  wine-conversation  after  dinner,  of  the  quantities 
which  he  possessed,  and  the  rare  bins  which  he  had  in  store  ; 
but  when  tlie  executioners  came  to  arrange  his  sale,  there  was 
found  only  a  beggarly-  account  of  empty  bottles,  and  I  fear 
some  of  the  unprincipled  creditors  put  in  a  great  quantit3^  of 
bad  liquor  which  they  endeavored  to  foist  off'  on  the  public  as 
the  genuine  and  carefullv  selected  stock  of  a  well-known  con- 
noisseur. News  of  this  dishonest  proceeding  reached  Dr.  Fir- 
min  presentl}'  in  his  retreat ;  and  he  showed  b}^  his  letter  a 
generous  and  manl}-  indignation  at  the  manner  in  which  his 
creditors  had  tampered  with  his  honest  name  and  reputation  as 
a  hon  vivant.  He  have  bad  wine  !  For  shame  !  He  had  the 
best  from  the  best  wine-merchant,  and  paid,  or  rather  owed, 
the  best  prices  for  it ;  for  of  late  years  the  doctor  had  paid  no 
bills  at  all  :  and  the  wine-merchant  api^eared  in  quite  a  hand- 
some group  of  figures  in  his  schedule.  In  like  manner  his  books 
were  pawned  to  a  book  auctioneer ;  and  Brice,  the  butler,  had 
a  bill  of  sale  for  the  furniture.  Firmin  retreated,  we  will  not 
say  with  the  honors  of  war,  but  as  little  harmed  as  possible  by- 
defeat.  Did  the  enemy  want  the  plunder  of  his  city?  He  had 
smuggled  almost  all  his  valuable  goods  over  the  wall.  Did  they 
desire  his  ships?  He  had  sunk  them  :  and  when  at  length  the 
conquerors  poured  into  his  stronghold,  he  was  far  beyond  the 
reach  of  their  shot.  Don't  we  often  hear  still  that  Nana  Sahib 
is  alive  and  exceedingl}' comfortable ?  We  do  not- love  him; 
but  we  can't  help  having  a  kind  of  admiration  for  that  slippery 
fugitive  who  has  escaped  from  the  dreadful  jaws  of  the  lion. 
In  a  word,  when  Firmin's  furniture  came  to  be  sold,  it  was  a 
marvel  how  little  his  creditors  benefited  \>j  the  sale.  Con- 
temptuous brokers  declared  there  never  was  such  a  shabby  lot 
of  goods.  A  friend  of  the  house  and  poor  Philip  bought  in  his 
mother's  picture  for  a  few  guineas  ;  and  as  for  the  doctor's  own 
state  portrait,  I  am  afraid  it  went  for  a  few  shillings  only,,  and 
in  the  midst  of  a  roar  of  Hebrew  laughter.  I  saw  in  Wardour 
Street,  not  long  after,  the  doctor's  sideboard,  and  what  dealers 
cheerfully  call  the  sarcophagus  cellaret.  Poor  doctor  !  his  wine 
was  all  drunken  ;  his  meat  was  eaten  up  ;  but  his  own  bod}'-  had 
slipped  out  of  the  reach  of  the  hook-beaked  birds  of  prey. 

We  had  spoken  rapidly  in  undertones,  innocently  believing 
that  the  young  people  round  about  us  were  taking  no  heed  of 
our  talk.  But  in  a  lull  of  the  conversation,  Mr.  Pendennis 
junior,  who  had  always  been  a  friend  to  Philip,  broke  out  with  — 


ON  HIS  WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  271 

"  Philip  !  if  30U  are  so  very  poor,  j'ou'll  be  hungry-,  30U  know, 
and  you  ma^"  have  m3^  piece  of  bread  and  jam.  And  I  don't 
want  it,  mamma,"  he  added  ;  "  and  you  know  PhiUp  has  often 
and  often  given  me  things." 

Pliilip  stooped  down  and  kissed  this  good  little  Samaritan. 
"  I'm  not  hungry.  Art}',  m}'  boy,"  he  said;  "  and  I'm  not  so 
poor  but  I  have  got  —  look  here  —  a  fine  new  shilling  for  Arty  !  " 

"■  Oh,  Philip,  Phihp  !  "  cried  mamma. 

"  Don't  take  the  mone}-,  Arthur,"  cried  papa. 

And  the  bo^'  with  a  rueful  face  but  a  manl}-  heart,  prepared 
to  give  back  the  coin.  "  It's  quite  a  new  one  ;  and  it's  a  very 
pretty  one  :  but  I  won't  have  it,  Philip,  thank  30U,"  he  said, 
turning  ver^'  red. 

"  If  he  won't,  I  vow  I  will  give  it  to  the  cabman,"  said 
PhiUp. 

"  Keeping  a  cab  all  this  while?  Oh,  Philip,  Philip  !  "  again 
cries  mamma,  the  economist. 

"  Loss  of  time  is  loss  of  money,  my  dear  lad},"  saj-s  Philip, 
very  gravely.  "  I  have  ever  so  many  places  to  go  to.  When 
I  am  set  in  for  being  ruined,  30U  shall  see  what  a  screw  I  will 
become  !  I  must  go  to  Mrs.  Brandon,  who  will  be  verj-  uneasy, 
poor  dear,  until  she  knows  the  worst." 

"  Oh,  Philip,  I  should  like  so  to  go  with  you  !  "  cries  Laura. 
"  Pray,  give  her  our  ver}'  best  regards  and  respects." 

'•'■Mercl .'  "  said  the  young  man,  and  squeezed  Mrs.  Penden- 
nis's  hand  in  his  own  big  one.  "  I  will  take  your  message  to 
her,  Laura.     J'aime  qu'on  I'aime,  savez-voiis  ?  " 

"  That  means,  I  love  those  who  love  her,"  cries  little  Laura  ; 
"  but  I  don't  know,"  remarked  this  little  person  afterwards  to 
her  paternal  confidant,  "that  1  like  all  people  to  love  my 
mamma.  That  is,  I  don't  like  her  to  like  them,  papa  —  onl}^ 
you  may,  papa,  and  Ethel  may,  and  Arthur  may,  and,  I  think, 
Philip  may,  now  he  is  poor  and  quite,  quite  alone  —  and  we  will 
take  care  of  him,  won't  we?  And,  I  think  I'll  bu^^  him  some- 
thing with  my  money  which  Aunt  Ethel  gave  me." 

"  And  I'll  give  him  ray  money,"  cries  a  bo}-. 

"  And  I'll  div  him  my  —  my  —  "  Psha  !  what  matters  what 
the  little  sweet  lips  prattled  in  their  artless  kindness  ?  But  the 
soft  words  of  love  and  pit}-  smote  the  mother's  heart  with  an 
exquisite  pang  of  gratitude  and  joy  ;  and  I  know  where  her 
thanks  were  paid  for  those  tender  words  and  thoughts  of  her 
little  ones. 

Mrs.  Pendennis  made  Philip  promise  to  come  to  dinner,  and 
also  to  remember  not  to  take  a  cab  —  which  promise  Mr.  Firmia 


272  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

had  not  much  difficulty  in  executing,  for  he  had  but  a  few  hun- 
dred yards  to  vfa\k  across  the  Parle  from  his  club  ;  and  I  must 
say  that  my  wife  took  a  special  care  of  our  dinner  that  da}-, 
preparing  for  Philip  certain  dishes  which  she  knew  he  liked, 
and  enjoining  the  butler  of  the  establishment  (who  also  hap- 
pened to  be  the  owner  of  the  house)  to  fetch  from  his  cellar  the 
very  choicest  wine  in  his  possession. 

I  have  previously  described  our  friend  and  his  boisterous, 
impetuous,  generous  nature.  When  Philip  was  moved,  he  called 
to  all  the  world  to  witness  his  emotion.  When  he  was  angry, 
his  enemies  were  all  the  rogues  and  scoundrels  in  the  world. 
He  vowed  he  would  have  no  mercy  on  them,  and  desired  all  his 
acquaintances  to  participate  in  his  anger.  How  could  such  an 
open-mouthed  son  have  had  such  a  close-spoken  father  ?  I  dare 
say  you  have  seen  very  well-bred  young  people,  the  children  of 
vulgar  and  ill-bred  parents  ;  the  swaggering  father  have  a  silent 
son  ;  the  loud  mother  a  modest  daughter.  Our  friend  is  not 
Amadis  or  Sir  Charles  Grandison  ;  and  I  don't  set  him  up  for  a 
moment  as  a  person  to  be  revered  or  imitated;  but  try  to  draw 
him  faithfully  and  as  nature  made  him.  As  nature  made  him, 
so  he  was.  I  don't  think  he  tried  to  improve  himself  much. 
Perhaps  few  people  do.  They  suppose  they  do  :  and  you  read, 
in  apologetic  memoirs,  and  fond  biographies,  how  this  man  cured 
his  bad  temper,  and  t'other  worked  and  strove  until  he  grew  to 
be  almost  faultless.  Very  well  and  good,  my  good  people. 
You  can  learn  a  language  ;  you  can  master  a  science  ;  I  have 
heard  of  an  old  squaretoes  of  sixt}'  who  learned,  by  study  and 
intense  application,  ver}^  satisfactoril}' to  dance;  but  can  you, 
by  taking  thought,  add  to  your  moral  stature  ?  Ah  me  !  the 
doctor  who  preaches  is  only  taller  than  most  of  us  by  the  height 
of  the  pulpit :  and  wlien  he  steps  down,  I  dare  say  he  cringes 
to  the  duchess,  growls  at  his  children,  scolds  his  wife  about  the 
dinner.  All  is  vanity,  look  you  :  and  so  the  preacher  is  vanit}', 
too. 

"  Well,  then,  I  must  again  say  that  Philip  roared  his  griefs  : 
he  shouted  his  laughter :  he  bellowed  his  applause :  he  was 
extravagant  in  his  humility  as  in  his  pride,  in  his  admiration 
of  his  friends  and  contempt  for  his  enemies  :  I  dare  say  not  a 
just  man,  but  I  have  met  juster  men  not  half  so  honest ;  and 
certainl}^  not  a  faultless  man,  though  I  know  better  men  not 
near  so  good.  So,  I  believe,  m}'  wife  thinks  :  else  why  should 
she  be  so  fond  of  him  ?  Did  we  not  know  bo^^s  who  never  went 
out  of  bounds,  and  never  were  late  for  school,  and  never  made 
a  false  "concord  or  quantitj',  and  never  came  under  the  ferule ; 


"Good  Samaritans." 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  273 

and  others  who  were  alwa^'s  playing  truant,  and  bhindering, 
and  being  whipped ;  and  3-et,  somehow,  was  not  Mastei 
Naughty boj'  better  lilted  than  Master  Goodcliild?  When  Mas- 
ter Naughty  boy  came  to  dine  with  us  on  the  first  day  of  his 
ruin,  he  bore  a  face  of  radiant  happiness  —  he  laughed,  he 
bounced  about,  he  caressed  the  children  ;  now  he  took  a  couple 
on  his  knees  ;  now  he  tossed  the  baby  to  the  ceiling  ;  now  he 
sprawled  over  a  sofa,  and  now  he  rode  upon  a  chair  ;  never  was 
a  penniless  gentleman  more  cheerful.  As  for  his  dinner,  Phil's 
appetite  was  always  fine,  but  on  this  day  an  o'gre  could 
scarcely  play  a  more  terrible  knife  and  fork.  He  asked  for 
more  and  more,  until  his  entertainers  wondered  to  behold  him. 
"  Dine  for  to-day  and  to-morrow  too  ;  can't  expect  such  fare  as 
this  every  da}-,  you  know.  This  claret,  how  good  it  is  !  May 
I  pack  some  up  in  [japer,  and  take  it  home  with  me  ? "  The 
children  roared  with  laughter  at  this  admirable  idea  of  carrying 
home  wine  in  a  sheet  of  paper.  I  don't  know  that  it  is  always 
at  the  best  jokes  that  children  laugh  :  —  children  and  wise  men 
too. 

When  we  three  were  by  ourselves,  and  freed  from  the 
company  of  servants  and  children,  our  friend  told  us  the  cause 
of  his  ga3-ety.  "  By  George  !  "  he  swore,  "  it  is  worth  being 
ruined  to  find  such  good  people  in  the  world.  My  clear,  kind 
Laura  "  —  here  the  gentleman  brushes  his  eyes  with  his  fist  — 
"  it  was  as  much  as  I  could  do  this  morning  to  prevent  mj'self 
from  hugging  you  in  my  arms,  j'ou  were  so  generous,  and  —  and 
so  kind,  and  so  tender,  and  so  good,  by  George.  And  after 
leaving  you,  where  do  you  think  I  went?  " 

"  I  think  I  can  guess,  Philip,"  says  Laura. 

"Well,"  says  Philip,  winking  his  eyes  again,  and  tossing 
off  a  great  bumper  of  wine,  "  I  went  to  her,  of  course.  I  think 
she  is  the  best  friend  I  have  in  the  world.  The  old  man  was 
out,  and  I  told  her  about  everything  that  had  happened.  And 
what  do  3-ou  think  she  has  done?  She  says  she  has  been  ex- 
pecting me  —  she  has  ;  and  she  has  gone  and  fitted  up  a  room 
with  a  nice  little  bexl  at  the  top  of  the  house,  with  everything  as 
neat  and  trim  as  possible  ;  and  she  begged  and  praj'ed  I  would 
go  and  stay  with  her  —  and  I  said  I  would,  to  please  her.  And 
then  she  takes  me  down  to  her  room  ;  and  she  jumps  up  to  a 
cupboard,  which  she  unlocks  ;  and  she  opens  and  takes  three- 
and-twenty  pounds  out  of  a  —  out  of  a  tea  —  out  of  a  tea-caddy  — 
confound  me  !  — and  she  says,  '  Here,  Philip,'  she  says,  and  — 
Boo  !  what  a  fool  I  am  !  "  and  here  the  orator  fairl}'  broke  down 
in  his  speech. 

18 


274  THE  ADVENTURES  OF   PHILIP 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

rN  WHICH   PHILIP   SHOWS   HIS   METTLE. 

"When  the  poor  Little  Sister  proffered  her  mite,  her  all,  to 
Philip,  I  dare  say  some  sentimental  passages  occurred  between 
them  which  are  much  too  trivial  to  be  narrated.  No  doubt  her 
pleasure  would  have  been  at  that  moment  to  give  him  not  only 
that  gold  which  she  had  been  saving  up  against  rent-da}',  but 
the  spoons,  the  furniture,  and  all  the  valuables  of  the  house, 
including,  perhaps,  J.  J's  bric-a-brac,  cabinets,  china,  and  so 
forth.  To  perform  a  kindness,  an  act  of  self-sacrifice  ;  —  are 
not  these  the  most  delicious  privileges  of  female  tenderness? 
Philip  checked  his  little  friend's  enthusiasm.  He  showed  her 
a  purse  full  of  money,  at  which  sight  the  poor  little  soul  was 
rather  disappointed.  He  magnified  the  value  of  his  horses, 
which,  according  to  Philip's  calculation,  were  to  bring  him  at 
least  two  hundred  pounds  more  than  the  stock  which  he  had 
already  in  hand  ;  and  the  master  of  such  a  sum  as  this,  she  was 
forced  to  confess,  had  no  need  to  despair.  Indeed,  she  had 
never  in  her  life  possessed  the  half  of  it.  Her  kind  dear  little 
oflTer  of  a  home  in  her  house  he  would  accept  sometinies,  and 
with  gratitude.  Well,  there  w^as  a  little  consolation  in  that. 
In  a  moment  that  active  little  housekeeper  saw  the  room  ready  ; 
flowers  on  the  mantel-piece  ;  his  looking-glass,  which  her  father 
could  do  quite  well  with  the  little  one,  as  he  was  always  shaved 
by  the  barber  now;  the  quilted  counterpane,  which  she  had  her- 
self made  :  —  I  know  not  what  more  improvements  she  devised  ; 
and  I  fear  that  at  the  idea  of  having  Philip  with  her,  this  little 
thing  was  as  extravagantly-  and  unreasonably  happy  as  we  have 
just  now  seen  Philip  to  be.  What  was  that  last  dish  which 
Psetus  and  Arria  shared  in  common  ?  I  have  lost  my  Lempriere's 
dictionary  (that  treasury  of  my  youth ) ,  and  forget  whether  it 
was  a  cold  dagger  aW  naturel^  or  a  dish  of  hot  coals  a  la  Ro- 
maine,  of  which  they  partook  ;  but,  whatever  it  was,  she  smiled, 
and  delightedly  received  it,  happy  to  share  the  beloved  one's 
fortune. 

Yes :  Philip  would  come  home  to  his  Little  Sister  some- 
times :  sometimes  of  a  Saturday,  and  they  would  go  to  church 
on  Sunda}',  as  he  used  to  do  when  he  was  a  boy  at  school. 
"  But  then,  you  know,"  says  Phil,  "  law  is  law  ;  study  is  study. 


ON  HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  275 

1  must  devote  my  whole  energies  to  my  work  —  get  up  very 

early." 

"Don't  tire  your  eyes,  my  dear,"  interposes  Mr.  Philip's 

soft,  judicious  friend. 

"There  must  be  no  trifling  with  work,"  says  Philip,  with 
awful  gravity.  "  There's  Benton  the  Judge  :  Benton  and  Bur- 
bage,  you  know." 

"Oh,  Benton  and  Burbage ! "  whispers  the  Little  Sister, 
not  a  little  bewildered. 

"  How  do  you  suppose  he  became  a  judge  before  forty?" 

"  Before  forty  who?  law  bless  me  !  " 

"  Before  he  was  forty,  Mrs.  Carry.  When  he  came  to  work, 
he  had  his  own  way  to  make  :  just  like  me.  He  had  a  small 
allowance  from  his  father  :  that's  not  like  me.  He  took  cham- 
bers in  the  Temple.  He  went  to  a  pleader's  office.  He  read 
fourteen,  fifteen  hours  every  day.  He  dined  on  a  cup  of  tea 
and  a  mutton-chop." 

"  La,  bless  me,  child!  I  wouldn't  have  you  to  do  that,  not 
to  be  Lord  Chamberlain  —  Chancellor  what's  his  name  ?  De- 
stroy your  youth  with  reading,  and  your  eyes,  and  go  without 
your  dinner?  You're  not  used  to  that  sort  of  thing,  dear  ;  and 
it  would  kill  you  !  " 

Philip  smoothed  his  fair  hair  off  his  ample  forehead,  and 
nodded  his  head,  smiling  sweetly.  I  think  his  inward  monitor 
hinted  to  him  tliat  there  was  not  much  danger  of  his  killing 
himself  by  over- work.  "To  succeed  at  the  law,  as  in  all 
other  professions,"  he  continued,  with  much  gravity,  "  requires 
the  greatest  perseverance,  and  industiy,  and  talent ;  and  then, 
perhaps,  you  don't  succeed.  Many  have  failed  who  have  had 
all  these  qualities." 

"But  the}'  haven't  talents  like  my  Philip,  I  know  they 
haven't.  And  I  had  to  stand  up  in  a  court  once,  and  was 
cross-examined  b}'  a  vulgar  man  before  a  horrid  deaf  old  judge  ; 
and  I'm  sure  if  your  lawyers  are  like  them  I  don't  wish  you  to 
succeed  at  all.  And  now,  look  !  there's  a  nice  loin  of  pork 
coming  up.  Pa  loves  roast  pork  ;  and  30U  must  come  and 
have  some  with  us  ;  and  every  day  and  all  days,  my  dear,  I 
should  like  to  see  you  seated  there."  And  the  Little  Sister 
frisked  about  here,  and  bustled  there,  and  brought  a  cunning 
bottle  of  wine  from  some  corner,  and  made  the  bo}'  welcome. 
So  that,  you  see,  far  from  starving,  he  actuall}'  had  two  dinners 
on  that  first  day  of  his  ruin. 

Caroline  consented  to  a  compromise  regarding  the  moneys 
on  Philip's  solemn  vow  and  promise  that  she  should  be  his 


276  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

banker  whenever  necessity  called.  She  rather  desired  his 
povertj'  for  the  sake  of  its  precious  reward.  She  hid  awa}^  a 
little  bag  of  gold  for  her  darling's  use  whenever  he  should  need 
it.  I  dare  say  she  pinched  and  had  shabby  dinners  at  home, 
so  as  to  save  yet  more,  and  so  caused  the  Captain  to  grumble. 
Why,  for  that  boy's  sake,  I  believe  she  would  have  been  capa- 
ble of  shaving  her  lodgers'  legs  of  mutton,  and  levying  a  tax 
on  their  tea-caddies  and  baker's  stuff.  If  you  don't  like  un- 
principled attachments  of  this  sort,  and  only  desire  that  your 
womankind  should  love  you  for  yourself,  and  according  to  ^our 
deserts,  I  am  your  ver}'  humble  servant.  Hereditary  bonds- 
women !  you  know,  that  were  you  free,  and  did  j^ou  strike  the 
blow,  ray  dears,  you  were  unhappy  for  3-our  pain,  and  eagerly 
would  ciaim  3'our  bonds  again.  What  poet  has  uttered  that 
sentiment?  It  is  perfectly  tiue,  and  I  know  will  receive  the 
cordial  approbation  of  the  dear  ladies. 

Philip  has  decreed  in  his  own  mind  that  he  will  go  and  live 
in  those  chambers  in  the  Temple  where  we  have  met  him.  Van 
John,  the  sporting  gentleman,  had  determined  for  special  rea- 
sons to  withdraw  from  law  and  sport  in  this  country-,  and  Mr. 
Firmin  took  possession  of  his  vacant  sleeping-cliamber.  To 
furnish  a  bachelor's  bedroom  need  not  be  a  matter  of  much 
cost ;  but  Mr.  Philip  was  too  good-natured  a  fellow  to  haggle 
about  the  valuation  of  Van  John's  bedsteads  and  chests  of 
drawers,  and  generously  took  them  at  twice  theii-  value.  He 
and  Mr.  Cassidy  now  divided  the  rooms  in  equal  reign.  Ah, 
happy  rooms,  bright  rooms,  rooms  near  the  sky,  to  remember 
you  is  to  be  30ung  again  !  for  I  would  have  30U  to  know  that 
when  Philip  went  to  take  possession  of  his  share  of  the  fourth 
floor  in  the  Temple,  his  biographer  was  still  comparativel3' 
juvenile,  and  in  one  or  two  ver3'  old-fashioned  families  was 
called  "  3-oung  Pendennis." 

So  Philip  Firmin  dwelt  in  a  garret ;  and  the  fourth  part  of 
a  laundress  and  the  half  of  a  bo3'  now  formed  the  domestic  es- 
tablishment of  him  who  had  been  attended  b3-  housekeepers, 
butlers,  and  obsequious  liveried  menials.  To  be  freed  from 
that  ceremonial  and  etiquette  of  plush  and  worsted  lace  was  an 
immense  relief  to  Firmin.  His  pipe  need  not  lurk  in  crypts  or 
back  closets  now :  its  fragrance  breathed  over  the  whole  cham- 
bers, and  rose  up  to  the  sk3%  their  near  neighbor. 

The  first  month  or  two  after  being  ruined,  Philip  vowed, 
was  an  uncommonl3'  pleasant  time.  He  had  still  plent3'  of 
mone3^  in  his  pocket ;  and  the  sense  that,  perhaps,  it  was  im- 
prudent to  take  a  cab  or  drink  a  bottle  of  wine,  added  a  zest 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  277 

to  those  enjoj^ments  which  the}'  by  no  means  possessed  when 
the}'  were  eas}'  and  of  dail}'  occurrence.  I  am  not  certain  that 
a  dinner  of  beef  and  porter  did  not  amuse  our  young  man 
ahuost  as  well  as  banquets  much  more  costl}-  to  which  he  had 
been  accustomed.  He  laughed  at  the  pretensions  of  his  boyish 
da^'s,  when  he  and  other  solemn  3'oung  epicures  used  to  sit 
down  to  elaborate  tavern  banquets,  and  pretend  to  criticise 
vintages,  and  sauces,  and  turtle.  As  yet  there  was  not  only 
content  with  his  dinner,  but  plenty  therewith  ;  and  I  do  not 
wish  to  alarm  you  by  supposing  that  Philip  will  ever  have  to 
encounter  an}'  dreadful  extremities  of  poverty  or  hunger  in  the 
course  of  his  history.  The  wine  in  the  jug  was  very  low  at 
times,  but  it  never  was  quite  empty.  This  lamb  was  shorn, 
but  the  wind  was  tempered  to  him. 

So  Philip  took  possession  of  his  I'ooms  in  the  Temple,  and 
began  actuall}'  to  reside  there  just  as  the  long  vacation  com- 
menced, which  he  intended  to  devote  to  a  course  of  serious 
study  of  the  law  and  private  preparation,  before  he  should  ven- 
ture on  the  great  business  of  circuits  and  the  bar.  Nothing  is 
more  necessar}'  for  desk-men  than  exercise,  so  Philip  took  a 
good  deal ;  especial!}'  on  the  water,  where  he  pulled  a  famous 
oar.  Nothing  is  more  natural  after  exercise  than  refreshment ; 
and  Mr.  Firmin,  now  he  was  too  poor  for  claret,  showed  a 
great  capacity  for  beer.  After  beer  and  bodily  labor,  rest,  of 
course,  is  necessary  ;  and  Firmin  slept  nine  hours,  and  looked 
as  rosy  as  a  girl  in  her  first  season.  Then  such  a  man,  with 
such  a  frame  and  health,  must  have  a  good  appetite  for  break- 
fast. And  then  every  man  who  wishes  to  succeed  at  the  bar, 
in  the  senate,  on  the  bench,  in  the  House  of  Peers,  on  the 
Woolsack,  must  know  the  quotidian  history  of  his  country  ;  so, 
of  course,  Philip  read  the  newspaper.  Thus,  you  see,  his  hours 
of  study  were  perforce  curtailed  by  the  necessary  duties  which 
disti'acted  him  from  his  labors. 

It  has  been  said  that  Mr.  Firmin's  companion  in  chambers, 
Mr.  Cassidy,  was  a  native  of  the  neighboring  kingdom  of  Ire- 
land, and  engaged  in  literary  pursuits  in  this  country.  A 
merry,  shrewd,  silent,  observant  little  man,  he,  unlike  some  of 
his  compatriots,  always  knew  how  to  make  both  ends  meet; 
feared  no  man  alive  in  the  character  of  a  dun  ;  and  out  of  small 
earnings  managed  to  transmit  no  small  comforts  and  subsidies 
to  old  parents  living  somewhere  in  Munster.  Of  Cassidy's 
friends  was  Finucane,  now  editor  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette ;  he 
married  the  widow  of  the  late  eccentric  and  gifted  Captain 
Shandon,  and  Cass  himself  was  the  fashionable  correspondent 


278  THE   ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

of  the  Gazette^  chronicling  the  marriages,  deaths,  births,  dinner- 
parties of  the  nobility.  These  Irish  gentlemen  knew  other 
Irish  gentlemen,  connected  with  other  newspapers,  who  formed 
a  little  literarj'  society.  They  assembled  at  each  other's  rooms, 
and  at  haunts  where  social  pleasure  was  to  be  purchased  at  no 
dear  rate.  Philip  Firmin  was  known  to  manj-  of  them  before 
his  misfortunes  occurred,  and  when  there  was  gold  in  plenty  in 
his  pocket,  and  never-failing  applause  for  his  songs. 

"When  Pendennis  and  his  friends  wrote  in  tliis  newspaper.  It 
was  impertinent  enough,  and  many  men  must  have  heard  the 
writers  laugh  at  the  airs  which  they  occasionally  thought  proper 
to  assume.  The  tone  which  they  took  amused,  annoyed, 
tickled,  was  popular.  It  was  continued,  and,  of  course,  cari- 
catured by  their  successors.  They  worked  for  very  moderate 
fees  :  but  paid  themselves  by  impertinence,  and  the  satisfaction 
of  assailing  their  betters.  Three  or  four  persons  were  reserved 
from  their  abuse  ;  but  somebody  was  sure  every  week  to  be 
tied  up  at  their  post,  and  the  public  made  sport  of  the  victim's 
contortions.  The  writers  were  obscure  barristers,  ushers,  and 
college  men,  but  they  had  omniscience  at  their  pens'  end,  and 
were  ready  to  lay  down  the  law  on  any  given  sul)ject  —  to  teach 
any  man  his  business,  were  it  a  bishop  in  his  pulpit,  a  Minister 
in  his  place  in  the  House,  a  captain  on  his  quarter-deck,  a 
tailor  on  his  shopboard,  or  a  jocke}'  in  his  saddle. 

Since  those  early  days  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette^  when  old 
Shandon  wielded  his  truculent  tomahawk,  and  Messrs.  W — r- 
r — ngt — n  and  P — nd — nn — s  followed  him  in  the  war  path, 
the  Gazette  had  passed  through  several  hands  ;  and  the  victims 
who  were  immolated  by  the  editors  of  to-day  were  very  likely 
the  objects  of  the  best  puffer^'  of  the  last  dynast}'.  To  be 
flogged  in  what  was  ^our  own  schoolroom  —  that,  surely,  is  a 
queer  sensation  ;  and  when  my  Report  was  published  on  the 
decay  of  the  sealing-wax  trade  in  the  three  kingdoms  (owing 
to  the  prevalence  of  gummed  envelopes,  —  as  you  ma}'  see  in 
that  masterl}'  document)  I  was  horsed  up  and  smartly  whipped 
in  the  Gazette  by  some  of  the  rods  which  had  come  out  of  pickle 
since  ray  time.  Was  not  good  Dr.  Guillotin  executed  by  his 
own  neat  invention?  I  don't  know  who  was  the  Monsieur 
Sanson  who  operated  on  me  ;  but  have  always  had  my  idea 
that  Digges,  of  Corpus,  was  the  man  to  whom  my  flagellation 
was  intrusted.  His  father  keeps  a  ladies'  school  at  Hackney ; 
but  there  is  an  air  of  fashion  in  everything  which  Digges  writes, 
and  a  chivalrous  conservatism  which  makes  me  pretty  certain 
that  D.  was  mv  scarifier.     All  this,  however,  is  naught.     Let 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  279 

us  turn  away  from  the  author's  private  griefs  and  egotisms  to 
those  of  the  hero  of  the  story. 

Does  any  one  remember  the  appearance  some  twenty  years 
ago  of  a  httle  book  called  "  Trumpet  Calls  "  —  a  book  of  songs 
and  poetr}^,  dedicated  to  his  brother  officers  b}'  Cornet  Canter- 
ton  ?  His  trumpet  was  ver}^  tolerably  melodious,  and  the  cornet 
played  some  small  airs  on  it  with  some  little  grace  and  skill. 
But  this  poor  Canterton  belonged  to  the  Life-Guards  Green, 
and  Philip  Firmin  would  have  liked  to  have  the  lives  of  one  or 
two  troops  at  least  of  that  corps.  Entering  into  Mr.  Cassidj^'s 
room,  Philip  found  the  little  volume.  He  set  to  work  to  ex- 
terminate Canterton.  He  rode  him  down,  trampled  over  his 
face  and  carcass,  knocked  the  "Trumpet  Calls"  and  all  the 
teeth  down  the  trumpeter's  throat.  Never  was  such  a  smash- 
ing article  as  he  wrote.  And  Mngford,  Mr.  Cassidy's  chief 
and  owner,  who  likes  always  to  have  at  least  one  man  served 
up  and  hashed  small  in  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  happened  at  this 
ver}'  juncture  to  have  no  other  victim  read}*  in  his  larder. 
Philip's  review  appeared  there  in  print.  He  rushed  off  with 
immense  glee  to  Westminster,  to  show  us  his  performance. 
Nothing  must  content  him  but  to  give  a  dinner  at  Greenwich 
on  his  success.  Oh,  Philip !  We  wished  that  this  had  not 
been  his  first  fee  ;  and  that  sober  law  had  given  it  to  him,  and 
not  the  graceless  and  fickle  muse  with  whom  he  had  been  flirt- 
ing. For,  truth  to  say,  certain  wise  old  heads  which  wagged 
over  his  performance  could  see  but  little  merit  in  it.  His  st3'le 
was  coarse,  his  wit  clumsy  and  savage.  Never  mind  charac- 
terizing either  now.  He  has  seen  the  error  of  his  ways,  and 
divorced  with  the  muse  whom  he  never  ought  to  have  wooed. 

Tlie  shrewd  Cassidy  not  only  could  not  write  himself,  but 
knew  he  could  not  —  or,  at  least,  pen  more  than  a  plain  para- 
graph, or  a  brief  sentence  to  the  point,  but  said  he  would  carry 
this  paper  to  his  chief.  "His  Excellency"  was  the  nickname 
b}'  which  this  chief  .was  called  by  his  familiars.  Mugford  — 
Frederick  Mugford  was  his  real  name  —  and  putting  out  of 
sight  that  little  defect  in  his  character,  that  he  committed  a 
systematic  literar}^  murder  once  a  week,  a  more  worthy  good- 
natured  little  murderer  did  not  live.  He  came  of  the  old  school 
of  the  press.  Like  French  marshals,  he  had  risen  from  the 
ranks,  and  retained  some  of  the  manners  and  oddities  of  the 
private  soldier.  A  new  race  of  writers  had  grown  up  since 
he  enlisted  as  a  printer's  boy  —  men  of  the  world,  with  the 
manners  of  other  gentlemen.  Mugford  never  professed  the  least 
gentility.     He  knew  that  his  young  men  laughed  at  his  pecn- 


280  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

liarities,  and  did  not  care  a  fig  for  their  scorn.  As  the  knife 
with  which  he  convej-ed  his  victuals  to  his  mouth  went  down 
his  throat  at  the  plenteous  banquets  which  he  gave,  he  saw  his 
young  friends  wince  and  wonder,  and  rather  relished  their  sur- 
prise. Those  lips  never  cared  iu  the  least  about  placiug  his  A's 
in  right  places.  Tliey  used  bad  language  with  great  freedom  — 
(to  hear  him  bullying  a  printing  office  was  a  wonder  of  elo- 
quence) —  but  they  betrayed  no  secrets,  and  the  words  which 
they  uttered  you  might  trust.  He  had  belonged  to  two  or  three 
parties,' and  had  respected  them  all.  AVhen  he  went  to  the 
Under-Secretary's  office  he  was  never  kept  waiting ;  and  once 
or  twice  Mrs.  Mugford,  who  governed  him,  ordered  him  to 
attend  tlie  Saturday-  reception  of  the  Ministers'  ladies,  where 
he  might  be  seen,  with  dirty  hands,  it  is  true,  but  a  richly-  em- 
broidered waistcoat  and  fancy  satin  tie.  His  heart,  however, 
was  not  in  these  entertainments.  I  have  heard  him  say  that 
be  only  came  because  Mrs.  M.  would  have  it ;  and  he  frankly 
owned  that  he  "  would  rather  'ave  a  pipe  and  a  drop  of  some- 
thing 'ot,  than  all  your  ices  and  rubbish." 

Mugford  had  a' curious  knowledge  of  what  was  going  on  in 
the  world,  and  of  the  affairs  of  countless  people.  When  Cass 
brought  Philip's  article  to  his  Excellency,  and  mentioned  the 
author's  name,  Mugford  showed  himself  to  be  perfectly  familiar 
with  the  histories  of  Philip  and  his  father.  "  The  old  chap  has 
nobbled  the  3'oung  fellow's  money,  almost  every  shilling  of  it, 
I  hear.  Knew  he  never  would  carry  on.  His  discounts  would, 
have  killed  any  man.  Seen  his  paper  about  this  ten  year. 
Young  one  is  a  gentleman  —  passionate  fellow,  hawhaw  fellow, 
but  kind  to  the  poor.  Father  never  was  a  gentleman,  with  all 
his  fine  airs  and  fine  waistcoats.  I  don't  set  up  in  that  line 
myself,  Cass,  but  I  tell  you  I  know  'em  when  I  see  'em." 

Philip  had  friends  and  private  patrons  whose  influence  was 
great  with  the  Mugford  family,  and  of  whom  he  little  knew. 
Every  year  Mrs.  M.  was  in  the  habit  of  contributing  a  Mugford 
to  the  world.  She  was  one  of  Mrs.  Brandon's  most  regular 
clients  ;  and  year  after  year,  almost  from  his  first  arrival  in 
London,  Ridley,  the  painter,  had  been  engaged  as  portrait 
painter  to  this  worthy  family.  Philip  and  his  illness ;  Philip 
and  his  horses,  splendors,  and  entertainments  ;  Philip  and  his 
lamentable  downfall  and  ruin,  had  formed  the  subject  of  many 
an  interesting  talk  between  Mrs.  Mugford  and  her  friend  the 
Little  Sister ;  and  as  we  know  Caroline's  infatuation  about  the 
young  fellow,  we  may  suppose  that  his  good  qualities  lost  noth- 
ing in  the  description.     When  that  article  in  the  Pall  3MI 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  281 

Gazette  appeared,  Nurse  Brandon  took  the  omnibus  to  Haver- 
stock  Hill,  where,  as  you  know,  Mugford  had  his  villa ;  — 
arrived  at  Mrs.  Mugtbrd's,  Gazette  in  hand,  and  had  a  long  and 
delightful  conversation  with  that  lady.  Mrs.  Brandon  bought 
I  don't  know  how  man}'  copies  of  that  PaU  Mall  Gazette.  She 
now  asked  for  it  repeatedly  in  her  walks  at  sundry-  ginger-beer 
shops,  and  of  all  sorts  of  news  venders.  I  have  heard  that 
when  the  Mugfords  first  purchased  the  Gazette,  Mrs.  M.  used 
to  drop  bills  from  her  pony-chaise,  and  distribute  placards  set- 
ting forth  the  excellence  of  the  journal.  "  We  keep  our  car- 
riage, but  we  ain't  above  our  business,  Brandon,"  that  good 
lady  would  say.  And  the  business  prospered  under  the  man- 
agement of  these  worthy  folks  ;  and  the  pony-chaise  unfolded 
into  a  nol)le  barouche  ;  and  the  ponj'  increased  and  multiplied, 
and  became  a  pair  of  horses  ;  and  there  was  not  a  richer  piece 
of  gold-lace  round  an^y  coachman's  hat  in  London  than  now 
decorated  John,  who  had  grown  with  the  growth  of  his  master's 
fortunes,  and  drove  the  chariot  in  which  his  worthy  employers 
rode  on  the  wa}'  to  Ilampstead,  honor,  and  prosperity. 

"All  this  pitching  into  the  post  is  very  well,  you  know, 
Cassidy,"  says  Mugford  to  his  subordinate.  "  It's  like  shoot- 
ing a  butterfly  with  a  blunderbuss  ;  but  if  Firmin  likes  that 
kind  of  sport,  I  don't  mind.  There  won't  be  an}'  difficulty 
about  taking  his  copy  at  our  place.  The  duchess  knows  an- 
other old  woman  who  is  a  friend  of  his"  ("  the  duchess"  was 
the  title  which  Mr.  Mugford  was  in  the  playful  habit  of  confer- 
ring upon  his  wife).  "It's  my  belief  young  F.  had  better 
stick  to  the  law,  and  leave  the  writing  rubbish  alone.  But  he 
knows  his  own  affairs  best,  and,  mind  you,  the  duchess  is  deter- 
mined we  shall  give  him  a  helping  hand." 

Once,  in  the  daj's  of  his  prosperity,  and  in  J.  J.'s  company, 
Philip  had  visited  Mrs.  Mugford  and  her  famil}-  —  a  circum- 
stance which  the  gentleman  had  almost  forgotten.  The  painter 
and  his  friend  were  taking  a  Sunda}'  walk  and  came  upon  Mug- 
ford's  prett}'  cottage  and  garden,  and  were  hospitably  enter- 
tained there  by  the  owners  of  the  place.  It  has  disappeared, 
and  the  old  garden  has  long  since  been  covered  by  terraces  and 
villas,  and  Mugford  and  Mrs.  M.,  good  souls,  where  are  the}'? 
But  the  lady  thought  she  had  never  seen  such  a  fine-looking 
young  fellow  as  Philip  ;  cast  al)out  in  her  mind  which  of  her 
little  female  Mugfords  should  marry  him  ;  and  insisted  upon 
offering  her  guest  champagne.  Poor  Phil !  So,  you  see, 
whilst,  perhaps,  he  was  rather  pluming  himself  upon  his  literary 
talents,  and  imagining  that  he  was  a  clever  fellow,  he  was  only 


282  THE  ADVENTURES  OF   PHILIP 

the  object  of  a  job  on  the  part  of  two  or  three  good  folks,  who 
knew  his  history,  and  compassionated  his  misfortunes. 

Mugford  recalled  himself  to  Philip's  recollection,  when  they 
met  after  the  appearance  of  Mr.  Phil's  first  performance  in  the 
Gazette.  If  he  still  took  a  Sunday  walk,  Hampstead  way, 
Mr.  M.  requested  him  to  remember  that  there  was  a  slice  of 
beef  and  a  glass  of  wine  at  the  old  shop.  Philip  remembered 
it  well  enough  now :  the  ugly  room,  the  ugly  family,  the  kind 
worthy  people.  Ere  long  he  learned  what  had  been  Mrs.  Bran- 
don's connection  with  them,  and  the  3'oung  man's  heart  was 
softened  and  grateful  as  he  thought  how  this  kind,  gentle 
creature  had  been  able  to  befriend  him.  She,  we  may  be  sure, 
was  not  a  little  proud  of  her  protege.  I  believe  she  grew  to 
fancy  that  the  whole  newspaper  was  written  by  Philip.  She 
made  her  fond  parent  read  it  aloud  as  she  worked.  Mr.  Ridley, 
senior,  pronounced  it  was  remarkably  fine,  reall}'  now  ;  with- 
out, I  think,  entirely  comprehending  the  meaning  of  the  senti- 
ments which  Mr.  Gann  gave  forth  in  his  rich  loud  voice,  and 
often  dropping  asleep  in  his  chair  during  tliis  sermon. 

In  the  autumn,  Mr.  Firmin's  friends,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Penden- 
nis,  selected  the  romantic  seaport  town  of  Boulogne  for  tlieir 
holida}'  residence  ;  and  having  roomy  quarters  in  the  old  town, 
we  gave  Mr.  Philip  an  invitation  to  pay  us  a  visit  whenever  he 
could  tear  himself  away  from  literature  and  law.  He  came  in 
high  spirits.  He  amused  us  by  imitations  and  descriptions  of 
his  new  proprietor  and  master,  Mr.  Mugford  —  his  blunders,  his 
bad  language,  his  good  heart.  One  da^-,  Mugford  expected  a 
celebrated  literar}'  character  to  dinner,  and  Philip  and  Cassidy 
were  invited  to  meet  him.  The  great  man  was  ill,  and  was 
unable  to  come.  "  Don't  dish  up  the  side-dishes,"  called  out 
Mugford  to  his  cook,  in  the  hearing  of  his  other  guests. 
"  Mr.  Lyon  ain't  a  coming."  Thej^  dined  quite  sufficiently 
without  the  side-dishes,  and  were  perfectly  cheerful  in  the 
absence  of  the  lion.  Mugford  patronized  his  3'oung  men  with 
amusing  good-nature.  "  Firmin,  cut  the  goose  for  the  duchess, 
will  you?  Cass  can't  say  Bo!  to  one,  he  can't.  Ridley,  a 
little  of  the  stuffing.  It'll  make  your  hair  curl."  And  Philip 
was  going  to  imitate  a  frightful  act  with  the  cold  steel  (with 
which  I  have  said  Philip's  master  used  to  conve}'  food  to  his 
mouth),  but  our  dear  innocent  third  daughter  uttered  a  shriek 
of  terror,  which  caused  him  to  drop  the  dreadful  weapon.  Our 
darling  little  Florence  is  a  nervous  child,  and  the  sight  of  an 
edged  tool  causes  her  anguish,  ever  since  our  darling  little  Tom 
nearly  cut  his  thumb  off  with  his  father's  razor. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  283 

Our  main  amusement  in  this  delightful  place  was  to  look  at 
the  sea-siek  landing  from  the  steamers  ;  and  one  day,  as  we 
witnessed  this  phenomenon,  Philip  sprang  to  the  ropes  which 
divided  us  from  the  arriving  passengers,  and  with  a  cry  of 
"How  do  you  do.  General?"  greeted  a  yellow-faced  gentle- 
man, who  started  back,  and,  to  my  thinking,  seemed  but  ill 
inclined  to  reciprocate  Philip's  friendl}-  greeting.  The  General 
was  fluttered,  no  doubt,  by  the  bustle  and  interruptions  inciden- 
tal to  the  landing.  A  pallid  lady,  the  partner  of  his  existence 
probably,  was  calhng  out,  "  Noof  et  doo  domestiques,  Doo ! " 
to  the  sentries  who  kept  the  line,  and  who  seemed  little  inter- 
ested b^"  this  family  news.  A  governess,  a  tall  young  lady, 
and  several  more  male  and  female  children,  followed  the  pale 
lady,  who,  as  I  thought,  looked  strangely  frightened  when  the 
gentleman  addressed  as  General  communicated  to  her  Philip's 
name.  "  Is  that  him?  "  said  the  lady  in  questionable  grammar  ; 
and  the  tall  young  lady  turned  a  pair  of  large  eyes  upon  the 
individual  designated  as  "  him,"  and  showed  a  pair  of  dank 
ringlets,  out  of  which  the  envious  sea-n^mphs  had  shaken  all 
the  curl. 

The  general  turned  out  to  be  General  Baynes  ;  the  pale  lady 
was  Mrs.  General  B.  ;  the  tall  young  lady  was  Miss  Charlotte 
Ba3'nes,  the  General's  eldest  child  ;  and  the  other  six,  forming 
nine,  or  "  noof,"  in  all,  as  Mrs.  General  B.  said,  were  the 
other  members  of  the  Baynes  family.  And  here  I  may  as  well 
say  why  the  General  looked  alarmed  on  seeing  Phihp,  and  why 
the  General's  lady  frowned  at  him.  In  action,  one  of  the 
bravest  of  men,  in  common  life  General  Baynes  was  timorous 
and  weak.  Specially  he  was  afraid  of  Mrs.  General  Baynes,  who 
ruled  him  with  a  vigorous  authority.  As  Philip's  trustee,  he 
had  allowed  Philip's  father  to  make  away  with  the  boy's  monc}'. 
He  learned  with  a  ghastly  terror  that  he  was  answerable  for  hia 
own  remissness  and  want  of  care.  For  a  long  while  he  did  not 
dare  to  tell  his  commander-in-chief  of  this  dreadful  penalty 
which  was  hanging  over  him.  When  at  last  he  ventured  upon 
this  confession,  I  do  not  envy  him  the  scene  which  must  have 
ensued  between  him  and  his  commanding  officer.  The  morning 
after  the  fatal  confession,  when  the  children  assembled  for 
breakfast  and  prayers,  Mrs.  Baj'nes  gave  their  young  ones  their 
porridge  :  she  and  Charlotte  poured  out  the  tea  and  cofTee  for 
the  elders,  and  then  addressing  her  eldest  son,  Ochterlony,  she 
said,  "  Ocky,  my  boy,  the  General  has  announced  a  charming 
piece  of  news  this  morning." 

"  Bought  that  pony,  sir? "  says  Ocky. 


284  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

"  Oh,  what  J0II3'  fan  !  "  says  Moira,  the  second  son. 

"  Dear  !  dear  papa  !  what's  the  matter,  and  why  do  3'ou  look 
so?  "  cries  Charlotte,  looking  behind  her  father's  paper. 

That  guilty  man  would  ftiin  have  made  a  shroud  of  his 
Morning  Herald.  He  would  have  flung  the  sheet  over  his  whole 
body,  and  lain  hidden  there  from  all  eyes. 

"•  The  fun,  my  dears,  'is  that  your  father  is  ruined  :  that's 
the  fun.  Eat  your  porridge  now,  little  ones.  Charlotte,  pop  a 
bit  of  butter  in  Carrick's  porridge;  for  you  mayn't  have  any 
to-morrow." 

"  Oh,  gammon,"  cries  Moira. 

"  You'll  soon  see  whether  it  is  gammon  or  not,  sir,  when 
you'll  be  starving,  sir.  Your  father  has  ruined  us  —  and  a  very 
pleasant  morning's  work,  I  am  sure." 

And  she  cahnly  rubs  the-  nose  of  her  youngest  child  who  is 
near  her,  and  too  ,young,  and  innocent,  and  careless,  perhaps, 
of  the  world's  censure  as  yet  to  keep  in  a  strict  cleanliness  her 
own  dear  little  snub  nose  and  dappled  cheeks. 

"  AVe  are  onl}-  ruined,  and  shall  be  starving  soon,  my  dears, 
and  if  the  General  has  bought  a  pony  —  as  I  dare  say  he  has  ; 
■fae  is  quite  capable  of  buying  a  pony  when  we  are  starving  — 
the  best  thing  we  can  do  is  to  eat  the  pony.  M'Grigor,  don't 
laugh.  Starvation  is  no  laughing  matter.  When  we  were  at 
Dumdum,  in  '36,  we  ate  some  colt.  Don't  you  remember 
Jubber's  colt  —  Jubber  of  the  Horse  Artillery,  General  ?  Never 
tasted  anything  more  tender  in  all  my  life.  Charlotte,  take 
Jany's  hands  out  of  the  marmalade  !  We  are  all  ruined,  my 
dears,  as  sure  as  our  name  is  Baynes."  Thus  did  the  mother  of 
the  family  prattle  on  in  the  midst  of  her  little  ones,  and  announce 
to  them  the  dreadful  news  of  impending  stai'vation.  "  General 
Baynes,  by  his  carelessness,  had  allowed  Dr.  Firinin  to  make 
awa}-  with  the  money  over  which  the  General  had  been  set  as 
sentinel.  Philip  might  recover  from  the  trustee,  and  no  doubt 
would.  Perhaps  he  would  not  press  his  claim?  My  dear, 
what  can  you  expect  Crom  the  son  of  such  a  father?  Dej)end 
on  it,  Charlotte,  no  good  fruit  can  come  from  a  stock  like  that. 
The  son  is  a  bad  one,  the  father  is  a  bad  one,  and  your  father, 
poor  dear  soul,  is  not  fit  to  be  trusted  to  walk  the  street  with- 
out some  one  to  keep  him  from  tumbling.  Why  did  I  allow 
him  to  go  to  town  without  me?  We  were  quartered  at  Colches- 
ter then  :  and  I  could  not  move  on  account  of  your  brother  • 
M'Grigor.  '  Baynes,'  I  said  to  your  fixther,  '  as  sure  as  I  let 
you  go  away  to  town  without  me,  you  will  come  to  miscliief.' 
And  go  he  did,  and  come  to  mischief  he  did.     And  through  his 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  285 

folly  I  and  my  poor  children  must  go  and  beg  our  bread  in  the 
streets  —  I  and  my  seven  poor,  robbed,  penniless  little  ones. 
Oh,  it's  cruel,  cruel !  " 

Indeed,  one  cannot  fancy  a  more  dismal  prospect  for  this 
woi*th\'  mother  and  wife  tlian  to  see  her  children  without  pro- 
vision at  the  commencement  of  their  lives,  and  her  luckless 
husband  robbed  of  his  life's  earnings,  and  ruined  just  when  he 
was  too  old  to  work. 

"What  was  to  become  of  them  ?  Now  poor  Charlotte  thought, 
with  pangs  of  a  keen  remorse,  how  idle  she  had  been,"  and  how 
she  had  snubbed  her  governesses,  and  how  little  she  knew,  and 
how  badly  she  played  tlie  piano.  Oh,  neglected  opportunities  ! 
Oh,  remorse,  now  the  time  was  past  and  irrecoverable  !  Does 
any  young  lady  read  this  who,  perchance,  ought  to  be  doing 
her  lessons?  M}'  clear,  lay  down  the  story-book  at  once.  Go 
up  to  30UI'  schoolroom,  and  practise  30ur  piano  for  two  hours 
this  moment ;  go  that  you  may  be  prepared  to  support  your 
famil}-,  should  ruin  in  any  case  fall  upon  you.  A  great  girl  of 
sixteen,  I  pity  Charlotte  Baynes's  feelings  of  anguish.  She 
can't  write  a  very  good  hand ;  she  can  scarcely  answer  any 
question  to  speak  of  in  any  educational  books  ;  her  pianoforte 
playing  is  very,  very  so-so  indeed.  If  she  is  to  go  out  and  get 
a  living  for  the  famil}',  how,  in  the  name  of  goodness,  is  she  to 
set  about  it?  What  are  they  to  do  with  the  boys,  and  the 
money  that  has  been  put  away  for  Ochterlouy  when  he  goes  to 
college,  and  for  Moira's  commission?  "  Why,  we  can't  afford 
to  keep  them  at  Dr.  Pybus's,  where  the}' w'ere  doing  so  well; 
and  they  were  ever  so  much  better  and  more  gentlemanlike  than 
Colonel  Chandler's  boys  ;  and  to  lose  the  army  will  break  Moira's 
heart,  it  will.  And  the  little  ones,  my  little  blue-eyed  Carrick, 
and  my  darliug  Jany,  and  my  Mary,  that  I  nursed  almost  mi- 
raculously out  of  her  scarlet  fever.  God  helij  them  !  God  help 
us  all ! "  thinks  the  poor  mother.  No  wonder  that  her  nights 
are  wakeful,  and  her  heart  in  a  tumult  of  alarm  at  the  idea  of 
the  impending  danger. 

And  the  father  of  the  family?  —  the  stout  old  General  whose 
battles  and  campaigns  are  over,  who  has  come  home  to  rest  his 
war-worn  limbs,  and  make  his  peace  with  heaven  ere  it  calls  him 
awa}'  —  wliat  must  be  his  feelings  when  he  thinks  that  he  has 
been  entrapped  by  a  villain  into  committing  an  imprudence 
which  makes  his  children  penniless  and  himself  dishonored  and 
a  beggar?  Wlien  he  found  wliat  Dr.  Firmin  had  done,  and  how 
he  had  been  cheated,  he  went  away,  aghast,  to  his  lawyer,  who 
could  give  him  no  help.     Philip's  mother's  trustee  was  answer- 


286  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

able  to  Philip  for  his  property.  It  had  been  stolen  through 
Ba^'nes's  own  carelessness,  and  the  law  bound  him  to  replace  it. 
General  Baynes's  man  of  business  could  not  help  him  out  of  his 
perplexity  at  all ;  and  I  hope  my  worthy  reader  is  not  going  to 
be  angry  with  the  General  for  what  I  own  he  did.  Yoit  never 
would,  m}'  dear  sir,  I  know.  No  power  on  earth  would  induce 
1/oit  to  depart  one  inch  from  the  path  of  rectitude  ;  or,  having 
done  an  act  of  imprudence,  to  shrink  from  bearing  the  con- 
sequence. The  long  and  short  of  the  matter  is,  that  poor 
Baynes  and  his  wife,  after  holding  agitated,  stealthy  councils 
together  —  after  believing  that  every  strange  face  they  saw  was 
a  bailift"s  coming  to  arrest  them  on  Philip's  account  —  after 
horrible  days  of  remorse,  misery,  guilt  —  I  say  the  long  and  the 
short  of  the  matter  was  that  these  poor  people  determined  to 
run  awa3\  They  would  go  and  hide  themselves  anywhere  —  in 
an  impenetrable  pine  forest  in  Norway  —  up  an  inaccessible 
mountain  in  Switzerland.  They  would  change  their  names  ; 
dj'e  their  mnstachios  and  honest  old  white  hair ;  fly  with  their 
little  ones  away,  away,  awa}-,  out  of  the  reach  of  law  and 
Philip  ;  and  the  first  flight  lands  them  on  Boulogne  Pier,  and 
there  is  Mr.  Philip  holding  out  his  hand  and  actually  eying 
them  as  they  get  out  of  the  steamer  !  Eying  them  ?  It  is  the 
e3'e  of  heaven  that  is  on  those  criminals.  Holding  out  his  hand 
to  them?  It  is  the  hand  of  fate  that  is  on  their  wa-etched 
shoulders.  No  wonder  they  shuddered  and  turned  pale.  That 
which  I  took  for  sea-sicicness,  I  am  sorry  to  say  was  a  guilty 
conscience  :  and  where  is  the  steward,  mj'  dear  friends,  who  can 
relieve  us  of  that? 

As  this  part}'  came  staggering  out  of  the  Custom-house,  poor 
Baj-nes  still  found  Philip's  hand  stretched  out  to  catch  hold  of 
him,  and  saluted  him  with  a  ghastly  cordiality.  "These  are 
3'our  children.  General,  and  this  is  Mrs.  Baj-nes?"  says  Philip, 
smiling,  and  taking  off  his  hat. 

"Oh,  3es !  I'm  Mrs,  General  Ba3-nes ! "  saj-s  the  poor 
woman;  "and  tliese  are  the  children  —  j-es,  j-es.  Charlotte, 
this  is  Mr.  Firmin,  of  whom  you  have  heard  us  speak;  and 
these  are  my  boys,  Moira  and  Ochterlonj-." 

"  I  have  had  the  honor  of  meeting  General  Baynes  at  Old  Parr 
Street.  Don't  you  remember,  sir?"  saj-s  Mr.  Pendennis,  with 
great  affabilit}'  to  the  General. 

"What,  another  who  knows  me?"  I  dare  say  the  poor 
wretch  thinks  ;  and  glances  of  a  dreadful  meaning  pass  be- 
tween the  guilty  wife  and  the  guilt}'  husband. 

"  You  are  going  to  stay  at  any  hotel?" 


ON  PUS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  287 

'"Hotel  dos  Bains!'"  '"Hotel  du  Nord  ! '"  '"Hotel 
d'Ansfleterre  ! ' "  here  crv  twenty  commissioners  in  a  breath. 

"  Hotel?  Oh,  yes  !  That  is,  we  have  not  made  up  our  minds 
whether  we  shall  go  on  to-night  or  whether  we  shall  sta}-,"  say 
those  guilty  ones,  looking  at  one  another,  and  then  down  to  the 
ground  ;  on  which  one  of  the  children,  with  a  roar,  says  — 

"Oh,  ma,  what  a  story!  You  said  you'd  stay  to-night ; 
and  I  was  so  sick  in  the  beastlj'  boat,  and  I  won't  travel  any 
more!"  And  tears  choke  his  artless  utterance.  "And  you 
said  Bang  to  the  man  who  took  your  ke3's,  you  know  3-ou  did," 
resumes  the  innocent,  as  soon  as  he  can  gasp  a  further  remark. 

"  Who  told  you  to  speak?"  cried  mamma,  giving  the  boy  a 
shake. 

"  This  is  the  way  to  the  '  Hotel  des  Bains,'  "  says  Philip, 
making  Miss  Baynes  another  of  his  best  bows.  And  Miss 
Baynes  makes  a  curtsy,  and  her"  eyes  look  up  at  the  handsome 
young  man  —  large  brown  honest  e3'es  in  a  cornel}'  round  face, 
on  each  side  of  which  depend  two  straight  wisps  of  brown 
hair  that  were  ringlets  when  they  left  Folkestone  a  few  hours 
since. 

"Oh,  I  sa}',  look  at  those  women  with  the  short  petticoats  ! 
and  wooden  shoes,  by  George  !  Oh  !  it's  J0II3',  ain't  it?  "  cries 
one  3'oung  gentleman. 

"  By  George,  there's  a  man  with  earrings  on  !  There  is, 
Ocky,  upon  mj  word  !  "  calls  out  another.  And  the  elder  boy, 
turning  round  to  his  father,  points  to  some  soldiers.  "  Did 
you  ever  see  such  little  beggars?"  he  saj's,  tossing  his  head 
up.     "  They  wouldn't  take  such  fellows  into  our  line." 

"  I  am  not  at  all  tired,  thank  you,"  saj's  Charlotte.  "I 
am  accustomed  to  carry  him."  I  had  forgot  to  say  that  the 
young  lady  had  one  of  the  children  asleep  on  her  shoulder  ;  and 
another  was  toddling  at  her  side,  holding  by  his  sister's  dress, 
and  admiring  Mr.  Firmin's  whiskers,  that  flamed  and  curled 
very  luminously  and  gloriously,  like  to  the  rays  of  the  setting- 
sun. 

"  I  am  ver}'  glad  we  met,  sir,"  sa3-s  Philip,  in  the  most 
friendly  manner,  taking  leave  of  the  General  at  the  gate  of  his 
hotel.  "  I  hope  you  won't  go  awa}'  to-morrow,  and  that  I  may 
come  and  pa}'  my  respects  to  Mrs.  Baynes."  Again  he  salutes 
that  lady  with  a  coup  de  chapeau.  Again  he  bows  to  Miss 
Ba3-nes.  She  makes  a  pretty  curts}-  enough,  considering  that 
she  has  a  baby  asleep  on  her  shoulder.  And  they  enter  the 
hotel,  the  excellent  Marie  marshalling  them  to  fitting  apart- 
ments, where  some  of  them,  I  have  no  doubt,  will  sleep  very 


288  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

soundl_y.  How  much  more  comfortably  might  poor  Ba3''nes  and 
bis  wife  have  slept  had  they  known  what  were  Philip's  feelings 
regarding  them  ! 

We  both  admired  Charlotte,  the  tall  girl  who  carried  her 
little  brother,  and  around  whom  the  others  clung.  And  we 
spoke  loudl}-  in  Miss  Charlotte's  praises  to  Mrs.  Teudennis, 
when  we  joined  that  lady  at  dinner.  In  the  praise  of  Mrs. 
Baynes  we  had  not  a  great  deal  to  sa^',  further  than  that  she 
seemed  to  take  command  of  the  whole  expedition,  including  the 
general  officer,  her  husband. 

Though  Marie's  beds  at  the  "  Hotel  des  Bains  "  are  as  com- 
fortable as  any  beds  in  Europe,  you  see  that  admirable  chamber- 
maid cannot  la^'  out  a  clean,  easy  conscience  upon  the  clean, 
fragrant  pillow-ease  ;  and  General  and  Mrs.  Baynes  owned,  in 
after  days,  that  one  of  the  most  dreadful  nights  they  ever 
passed  was  that  of  their  first  Itfliding  in  France.  What  refugee 
from  his  country  can  fly  from  himself?  Railwa3'S  were  not  as 
yet  in  that  part  of  France.  The  General  was  too  poor  to  fly 
with  a  couple  of  private  carriages,  which  he  nmst  have  liad  for 
bis  family  of '•  noof,"  his  governess,  and  two  servants.  En- 
cumbered with  such  a  train,  his  enem}^  would  speedily  have 
l^ursued  and  overtaken  him.  It  is  a  fact  that,  immediately 
after  landing  at  his  hotel,  he  and  his  conmianding  officer  went 
off  to  see  when  thej'  could  get  places  for  —  never  mind  the 
name  of  the  place  where  the}'  really  thought  of  taking  refuge. 
The}'  never  told,  but  Mrs.  General  Baynes  had  a  sister,  Mrs. 
Major  MacWhirter  (married  to  MacW.  of  the  Bengal  Cavalry), 
and  the  sisters  loved  each  other  very  affectionately,  especially 
b}'  letter,  for  it  must  be  owned  tiiat  the}'  quarrelled  frightfully 
when  together ;  and  Mrs.  MacWhirter  never  could  bear  that 
her  younger  sister  should  be  taken  out  to  dinner  before  her, 
because  she  was  married  to  a  superior  officer.  Well,  their  little 
differences  were  forgotten  when  the  two  ladies  were  apart. 
The  sisters  wrote  to  each  other  prodigious  long  letters,  in  which 
houseliold  affairs,  the  children's  puerile  diseases,  the  relative 
prices  of  veal,  eggs,  chickens,  the  rent  of  lodging  and  houses  in 
various  places,  were  fully  discussed.  And  as  Mrs.  Baynes 
showed  a  surprising  knowledge  of  Tours,  the  markets,  rents, 
clergymen,  society  there,  and  as  Major  and  Mrs.  Mac.  were 
staying  there,  I  have  little  doubt,  for  my  part,  from  this  and 
another  not  unimportant  circumstance,  that  it  was  to  that  fair 
city  our  fugitives  were  wending  their  way,  when  events  oc- 
curred whidi  must  now  be  narrated,  and  which  caused  General 
Baynes  at  the  head  of  his  domestic  regiment  to  do  what  the 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  289 

King  of  France  with  twenty  thousand  men  is  said  to  have  done 
in  old  times. 

Philip  was  greatl}^  interested  about  the  famil}-.  The  trutli 
is,  we  were  all  very  much  bored  at  Boulogne.  We  read  the 
feeblest  London  papers  at  the  reading-room  with  frantic  assi- 
duit}'.  We  saw  all  the  boats  come  in  :  and  the  day  was  lost 
when  we  missed  tlie  Folkestone  boat  or  the  London  boat.  We 
consumed  much  time  and  absinthe  at  cafes ;  and  tramped 
leagues  upon  that  old  pier  ever}-  (\ay.  Well,  Philip  was  at  the 
"Hotel  des  Bains"  at  a  very  earlj-  hour  next  morning,  and 
there  he  saw  the  General,  with  a  woe-worn  face,  leaning  on  his 
stick,  and  looking  at  his  luggage,  as  it  la}-  piled  in  the  porte- 
cochere  of  the  hotel.  There  they  laj-,  thirty-seven  packages  in 
all,  including  washing-tubs,  and  a  child's  India  sleeping-cot ; 
and  all  these  packages  were  ticketed  M.  le  General  Bayxes, 
Officier  Anglais,  Tours,  Touraine,  France.  I  say,  putting- 
two  and  two  together  ;  calling  to  mind  Mrs.  General's  singular 
knowledge  of  Tours  and  familiarity  with  the  place  and  its  prices  ; 
remembering  that  her  sister  Emily  —  Mrs.  Major  MacWhirter, 
in  fact  —  was  there;  and  seeing  thirty-seven  trunks,  bags,  and 
portmanteaus,  all  directed  "  M.  le  General  Baynes,  OfEcier 
Anglais,  Tours,  Touraine,"  am  I  wrong  in  supposing  that 
Tours  was  the  General's  destination?  On  the  other  hand,  we 
have  the  old  officer's  declaration  to  Philip  that  lie  did  not  know 
where  he  was  going.  Oh,  you  sly  old  man  !  Oh,  3-ou  gray  old 
fox,  beginning  to  double  and  to  turn  at  sixty-seven  years  of 
age  !  Well?  The  General  was  in  retreat,  and  he  did  not  wish 
the  enemy  to  know  upon  what  lines  he  was  retreating.  What 
is  the  harm  of  that,  pra}-?  Besides,  he  was  under  the  orders  of 
his  commanding  officer,  and  when  Mrs.  General  gave  her  orders, 
I  should  have  liked  to  see  any  officer  of  hers  disobey. 

"  What  a  pyramid  of  portmanteaus  !  You  are  not  thinking 
of  moving  to-da}'.  General?"  sa3-s  Philip. 

"It  is  Sunday,  sir,"  sa3-s  the  General;  which  you  will  per- 
ceive was  not  answering  the  question  ;  but,  in  truth,  except  for 
a  very  great  emergenc}',  the  good  General  would  not  travel  on 
that  da}-. 

"  I  hope  the  ladies  slept  well  after  their  windy  voj-age." 

"Thank  you.  M3-  wife  is  an  old  sailor,  and  has  made  two 
voyages  out  and  home  to  India."  Here,  you  understand,  the 
old  man  is  again  eluding  his  interlocutor's  artless  queries. 

"I  should  like  to  have  some  talk  with  you,  sir,  when  3-ou 
are  free,"  continues  Philip,  not  having  leisure  as  3-et  to  be  sur- 
prised at  the  other's  demeanor. 

19 


290  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

"  There  are  other  days  besides  Sunday  for  talk  on  business," 
says  that  piteous  sly-boots  of  an  old  officer.  Ah,  conscience  ! 
conscience  !  Twenty-four  Sikhs,  sword  in  hand,  two  dozen 
Pindarries,  Mahrattas,  Ghoorkas,  what  jou  please  —  that  old 
man  felt  that  he  would  rather  have  met  them  tlian  Phili^j's  un- 
suspecting blue  eyes.  These,  however,  now  lighted  up  with 
ratlier  an  angrj',  "Well,  sir,  as  j-ou  don't  talk  business  on 
Sunday,  may  I  call  on  you  to-morrow  morning." 

And  what  advantage  had  the  poor  old  fellow  got  b}'  all  this 
doubling  and  hesitating  and  artfulness  ?  —  a  respite  until  to- 
morrow morning  !  Another  night  of  horrible  wakefulness  and 
hopeless  guilt,  and  Philip  waiting  ready  the  next  morning 
with  his  little  bill,  and,  ''Please  pay  me  the  thirty  thousand 
which  my  father  spent  and  you  owe  me.  Please  turn  out 
into  the  streets  with  your  wife  and  family-,  and  beg  and  starve. 
Have  the  goodness  to  hand  nie  out  your  last  rupee.  Be  kind 
enough  to  sell  your  children's  clothes  and  3'our  wife's  jewels, 
and  hand  over  the  proceeds  to  me.  I'll  call  to-morrow.  Bye, 
bye." 

Plere  there  came  tripping  over  the  marble  pavement  of  the 
hall  of  the  hotel  a  tall  young  lady  in  a  brown  silk  dress  and 
rich  curling  ringlets  falling  upon  her  fair  youug  neck  —  beauti- 
ful brown  curling  ringlets,  vous  comprenez^  not  wisps  of  m'oist* 
ened  hair,  and  a  broad  clear  forehead,  and  two  honest  eyes 
shining  below  it,  and  cheeks  not  pale  as  they  were  ycstercla}' ; 
and  lips  redder  still;  and  she  saj's,  "Papa,  papa,  won't  3'ou 
come  to  breakfast  ?  The  tea  is  — "  What  the  precise  state 
of  the  tea  is  I  don't  know  —  none  of  us  ever  shall  —  for  here 
she  says,  "  Oh,  Mr.  Firmin  !  "  and  makes  a  curtsy. 

To  which  remark  PhiHp  replied,  "  Miss  Baynes,  I  hope  you 
are  ver}-  well  this  morning,  and  not  the  worse  for  3'esterday's 
rough  weatlier." 

"I  am  quite  well,  thank  you,"  was  Miss  Baynes's  instant 
reph'.  The  answer  was  not  witty,  to  be  sure  ;  but  I  don't 
know  that  under  the  circumstances  she  could  have  said  any- 
thing more  appropriate.  Indeed,  never  was  a  pleasanter  pic- 
tui'e  of  health  and  good-humor  than  the  3'oung  lad}'  presented  ; 
a  difference  more  pleasant  to  note  than  Miss  Charlotte's  pale 
face  fi'om  the  steamboat  on  Saturday',  and  shining,  rosy,  happy, 
and  innocent,  in  the  cloudless  Sabbath  morn. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  291 


"  A  Madame, 
"Madame  le  Major  MacWhirter, 
"A  Tours, 

"  touraine, 
"France. 

"  TiNTELLERIES,    BoULOGNE-STJR-MeR, 

"  Wednesday,  August  24,  18.— 
"Dearest  Emily,  —  After  suffering  more  dreadfully  in  the  two  hours' 
passage  from  Folkestone  to  this  place  than  I  have  in  four  passages 
out  and  home  from  India,  except  in  that  terrible  storm  off  the  Cape,  in 
September,  1824,  wiien  I  certainly  did  suffer  most  cruelly  on  board  that 
horrible  troopship,  we  readied  this  place  last  Saturday  evening,  having  a 
full  dtltrminiUioii  to  proceed  immediately  on  our  route.  Notu,  you  will  per- 
ceive that  our  minds  are  changed.  We  found  this  place  pleasant,  and  the 
lodgings  besides  most  neat,  comfortable,  and  well  found  in  everything, 
more  reasomible  than  you  proposed  to  get  for  us  at  Tours,  which  I  am  told 
also  is  damp,  and  might  bring  on  the  general's  jungle  fever  again.  Owing 
to  the  lio^ping-cougli  having  just  been  in  the  house,  which,  praised  be 
mercy,  all  my  dear  ones  have  had  it,  including  dear  baby,  who  is  quite 
well  through  it,  and  reconnnended  sea  air,  we  got  tliis  house  more  reasonable 
than  prices  you  mention  at  Tours.  A  whole  house :  little  room  for  two 
boys ;  nursery ;  nice  little  room  for  Charlotte,  and  a  den  for  the  General. 
I  don't  know  how  ever  we  should  have  brought  our  party  safe  all  the 
way  to  Tours.  Thirty-seven  articles  of  luggage,  and  Miss  Flixby,  who 
announced  herself  as  perfect  French  governess,  acquired  at  Paris  —  perfect, 
but  perfrtli/  useless.  She  can't  understand  the  French  people  when  they 
speak  to  her,  and  goes  about  the  house  in  a  most  bewildering  way.  I  am  the 
interpreter;  poor  Charlotte  is  much  too  timid  to  speak  when  I  am  by.  I 
have  rubbed  up  the  old  French  which  we  learned  at  Chiswick  at  Miss 
Pinkerton's  ;  and  I  find  my  Ilindostanee  of  great  help  :  wliich  I  use  it  when 
we  are  at  a  loss  for  a  word,  and  it  answers  extremely  well.     We  pay  for 

lodgings,  the  whole  house  francs  per  month.     Butchers'  meat  and 

poultry  plentiful  but  dear.  A  grocer  in  the  Grande  Rue  sells  excellent 
wine  at  fifteenpence  per  bottle ;  and  groceries  pretty  much  at  English 
prices.  Mr.  Blowman  at  the  English  chapel  of  the  Tintelleries  has  a  fine 
voice,  a7id  appears  to  be  a  most  excellent  clergyman.  I  have  heard  him  only 
once,  however,  on  Smiday  evening,  when  I  was  so  agitated  and  so  unhappy 
in  my  mind  that  I  own  I  took  little  note  of  his  sermon. 

"  Tlie  cause  of  that  agitation  yon  know,  having  imparted  it  to  j'ou  in 
my  letters  of  July,  June,  and  24th  of  May,  ult.  My  poor  simple,  guileless 
Baynes  was  trustee  to  Mrs.  Dr.  Firmin,  before  she  married  that  most  un- 
principled man.  When  we  were  at  home  last,  and  exchanged  to  the  120th 
from  the  99th,  my  poor  husband  was  inveigled  by  the  horrid  man  into 
signing  a  paper  which  put  the  doctor  in  possession  of  all  his  ivlfe's  projwrty ; 
whereas  Charles  thought  lie  was  only  signing  a  power  of  attorney,  enabling 
him  to  receive  his  son's  dividends  Dr.  F.,  afer  the  inost  atrocious  deceit, 
forgery,  and  criminality  of  every  kind,  fled  the  country  ;  and  Hunt  and  Pegler, 
our  solicitors,  informed  us  tliat  the  General  was  answerable  /or  the  wicked- 
ness of  this  miscreant.  He  is  so  weak  that  he  has  been  many  and  nvmy  times 
on  the  point  of  going  to  3'oung  Mr.  F.  and  giving  up  everything.  It  was  only 
by  my  pra3'ers,  by  my  commands,  that  I  have  been  enabled  to  keep  him 
qiiiet ;  and,  indeed,  Emily,  the  effort  has  almost  killed  him.  Brandy  re- 
peatedly I  was  obliged  to  administer  on  the  dreadful  night  of  our  arrival 
here. 


292  THE   ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

"For  the  first  person  we  met  on  landing  was  Mr.  Philip  Firmin,  with  a 
pert  friend  of  his,  Mr.  Pendennis,  whom  I  don't  at  all  like,  though  his  wife 
is  an  amiable  person  like  Emma  Fletcher  of  the  Horse  Artillery  :  not  witli 
Emma's  style,  however,  but  still  amiable,  and  disposed  to  be  most  civil. 
Charlotte  lias  taken  a  great  fancy  to  her,  as  she  always  does  to  every  new 
person.  Well,  fancy  our  state  on  landing,  wlien  a  young  gentleman  calls 
out, '  How  do  you  do.  General  ^ '  and  turns  out  to  be  Mr.  Firmin  !  I  tiiought 
1  should  have  lest  Charles  in  the  night.  I  have  seen  him  before  going  into 
action  as  calm,  and  sleep  and  smile  as  sweet,  as  u)iy  bale.  It  was  all  1  could 
do  to  keep  up  his  courage :  and,  but  for  me,  but  for  my  prayers,  but  for 
mij  agonies,  I  think  he  would  have  jumped  out  of  bed,  and  gone  to  Mr.  F. 
that  nii/ht,  anil  said,  '  Take  everything  I  have.' 

"  The  young  man  I  own  has  behaved  in  the  most  honorahle  icay.  He  came 
to  see  us  before  breakfast  on  Sunday,  when  the  poor  General  was  so  ill  that 
I  thought  he  would  have  fainted  over  his  tea.  He  was  too  ill  to  go  to  church, 
where  I  went  alone,  with  my  dear  ones,  having,  as  I  own,  but  very  small 
comfort  in  the  sermon  :  but  oh,  Emily,  fancy,  on  our  return,  when  I  went 
into  our  room,  I  found  my  General  on  his  knees  with  his  Church  service 
before  him,  crying,  crying  like  a  baby!  You  know  I  am  hasty  in  my 
temper  sometimes,  and  his  is  indeed  an  angel's  —  and  I  said  to  him, '  Charles 
Baynes,  be  a  man,  and  don't  cry  like  a  child!'  'Ah,'  says  he,  'Eliza,  do 
you  kneel,  and  thank  God  too;'  on  which  I  said  that  I  thought  I  did  not 
require  instruction  in  my  nligion  from  him  or  any  man,  except  a  clergyman, 
and  many  of  these  are  but  jiour  instructors,  as  you  know. 

"  '  He  has  been  here,'  says  Charles  ;  when  I  said, '  Who  has  been  here  ■?  ' 
'That  noble  young  fellow,'  says  my  General,  'that  noble,  noble  Philip 
Firmin.'  Which  noble  his  conduct  I  own  it  has  been.  '  Whilst  yoi^  were 
at  church  he  came  again  —  here  into  this  very  room,  where  I  was  sitting, 
doubting  and  despairing,  with  the  Holy  Book  before  my  eyes,  and  no  com- 
fort out  of  it.  And  he  said  to  me,  "  General,  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about 
my  grandfather's  will.  You  don't  suppose  that  because  my  lather  has 
deceived  you  and  ruined  me,  I  will  carry  the  ruin  farther,  and  visit  his 
wrong  upon  children  and  innocent  people  "i  "  Those  were  the  young  man's 
words,'  my  General  said;  and,  'oh,  Eliza! 'says  he,  'what  pangs  of  re- 
morse I  felt  when  I  remembered  we  had  used  hard  words  about  him,'  which 
I  own  we  had,  for  his  manners  are  rough  and  haughty,  and  I  have  heard 
things  of  him  which  I  do  believe  now  can't  be  true. 

"AH  Monday  my  poor  man  was  obliged  to  keep  his  bed  with  a  smart 
attack  of  his  fever.  But  yesterday  he  was  quite  bright  and  mil  again,  and 
the  Pendennis  party  took  Charlotte  for  a  drive,  and  showed  themselves 
most  polite.  She  reminds  me  of  Mrs.  Tom  Fletcher  of  the  Horse  Artillery, 
but  that  I  think  I  have  mentioned  before.  My  paper  is  full ;  and  with  our 
best  to  MacWhirter  and  the  cliildren,  I  am  always  my  dearest  Emily's 

affectionate  sister, 

"Eliza  Baynes." 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  293 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

BREVIS   ESSE    LABORO. 

Never,  General  Baj-nes  afterwards  declared,  did  fever  come 
and  go  so  pleasantly  as  that  attack  to  which  we  have  seen  the 
Mrs.  General  advert  in  her  letter  to  her  sister,  Mrs.  Major  Mac- 
Whirter.  The  cold  fit  was  merely  a  lively,  pleasant  cliatter  and 
rattle  of  the  teeth  ;  the  hot  fit  an  agreeable  warmth  ;  and  though 
the  ensuing  sleep,  with  which  I  believe  such  aguish  attacks  are 
usually  concluded,  was  enlivened  by  several  dreams  of  death, 
demons,  and  torture,  how  felicitous  it  was  to  wake  and  find  that 
dreadful  thought  of  ruin  removed  wliich  had  always,  for  the 
last  few  mouths,  ever  since  Dr.  Firmin's  flight  and  the  knowl- 
edge of  his  own  imprudence,  pursued  the  good-natured  gentle- 
man !  What !  this  boy  might  go  to  college,  and  that  get  his 
commission  ;  and  their  meals  need  be  embittered  by  no  more 
dreadful  thoughts  of  the  morrow,  and  their  walks  no  longer  were 
dogged  by  imaginary  bailiffs,  and  presented  a  gaol  in  the  vista ! 
It  was  too  much  bliss  ;  and  again  and  again  the  old  soldier  said 
his  thankful  praj-ers,  and  blessed  his  benefactor. 

Philip  thought  no  more  of  his  act  of  kindness,  except  to  be 
very  grateful,  and  xevy  happy  that  he  had  rendered  other  people 
so.  He  could  no  more  have*  taken  the  old  man's  all,  and  plunged 
that  innocent  lamily  into  povert}'.  than  he  could  have  stolen 
the  forks  oflTm}'  table.  But  other  folks  were  disposed  to  rate  his 
virtue  much  more  highly  ;  and  amongst  these  was  my  wife,  who 
chose  positively  to  worship  this  young  gentleman,  and  I  believe 
would  have  let  him  smoke  in  her  drawing-room  if  he  had  been 
so  minded,  and  though  her  genteelest  acquaintances  were  in  the 
room.  Goodness  knows  what  a  noise  and  what  piteous  looks 
are  produced  if  ever  the  master  of  the  house  chooses  to  indulge 
in  a  cigar  after  dinner;  but  then,  you  understand,  /have  never 
declined  to  claim  mine  and  my  children's  right  because  an  old 
gentleman  would  be  inconvenienced  :  and  this  is  what  I  tell 
Mrs.  Pen.  If  I  order  a  coat  from  my  tailor,  must  I  refuse  to 
pay  him  because  a  rogue  steals  it,  and  ought  I  to  expect  to  be 
let  off?  Women  won't  see  matters  of  fact  in  a  matter-of-fact 
point  of  view,  and  justice,  unless  it  is  tinged  with  a  little  romance, 
gets  no  respect  from  them. 

So,  forsooth,  because  Philip  has  performed  this  certainly 


294  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

most  generous,  most  dashing,  most  reckless  piece  of  extrava- 
gance, he  is  to  be  held  up  as  a  perfect  jorewx  chevalier.  The  most 
riotous  dinners  are  ordered  for  him.  We  are  to  wait  until  he 
comes  to  breakfast,  and  ho  is  pretty  nearly  alwa^'s  late.  The 
children  are  to  be  sent  round  to  kiss  Uncle  PhiHp,  as  he  is  now 
called.  The  children  ?  I  wonder  the  mother  did  not  jump  up  and 
kiss  him  too.  EUe  en  ('tail  capable.  As  for  the  osculations  which 
took  place  between  Mrs.  Pendennis  and  her  new-found  young 
friend.  Miss  Charlotte  Baynes,  they  were  perfectly  ridiculous  ; 
two  school-children  could  not  have  behaved  more  absurdly ; 
and  I  don't  know  which  seemed  to  be  the  younger  of  these  two. 
There  were  colloquies,  assignations,  meetings  on  the  ramparts, 
on  the  pier,  where  know  I  ?  —  and  the  servants  and  little  chil- 
dren of  the  two  establishments  were  perpetuall}^  trotting  to  and 
fro  with  letters  from  dearest  Laura  to  dearest  Charlotte,  and 
dearest  Charlotte  to  her  dearest  Mrs.  Pendennis.  Why,  my 
wife  absolutely  went  the  length  of  sa3ing  that  dearest  Charlotte's 
mother,  Mrs.  Ba^mes,  was  a  worthy,  clever  woman,  and  a  good 
mother  —  a  woman  whose  tongue  never  ceased  clacking  about 
the  regiment,  and  all  the  officers,  and  all  the  officers'  wives ;  of 
whom,  by  the  wa}^  she  had  very  little  good  to  tell. 

"A  worthy  mother,  is  she,  my  dear?"  I  say.  "  But,  oh, 
mercy  !  Mrs.  Baynes  would  be  an  awful  mother-in-law  !  " 

I  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  having  such  a  commonplace, 
hard,  ill-bred  woman  in  a  state  of  quasi  authority  over  me. 

On  this  Mrs.  Laura  must  break  out  in  quite  a  petulant  tone  — 
"Oh,  how  stale  this  kind  of  thing  is,  Arthur,  from  a  man  qui 
veut  passer  pour  un  homme  d' esprit !  You  are  alwaj's  attacking 
mothers-in-law ! " 

"Witness  Mrs.  Mackenzie,  my  love  —  Clive  Newcome's 
mother-in-law.  That's  a  nice  creature  ;  not  selfish,  not  wicked, 
not  — " 

"  Not  nonsense,  Arthur !  " 

"Mrs.  Baynes  knew  Mrs.  Mackenzie  in  the  West  Indies, 
as  she  knew  all  the  female  army.  She  considers  Mrs.  Macken- 
zie was  a  most  elegant,  handsome,  dashing  woman  —  onl}'  a 
little  too  fond  of  the  admiration  of  our  sex.  There  was,  I 
own,  a  fascination  about  Captain  Goby.  Do  3'ou  remember, 
m}'  love,  that  man  with  the  sta3-s  and  dyed  hair,  who  —  " 

"  Oh,  Arthur!  When  our  girls  marry,  I  suppose  you  will 
teach  their  husbands  to  abuse,  and  scorn,  and  mistrust  their 
mother-in-law.  Will  he,  my  darlings?  will  he,  my  blessings?" 
(This  apart  to  the  children,  if  3-ou  please.)  "  Go  !  I  have  no 
patience  with  such  talk  !  " 


ON  HIS   WAY  THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  295 

"Well,  my  love,  Mrs.  Ba3'nes  is  a  most  agreeable  woman  ; 
and  when  I  have  heard  that  story  about  the  Highlanders  at  the 
Cape  of  Good  Hope  a  few  times  more  "  (I  do  not  tell  it  here,  for 
it  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  present  history),  "I  dare  say  I 
shall  begin  to  be  amused  b}'  it." 

"Ah!  here  comes  Charlotte,  I'm  glad  to  say.  How  pretty 
she  is  !     What  a  color  !     What  a  dear  creature  !  " 

To  all  which  of  course  I  could  not  say  a  contradictory  word, 
for  a  prettier,  fresher  lass  than  Miss  Baj'nes,  with  a  sweeter 
voice,  face,  laughter,  it  was  difficult  to  see. 

' '  Wh}'  does  mamma  like  Charlotte  better  than  she  likes  us  ?  " 
says  our  dear  and  justl\'  indignant  eldest  girl. 

"  I  could  not  love  her  better  if  I  were  her  mother-in-law" 
says  Laura,  running  to  her  young  friend,  casting  a  glance  at  me 
over  her  shoulder ;  and  that  kissing  nonsense  begins  between 
the  two  ladies.  To  be  sure  the  girl  looks  uncommonly  bright 
and  pretty  with  her  pink  cheeks,  her  bright  eyes,  her  slim  form, 
and  that  charming  white  India  shawl  which  her  father  brought 
home  for  her. 

To  this  osculatory  party  enters  presently  Mr.  Philip  Firmin, 
who  has  been  dawdUng  about  the  ramparts  ever  since  break- 
fast. He  saj'S  he  has  been  reading  law  there.  He  has  found 
a  jolly  quiet  place  to  read  law,  has  he  ?  And  much  good  may 
it  do  him  !  Why  has  he  not  gone  back  to  his  law  and  his  re- 
viewing? 

"  You  must — you  must  stay  on  a  little  longer.  Y^ou  have 
only  been  here  five  da3's.  Do,  Charlotte,  ask  Philip  to  stay  a 
little." 

All  the  children  sing  in  a  chorus,  "Oh,  do,  Uncle  Philip, 
stay  a  little  longer!"  Miss  Baynes  says,  "I  hope  j-ou  will 
stay,  Mr.  Firmin,"  and  looks  at  him. 

"Five  days  has  he  been  here?  Five  years.  Five  lives. 
Five  hundred  years.  What  do  3'ou  mean  ?  In  that  little  time 
of —  let  me  see,  a  hundred  and  twenty  hours,  and,  at  least,  a  half 
of  them  for  sleep  and  dinner  (for  Phihp's  appetite  was  very  fine) 
—  do-3'ou  mean  that  in  that  little  time,  his  heart,  cruelly  stabbed 
by  a  previous  monster  in  female  shape,  has  healed,  got  quite 
well,  and  actuall}^  l)cgun  to  be  wounded  again  ?  Have  two  walks 
on  the  pier,  as  man3'  visits  to  the  Tintelleries  (where  he  hears 
the  story  of  the  Highlanders  at  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  with 
respectful  interest) ,  a  word  or  two  about  the  weather,  a  look 
or  two,  a  squeezekin,  perhaps,  of  a  little  handykin  —  I  say,  do 
you  mean  that  this  absurd  young  idiot,  and  that  little  round- 
faced  girl,  prett}',  certainlj^,  but  ouly  just  out  of  the  school- 


296  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

room  —  do  3'ou  mean  to  sa}-  that  they  have  —  Upon  my  word, 
Laura,  this  is  too  bad.  Why,  Phihp  has  not  a  penny  piece  in 
the  world." 

"  Yes,  he  has  a  hundred  pounds,  and  expects  to  sell  his  mare 
for  ninety  at  least.  He  has  excellent  talents.  He  can  easily 
write  three  articles  a  week  in  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette.  I  am  sure 
no  one  writes  so  well,  and  it  is  much  better  done  and  more  amus- 
ing than  it  used  toJ)e.  That  is  three  hundred  a  year.  Lord 
Kingwood  must  be  appUed  to,  and  must  and  shall  get  him  some- 
thing. Don't  you  know  that  Captain  Baynes  stood  by  Colonel 
Ringwood's  side  at  Busaco,  and  that  they  were  the  closest 
friends?  And  pray  how  did  %oe  get  on,  I  should  like  to  know? 
How  did  xoe  get  on,  baby?" 

"  How  did  we  det  on?"  says  the  bab3^ 

"Oh,  woman!  woman!"  yells  the  father  of  the  family. 
"  Why,  Philip)  Firmin  has  all  the  habits  of  a  rich  man  with  the 
pa^'  of  a  meclianic.  Do  3'ou  suppose  he  ever  sat  in  a  second- 
class  carriage  in  his  life,  or  denied  himself  any  pleasure  to  which 
he  had  a  mind  ?     He  gave  five  francs  to  a  beggar-girl  yesterdaj'. " 

"  He  had  always  a  noble  heart,"  says  my  wife.  "  He  gave 
a  fortune  to  a  whole  family  a  week  ago  ;  and  "  (out  comes  the 
pocket-handkerchief — oh,  of  course,  the  pocket-handkerchief) 
• —  "  and —  '  God  loves  a  cheerful  giver  ! '  " 

"He  is  careless;  he  is  extravagant ;  he  is  lazy; — I  don't 
know  that  he  is  remarkably  clever  —  " 

"Oh,  yes  !  he  is  your  friend,  of  course.  Now,  abuse  him  — 
do,  Arthur  !  " 

"  And,  praj',  when  did  you  become  acquainted  with  this  as- 
tounding piece  of  news?"  I  inquire. 

"  W  hen  ?  From  the  very  first  moment  when  I  saw  Charlotte 
looking  at  him,  to  be  sure.  The  poor  child  said  to  me  only 
j'csterda^-,  '  Oh,  Laura  !  he  is  our  preserver  ! '  And  thek  pre- 
server he  has  been,  under  Heaven." 

"  Yes.     But  he  has  not  got  a  five-pound  note  !  "  I  cry. 

"Arthur,  I  am  surprised  at  _you.  Oh,  men  are  awfully 
worldly  !  Do  you  suppose  Heaven  will  not  send  him  help  vX  its 
good  time,  and  be  kind  to  him  who  has  rescued  so  many  from 
ruin  ?  Do  you  suppose  the  pra3'ers,  the  blessings  of  that  father, 
of  those  little  ones,  of  that  dear  child  will  not  avail  him?  Sup- 
pose he  has  to  wait  a  3'ear,  ten  3'ears,  have  the3'  not  time,  and 
will  not  the  good  da3-  come  ?  " 

Yes.  This  was  actuall3^  the  talk  of  a  woman  of  sense  and 
discernment,  when  her  prejudices  and  romance  were  not  in  the 
wa}',  and  she  looked  forward  to  the  marriage  of  these  folks 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  297 

some  ten  years  hence,  as  confidently  as  if  they  were  both  rich, 
and  going  to  St.  George's  to-morrow. 

As  for  making  a  romantic  stor}'  of  it,  or  spinning  ont  love 
conversations  between  Jenny  and  Jessaray,  or  describing  moon- 
light raptnres  and  passionate  outpourings  of  two  3'oung  hearts 
and  so  forth  —  excuse  me,  s'il  vous  plait.  I  am  a  man  of  the 
world,  and  of  a  certain  age.  Let  the  young  people  fill  in  this 
outline,  and  color  it  as  they  please.  Let  the  old  folks  wIk) 
read  lay  down  the  book  a  minute,  and  remember.  It  is  well 
remembered,  isn't  it,  that  time?  Yes,  good  John  Anderson, 
and  Mrs.  John.  Yes,  good  Darb}'  and  Joan.  The  lips  won't 
tell  now  what  they  did  once.  To-day  is  for  the  happy,  and  to- 
morrow for  the  young,  and  yesterday,  is  not  that  dear  and  here 
too? 

I  was  in  the  company  of  an  elderly  gentleman,  not  ver}^  long 
since,  who  was  perfectly  sober,  who  is  not  particularly  hand- 
some, or  healthy,  or  wealthy,  or  witty  ;  and  who,  speaking  of 
his  past  life,  volunteered  to  declare  that  he  would  gladly  live 
ever}^  minute  of  it  over  again.  Is  a  man  who  can  say  that  a 
hardened  sinner,  not  aware  how  miserable  he  ought  to  be  b}' 
rights,  and  therefore  really  in  a  most  desperate  and  deplorable 
condition;  or  is  he furtunatus  m77iiuin,  and  ought  his  statue  to 
be  put  up  in  the  most  splendid  and  crowded  thoroughfare  of  the 
town?  Would  you,  who  are  reading  this,  for  exami)le,  like  to 
live  ^o?/r  life  over  again?  What  has  been  its  chief  joy?  What 
are  to-day's  pleasures  ?  Are  they  so  exquisite  that  you  would 
prolong  them  for  ever  ?  Would  you  like  to  have  the  roast  beef 
on  which  you  have  dined  brought  back  again  to  the  table,  and 
have  more  beef,  and  more,  and  more?  Would  you  like  to  hear 
3'esterday's  sermon  over  and  over  again  —  eternally  voluble? 
Would  you  like  to  get  on  the  Edinburgh  mail,  and  travel  outside 
for  fifty  hours  as  30U  did  in  your  youth ?  You  might  as  well 
say  3'ou  would  like  to  go  into  the  flogging-room,  and  take  a  turn 
under  the  rods  :  you  would  like  to  l)e  thrashed  over  again  by 
your  bully  at  school :  you  would  like  to  go  to  the  dentist's, 
where  your  dear  parents  were  in  the  habit  of  taking  a'ou  :  j'Oii 
would  like  to  be  taking  hot  Epsom  salts,  with  a  piece  of  dr}- 
bread  to  take  away  the  taste  :  you  would  like  to  be  jilted  by 
3'our  first  love  :  3'ou  would  like  to  be  going  in  to  your  father  to 
tell  him  you  had  contracted  debts  to  the  amount  of  a;  -j-  ?/  -f-  2, 
whilst  you  were  at  the  universit3'.  As  I  consider  the  passionate 
griefs  of  childhood,  the  weariness  and  sameness  of  shaving,  the 
agony  of  corns,  and  the  thousand  other  ills  to  which  flesh  is 
heir,  I  cheerfull3'  sa3'  for  one,  I  am  not  anxious  to  wear  it  for 


298  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

ever.  No.  I  do  not  want  to  go  to  school  again.  I  do  not 
want  to  hear  Trotman's  sermon  over  again.  Take  me  out  and 
finish  me.  Give  me  the  cup  of  hemlock  at  once.  Here's  a 
health  to  3'ou,  my  lads.  Don't  weep,  mj^  Simmias.  Be  cheer- 
ful, my  Phfedon.  Ha !  I  feel  the  co-o-old  stealing,  stealing 
upwards.  Now  it  is  in  my  ankles  —  no  more  gout  in  my  foot : 
now  my  knees  are  numb.  What,  is  —  is  that  poor  executioner 
crying  too?  Good-b}'.  Sacrifice  a  cock  to  ^scu — to  ^s- 
cula —  .  .  .  Have  3'ou  ever  read  the  chapter  in  "  Grote's  His- 
tory?" Ah  !  When  the  Sacred  Ship  returns  from  Uelos,  and 
is  telegraphed  as  entering  into  port,  maj-  we  be  at  peace  and 
ready ! 

What  is  this  funeral  chant,  when  the  pipes  should  be  play- 
ing gayly  as  Love,  and  Youth,  and  Spring,  and  Joy  are  dancing 
under  the  windows?  Look  you.  Men  not  so  wise  as  Socrates 
have  their  demons,  who  will  be  heard  to  whisper  in  the  queerest 
times  and  places.  Perhaps  I  shall  have  to  tell  of  a  funeral 
presentlj-,  and  shall  be  outrageously  cheerful ;  or  of  an  execu- 
tion, and  shall  split  ra^'  sides  with  laughing.  Arrived  at  mj' 
time  of  life,  when  I  see  a  penniless  young  friend  falUng  in  love 
and  thinking  of  course  of  committing  matrimony,  what  can  I 
do  but  be  melanchol}'?  How  is  a  man  to  marry  who  has  not 
enough  to  keep  ever  so  miniature  a  brougham  —  ever  so  small 
a  house  —  not  enough  to  keep  himself,  let  alone  a  wife  and 
famil_y  ?  Gracious  powers  !  is  it  not  blasphemy  to  marry  with- 
out fifteen  hundred  a  j-ear?  Poverty,  debt,  protested  bills, 
duns,  crime,  fall  assuredly-  on  the  wretch  who  has  not  fifteen 
—  sa}'  at  once  two  thousand  a  year ;  for  you  can't  live  decently 
in  London  for  less.  And  a  wife  whom  30U  have  met  a  score 
of  times  at  balls  or  breakfasts,  and  with  her  best  dresses  and 
behavior  at  a  country  house  ;  —  how  do  30U  know  how  she  will 
turn  out ;  what  her  temper  is  ;  what  her  relations  are  likel3'  to 
be?  Suppose  she  has  poor  relations,  or  loud  coarse  brothers 
who  are  alwa^'s  dropping  in  to  dinner?  What  is  her  mother 
like  ?  and  can  you  bear  to  have  that  woman  meddling  and  dom- 
ineering over  3'our  establishment?  Old  General  Baynes  was 
ver3'  well ;  a  weak,  quiet  and  presentable  old  man :  but  Mrs. 
General  Ba3'nes,  and  that  awful  Mrs.  Major  MacWhirter, — 
and  those  hobbledeho3's  of  boys  in  creaking  shoes,  hectoring 
about  the  premises?  As  a  man  of  the  world  T  saw  all  these 
dreadful  liabilities  impending  over  the  husband  of  Miss  Char- 
lotte Baynes,  and  could  not  view  them  without  horror.  Grace- 
full3'  and  slightly,  but  wittil3' and  in  m3' sarcastic  wa3^,  I  thought 
it  m3'  duty  to  show  up  the  oddities  of  the  Baj-nes  family  to 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  299 

Philip.  I  mimicked  the  bo3's,  and  their  clumping  Blncher  boots. 
I  touched  off  the  drecadful  military  ladies,  very  smartly  and 
cleverly  as  I  thought,  and  as  if  I  never  supposed  that  Philip 
had  any  idea  of  Miss  Baynes.  To  do  him  justice,  he  laughed 
once  or  twice  ;  then  he  grew  very  red.  His  sense  of  humor  is 
ver}'  limited  ;  that  even  Laura  allows.  Then  he  came  out  with 
a  strong  expression,  and  said  it  was  a  confouuded  shame,  and 
strode  off  with  his  cigar.  And  when  I  remarked  to  my  wife 
how  susceptible  he  was  in  some  things,  and  how  little  in  the 
matter  of  joking,  she  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  said,  '^  Philip 
not  onl}-  understood  perfectly  well  what  I  said,  but  would  tell  it  all 
to  Mrs.  General  and  Mrs.  Major  on  the  first  opportunity."  And 
this  was  the  fact,  as  Mrs.  Baynes  took  care  to  tell  me  afterwards. 
She  was  aware  who  was  her  enemy.  She  was  aware  who  spoke 
ill  of  her,  and  her  blessed  darling  behind  our  backs.  And  "  do 
you  think  it  was  to  see  you  or  any  one  belonging  to  3-our  stuck-up 
house.,  sir,  that  we  came  to  you  so  often,  which  we  certainly  did, 
day  and  night,  breakfast  and  supper,  and  no  thanks  to  you? 
No,  sir  !  ha,  ha !  "  I  can  see  her  flaunting  out  of  my  sitting- 
room  as  she  speaks,  with  a  strident  laugh,  and  snapi)ing  her 
dingily  gloved  fingers  at  the  door.  Oh,  Philip,  Philip  !  To 
think  that  you  were  such  a  coward  as  to  go  and  tell  her  !  But 
I  pardon  him.     From  my  heart  I  pity  and  pardon  him. 

For  the  step  which  he  is  meditating  you  may  be  sure  that 
the  young  man  himself  does  not  feel  the  smallest  need  of  par- 
don or  pit3^  He  is  in  a  state  of  happiness  so  craz}'  that  it  is 
useless  to  reason  with  him.  Not  being  at  all  of  a  poetical  turn 
originall}',  the  wretch  is  actuall}'  perpetrating  verse  in  secret, 
and  my  servants  found  fragments  of  his  manuscript  on  the 
dressing-table  in  his  bedroom.  Heart  and  art.,  sever  and  for 
ever,  and  so  on  ;  what  stale  rhymes  are  these  ?  I  do  not  feel  at 
liberty  to  give  in  entire  the  poem  which  our  maid  found  in  Mr. 
Philip's  room,  and  brought  sniggering  to  my  wife,  who  only  said, 
"Poor  thing!"  The  fact  is,  it  was  too  pitiable.  Such  maun- 
dering rubbish  !  Such  stale  rhymes,  and  such  old  thoughts  ! 
But  then,  sa^'s  Laura,  "I  dare  say  all  people's  love-making  is 
not  amusing  to  their  neighbors  ;  and  I  know  who  wrote  not 
very  wise  love-verses  when  he  was  3oung."  No,  I  won't  publish 
Philip's  verses,  until  some  day  he  shall  mortally  offend  me.  I 
can  recall  some  of  my  own  written  under  similar  circumstances 
with  twinges  of  shame  ;  and  shall  drop  a  veil  of  decent  friend- 
ship over  my  friend's  foil}'. 

Under  that  veil,  meanwhile,  the  3'oung  man  is  perfectl}'  con- 
tented, na}-,  uproariously'  happy.     All  earth  and  nature  smiles 


300  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

round  about  him.  "When  Jove  meets  his  Juno,  in  Homer, 
sir,"  says  Philip,  iu  his  hectoring  way,  "  don't  immortal  flowers 
of  beauty  spring  up  around  them,  and  rainbows  of  celestial  hues 
bend  over  their  heads?  Love,  sir,  flings  a  halo  round  the  loved 
one.  Where  she  moves  rise  roses,  ii3acinths,  and  ambrosial 
odors.  Don't  talk  to  me  about  po^•ert3■,  sir !  He  either  fears 
his  fate  too  much  or  his  desert  is  small,  who  dares  not  put  it  to 
the  touch  and  win  or  lose  it  all !  Haven't  I  endured  poverty? 
Am  I  not  as  poor  now  as  a  man  can  be  —  and  what  is  there  in 
it?  Do  I  want  for  an3-thing?  Haven't  I  got  a  guinea  in  my 
pocket?  Do  I  owe  any  man  anything?  Isn't  there  manna  in 
the  wilderness  for  those  who  have  faith  to  walk  in  it?  That's 
where  30U  fail,  Pen.  By  all  that  is  sacred,  30U  have  no  faith ; 
your  heart  is  cowardl3',  sir ;  and  if  3'ou  are  to  escape,  as  per- 
haps you  ma3',  I  suspect  it  is  by  your  wife  that  you  will  be  saved. 
Laura  has  a  trust  in  heaven,  but  Arthur's  morals  are  a  genteel 
atheism.  Just  reach  me  that  claret  —  the  wine's  not  bad. 
I  sa3'  3'our  morals  are  a  genteel  atheism,  and  I  shudder  when  I 
think  of  3'Our  condition.  Talk  to  7ne  about  a  brougham  being 
necessary  for  the  comfort  of  a  woman  !  A  broomstick  to  ride 
to  the  moon  !  And  I  don't  sa3'  that  a  brougham  is  not  a  com- 
fort, mind  30U  ;  but  that,  when  it  is  a  necessit3',  mark  30U, 
heaven  will  provide  it !  Wh3',  sir,  hang  it,  look  at  me  !  Ain't 
I  suffering  in  the  most  abject  poverty-?  I  ask  you  is  there  a 
man  in  London  so  poor  as  I  am  ?  And  since  m3^  father's  ruin 
do  I  want  for  an3-thing?  I  want  for  shelter  for  a  day  or  two. 
Good.  There's  m3^  dear  Little  Sister  ready  to  give  it  me.  I 
want  for  mone3'.  Does  not  that  sainted  widow's  cruse  pour  its 
oil  out  for  me?  Heaven  bless  and  reward  her.  Boo!"  (Here, 
for  reasons  which  need  not  be  named,  the  orator  squeezes  his 
fists  into  his  eyes. )  "I  want  shelter  ;  ain't  I  in  good  quarters  ? 
I  want  work  ;  haven't  I  got  work,  and  did  3'ou  not  get  it  for 
me?  You  should  just  see,  sir,  how  I  polished  off  that  book  of 
travels  this  morning.     I  read  some  of  the  article  to  Char — ,  to 

Miss ,  to  some  friends,  in  fact.     I  don't  mean  to  sa3^  that 

the3'  are  very  intellectual  people,  but  3-our  common  humdrum 
average  audience  is  the  public  to  tr3'.  Recollect  Moliere  and 
his  housekeeper,  3-0U  know." 

"By  the  housekeeper,  do  30U  mean  Mrs.  Ba^'nes?"  I  ask, 
in  m3'  amontillado  manner.  (B3'  the  wa3',  who  ever  heard  of 
arnontillado  m  the  earl3- da3's  of  which  I  write?)  "In  manner 
she  would  do,  and  I  dare  say  in  accomplishments  ;  but  I  doubt 
about  her  temper." 

"  You're  almost  as  worldlj'  as  the  Twj'sdens,  by  George,  3'Ou 


ON    HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  301 

are !  Unless  persons  are  of  a  certain  monde^  you  don't  value 
them.  A  little  adversit}'  would  do  you  good,  Pen;  and  I 
heartil}'  wish  you  might  get  it,  except  for  the  dear  wife  and 
children.  You  measure  your  morality  b}'  May  Fair  standards  ; 
and  if  an  angel  unawares  came  to  you  in  pattens  and  a  cotton 
umbrella,  you  would  turn  away  from  her.  You  would  never 
have  found  out  the  Little  Sister.  A  duchess  —  God  bless  her  ! 
A  creature  of  an  imperial  generosity,  and  delicacy,  and  intre- 
pidity, and  the  finest  sense  of  humor ;  but  she  drops  her  A's 
often,  and  how  could  you  pardon  such  a  crime  ?  vSir,  you  are 
m}'  better  in  wit  and  a  dexterous  application  of  your  i)owers  ; 
but  I  think,  sir,"  says  Phil,  curhng  the  flaming  moustache,  "  I 
am  your  su[)erior  in  a  certain  magnanimity ;  though,  by  Jove, 
old  fellow,  man  and  boy,  you  have  always  been  one  of  the  best 
fellows  in  the  world  to  P.  F.  ;  one  of  the  best  fellows,  and  the 
most  generous,  and  the  most  cordial,  —  that  you  have  :  onl}'  you 
do  rile  me  when  you  sing  in  that  confounded  May  Fair  twang." 

Here  one  of  the  children  summoned  us  to  tea  —  and  "  Papa 
was  laughing,  and  Uncle  Philip  was  flinging  his  hands  about  and 
pulling  his  beard  off,"  said  the  little  messenger. 

"  I  shall  keep  a  fine  lock  of  it  for  you,  Nelly,  ray  dear,"  says 
Uncle  Philip.  On  which  the  child  said,  "Oh,  no!  I  know 
whom  you'll  give  it  to,  don't  I,  mamma?"  and  she  goes  up  to 
her  mamma  and  whispei'S. 

Miss  Nelly  knows?  At  what  age  do  those  little  match- 
makers begin  to  know,  and  how  soon  do  they  practise  the  use 
of  their  young  eyes,  their  little  smiles,  wiles,  and  ogles?  This 
3'oung  woman,  I  believe,  coquetted  whilst  she  was  yet  a  baby 
in  arms,  over  her  nurse's  shoulder.  Before  she  could  speak, 
she  could  be  proud  of  her  new  vermilion  shoes,  and  w^ould  point 
out  the  charms  of  her  blue  sash.  She  was  jealous  in  the  nurs- 
ery, and  her  little  heart  had  beat  for  years  and  3ears  before 
she  left  off  pinafores. 

For  whom  will  Philip  keep  a  lock  of  that  red,  red  gold  which 
curls  round  his  face?  Can  you  guess?  Of  what  color  is  the 
hair  in  that  little  locket  which  the  gentleman  himself  occultly 
wears?  A  few  months  ago,  I  believe,  a  pale  straw-colored  wisp 
of  hair  occupied  that  place  of  honor  ;  now  it  is  a  chestnut-brown, 
as  far  as  I  can  see,  of  precisely  the  same  color  as  that  which  waves 
round  Charlotte  Baynes's  pretty  face,  and  tumbles  in  clusters 
on  her  neck,  very  nearly  the  color  of  Mrs.  Paynter's  this  last 
season.  So,  you  see,  we  chop  and  we  change :  straw  gives 
place  to  chestnut,  and  chestnut  is  succeeded  by  ebony  ;  and,  for 
our  own  parts,  we  defy  time  ;    and  if  you  want  a  lock  of  ray 


302  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

hair,  Belinda,  take  this  pair  of  scissors,  and  look  in  that  cup- 
board, in  the  band-box  marked  No.  3,  and  cut  otY  a  thick  glossy 
piece,  darling,  and  wear  it,  dear,  and  m}^  blessings  go  with 
thee!     What  is  this?     Am  I  sneering  because  Corjdon  and 
Phyllis  are  wooing  and  happy  ?     You  see  I  pledged  myself  not 
to  have  an3'  sentimental  nonsense.     To  describe  love-making  is 
immoral  and  immodtst ;  3'ou  know  it  is.     To  describe  it  as  it 
really  is,  or  would  :ipijear  to  you  and  me  as  lookers-on,  would 
be  to  describe  the  most  dreary  farce,  to  chronicle  the  most  tau- 
tological twaddle.     To  take  a  note  of  sighs,  hand-squeezes, 
looks  at  the  moon,  and  so  forth  —  does  this  business  become 
our  dignity  as  historians?    Come  away  from  those  foolish  young 
people  —  they  don't  want  us  ;    and  dreary  as  their  farce  is, 
and  tautological  as  their  twaddle,  you  may  be  sure  it  amuses 
them,  and  that  the}-  are  happ}'  enough  without  us.     Ilapp}-? 
Is  there  any  happiness  like  it,  pray?     Was  it  not  ra[)ture  to 
watch  the  messenger,  to  seize  the  note,  and  fee  the  bearer?  — 
to  retire  out  of  sight  of  all  prying  eyes  and  read  :  —  "  Dearest ! 
Mamma's  cold  is  better  tliis  morning.     The  Joneses  came  to 
tea,  and  Julia  sang.     I  did  not  enjoy  it,  as  mj'  dear  was  at  his 
horrid  dinne}\  where  I  hope  he  amused  himself.     Send  me  a 
word  by  Buttles,  who  brings  this,  if  onlv  to  say  you  are  3'our 
Louisa's  own,  own,"  &c.  &c.  &c.     That  used  to  be  the  kind  of 
thing.     In  such  coy  lines  artless  Innocence  used  to  whisper  its 
little  vows.     So  she  used  to  smile  ;  so  she  used  to  warble  ;   so 
she  used  to  prattle.     Young  people,  at  prcseiit  engaged  in  the 
pretty  sport,  be  assured  your  middle-aged  parents  have  played 
the  game,  and  remember  the  rules  of  it.     Yes,  under  papa's 
bow-window  of  a  waistcoat  is  a  heart  which  took  very  violent 
exercise  when  that  waist  was  slim.     Now  he  sits  tranquilly  in 
his  tent,  and  watches  the  lads  going  in  for  their  innings.     WI13', 
look  at  grandmamma  in  her  spectacles  reading  that  sermon. 
In  /ler  old  heart  there  is  a  corner  as  romantic  still  as  when  she 
used  to  read  the  "Wild  Irish  Girl"  or  the  "Scottish  Chiefs" 
in  the  days  of  her  misshood.     And  as  for  your  grandfather,  my 
dears,  to  see  him  now  you  would  little  suppose  that  that  calm, 
polished,  dear  old  gentleman  was  once   as  wild  —  as  wild  as 
Orson.   .  .  .  Under  my  windows,  as  I  write,  there  passes  an 
itinerant  flower-merchant.     He  has  his  roses  and  geraniinns  on 
a  cart  drawn  by  a  quadrui^ed  —  a  little  long-eared  quadruped, 
which  lifts  up  its  voice,  and  sings  after  its  manner.     When  I 
was  young,  donkeys  used  to  bray  precisely  m  the  same  way ; 
and  others  will  heehaw  so,  when  we  are  silent  and  our  ears  hear 
no  more. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  303 


CHAPTER  XVni. 

DRUM   IST's    so    WOHL   MIR   IN   DER   WELT. 

Our  new  friends  lived  for  a  while  contentedly  enough  at 
Boulogne,  where  they  found  comrades  and  acquaintances  gath- 
ered together  from  those  many  regions  which  they  had  visited 
in  the  course  of  their  military  career.  Mrs.  Baynes,  out  of  the 
field,  was  the  commanding  officer  over  the  General.  She 
ordered  his  clothes  for  him,  tied  his  neck-cloth  into  a  neat  bow, 
and,  on  tea-party  evenings,  pinned  his  brooch  into  his  shirt- 
frill.  She  gave  him  to  understand  when  he  had  had  enough  to 
eat  or  drink  at  dinner,  and  explained,  with  great  frankness, 
how  this  or  that  dish  did  not  agree  with  him.  If  he  was  dis- 
posed to  exceed,  she  would  call  out,  in  a  loud  voice:  "  Re- 
member, General,  what  jou  took  this  morning !  "  Knowing 
his  constitution,  as  she  said,  she  knew  the  remedies  which  were 
necessar}'  for  her  husband,  and  administered  them  to  him  with 
great  liberality.  Resistance  was  impossible,  as  the  veteran 
officer  acknowledged.  "  The  bo3's  have  fought  about  the  medi- 
cine since  we  came  home,"  he  confessed,  "  but  she  has  me 
under  her  thumb,  by  George.  She  reall}'  is  a  magnificent 
physician,  now.  She  has  got  some  invaluable  prescriptions, 
and  in  India  she  used  to  doctor  the  whole  station."  She  would 
have  taken  the  present  writer's  little  household  under  her  care, 
and  proposed  several  remedies  for  my  children,  until  their 
alarmed  mother  was  obliged  to  keep  them  out  of  her  sight.  I 
am  not  saying  this  was  an  agreeable  woman.  Her  voice  was 
loud  and  harsh.  The  anecdotes  which  she  was  for  ever  nar- 
rating related  to  militar}-  personages  in  foreign  countries  with 
whom  I  was  unacquainted,  and  whose  histor}'  failed  to  interest 
me.  She  took  her  wine  with  much  spirit,  whilst  engaged  in 
this  prattle.  I  have  heard  talk  not  less  foolish  in  much  finer 
company,  and  known  people  delighted  to  listen  to  anecdotes  of 
the  duchess  and  the  marchioness  who  would  yawn  over  the  his- 
tory of  Captain  Jones's  quarrels  with  his  lady,  or  Mrs.  Major 
Wolfe's  monstrous  flirtations  with  3'oung  Ensign  Kyd.  My 
wife,  with  the  mischievousness  of  her  sex,  would  mimic  the 
Baynes's  conversation  ver}'  drolly,  but  alwa3's  insisted  that 
she  was  not  more  really  vulgar  than  many  much  greater 
persons. 


304  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

For  all  thfs,  Mrs.  General  Ba3'nes  did  not  hesitate  to  declare 
that  we  were  "  stuck-up"  people  ;  and  from  the- very  first  set- 
ting eyes  on  us  she  declared  that  she  viewed  us  with  a  constant 
darkling  suspicion.  Mrs.  P.  was  a  harmless,  washed-out 
creature,  with  nothing  in  her.  As  for  that  high  and  mighty 
Mr.  P.  and  his  airs,  she  would  be  glad  to  know  whether  the 
wife  of  a  British  general  officer  who  had  seen  service  in  every 
part  of  (he  (/lobe,  and  met  the  most  distinguished  governors, 
generals,  and  their  ladies,  several  of  whom  ivere  noblejum  — 
she  would  be  glad  to  know  whether  such  people  were  not  good 
enough  for,  &c.  &c.  Who  has  not  met  with  these  difficulties 
in  life,  and  who  can  escape  them?  "  Hang  it,  sir,"  Phil  would 
say,  twirling  the  red  moustache,  ''  I  like  to  be  hated  by  some 
fellows  ;  "  and  it  must  be  owned  that  Mr.  Philip  got  what  he 
liked.  I  suppose  Mr.  Philip's  friend  and  biographer  had  some- 
thing of  the  same  feeling.  At  any  rate,  in  regard  of  this  ladj 
the  hypociisy  of  politeness  was  ver^-  hard  to  keep  up  ;  wanting 
us  for  reasons  of  her  own,  she  covered  the  dagger  with  which 
she  would  have  stabbed  us  :  but  we  knew  it  was  there  clenched 
in  her  skinny  hand  in  her  meagre  pocket.  She  would  pay  us 
the  most  fulsome  compliments  with  anger  raging  out  of  her 
ejes — a  little  hate-bearing  woman,  envious,  malicious,  but 
loving  her  cubs,  and  nursing  tliem,  and  clutching  them  in  her 
lean  arms  with  a  jealous  strain.  It  was  "  Good=by,  darling! 
I  sliall  leave  you  here  with  your  friends.  Oh,  how  kind  you 
are  to  her,  Mrs.  Pendennis  !  How  can  I  ever  thank  you,  and 
Mr.  P.',  I  am  sure  ; "  and  she  looked  as  if  she  could  poison 
both  of  us,  as  she  went  awa}-,  curtsying  and  darting  dreary 
parting  smiles. 

This  lady  had  an  intimate  friend  and  companion  in  arms, 
Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch,  in  fact,  of  the  — th  Bengal  Cavalry,  who 
was  now  in  P^urope  with  Bunch  and  their  children,  who  were 
residing  at  Paris  for  the  young  folks'  education.  At  first,  as 
we  have  heard,  Mrs.  Baynes's  predilections  had  been  all  for 
Tours,  where  her  sister  was  living,  and  where  lodgings  were 
cheap  and  food  reasonable  in  proportion.  But  Bunch  happen- 
ing to  pass  through  Boulogne  on  his  way  to  his  wife  at  Paris, 
and  meeting  his  old  comrade,  gave  General  Baynes  such  an 
account  of  the  cheapness  and  pleasures  of  the  French  capital, 
as  to  induce  the  General  to  think  of  bending  his  steps  thither. 
Mrs.  Baynes  would  not  hear  of  such  a  plan.  She  was  all  for  her 
dear  sister  and  Tours  ;  but  when,  in  the  course  of  conversation, 
Colonel  Bunch  described  a  ball  at  the  Tuileries,  where  he  and 
Mrs.  B.  had  been  received  with  the  most  flattering  politeness 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  305 

b}'  the  royal  famil}-,  it  was  remarked  that  Mrs.  Bajnes's  mind 
underwent  a  change.  ■  When  Bunch  went  on  to  aver  that  the 
balls  at  Government  House  at  Calcutta  were  nothing  compared 
to  those  at  the  Tuileries  or  the  Prefecture  of  the  Seine  ;  that 
the  English  were  invited  and  respected  everywhere  ;  that  the 
ambassador  was  most  hospitable ;  that  the  clergymen  were 
admirable  ;  and  that  at  their  boarding-house,  kept  by  Madame 
la  Generale  Baronne  de  Smolensk,  at  the  "Petit  Chtiteau 
d'Espagne,"  Avenue  de  Valmy,  Champs  Elysees,  they  had  balls 
twice  a  month,  the  most  comfortable  apartments,  the  most  choice 
society",  and  every  comfort  and  luxury  at  so  man^-  francs  per 
month,  with  an  allowance  for  children  —  I  say  Mrs.  Baynes  was 
•  very  greatly  moved.  "  It  is  not,"  she  said,  "  in  consequence  of 
the  balls  at  the  Ambassador's  or  the  Tuileries,  for  I  am  an  old 
woman  ;  and  in  spite  of  what  you  say.  Colonel,  I  can't  fancy, 
after  Government  House,  anything  more  magnificent  in  any 
French  palace.  It  is  not  for  me.,  goodness  knows,  I  speak  : 
but  the  children  should  have  education,  and  my  Charlotte  an 
entree  into   the  world  ;  and  what  you  say  of  the   invaluable 

clergyman,  Mr.  X ,  I  have  been  thinking  of  it  all  night; 

but  above  all,  above  all,  of  the  chances  of  education  for  my 
darlings.  Nothing  should  give  way  to  that — nothing!"  On 
this  a  long  and  delightful  conversation  and  calculation  took 
place.  Bunch  produced  his  bills  at  the  Baroness  de  Smolensk's. 
The  two  gentlemen  jotted  up  accounts,  and  made  calculations 
all  through  the  evening.  It  was  hard  even  for  Mrs.  Baynes  to 
force  the  figures  into  such  a  shape  as  to  make  them  accord  with 
the  General's  income  ;  but,  driven  away  by  one  calculation 
after  another,  she  returned  again  and  again  to  the  charge,  until 
she  OA-ercame  the  stubborn  arithmetical  difficulties,  and  the 
pounds,  shillings,  and  pence  lay  prostrate  before  her.  They 
could  save  upon  this  point ;  they  could  screw  upon  that ;  they 
must  make  a  sacrifice  to  educate  the  children.  "  Sarah  Bunch 
and  her  girls  go  to  Court,  indeed  !  Why  shouldn't  mine  go?  " 
she  asked.  On  which  her  General  said,  "By  George,  Eliza, 
that's  the  point  you  are  thinking  of."  On  which  Eliza  said, 
"No,"  and  repeated  "No"  a  score  of  times,  growing  more 
angry  as  she  uttered  each  denial.  And  she  declared  before 
heaven  she  did  not  want  to  go  to  any  Court.  Had  she  not 
refused  to  be  presented  at  home,  though  Mrs.  Colonel  Flack 
went,  because  she  did  not  choose  to  go  to  the  wicked  expense 
of  a  train  ?  And  it  was  base  of  the  General,  hase  and  mean  of 
him  to  say  so.  And  there  was  a  fine  scene,  as  I  am  given 
to  understand  ;  not  that  I  was  present  at  this  family  fight^:  but 

20 


306  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

my  informnnt  was  Mr.  Firmin  ;  and  Mr.  Firmin  had  his  infor- 
mation  from  a  little  person  who,  about  this  time,  had  got  to 
prattle  out  all  the  secrets  of  her  young  heart  to  him  ;  who  would 
have  jumped  off  the  pier-head  with  her  hand  in  his  if  he  had 
said  "  Come,"  without  his  hand  if  he  had  said  "•  Go :  "  a  little 
person  whose  whole  life  had  been  changed  —  changed  for  a 
month  past  —  changed  in  one  minute,  that  minute  when  she 
saw  Philip's  fiery  whiskers  and  heard  his  great  big  voice  saluting 
her  father  amongst  the  commissioners  on  the  quai  before  the 
custom-house. 

Tours  was,  at  any  rate,  a  hundred  and  fift}*  miles  farther  off 
than  Paris  from  —  from  a  city  where  a  young  gentleman  lived 
in  whom  Miss  Charlotte  Baynes  felt  an  interest ;  hence,  I  sup-  - 
pose,  arose  her  delight  that  her  parents  had  determined  upon 
taking  up  their  residence  in  the  larger  and  nearer  citj-.  Besides, 
she  owned,  in  the  course  of  her  artless  confidences  to  m}'  wife, 
that,  when  together,  mamma  and  aunt  MacWhirter  quarrelled 
unceasingh' ;  and  had  once  caused  the  old  bo3S,  the  Major  and 
the  General,  to  call  each  other  out.  She  preferred,  then,  to  live 
away  from  aunt  Mac.  She  had  never  had  such  a  friend  as 
Laura,  never.  She  had  never  been  so  happy  as  at  Boulogne, 
never.  She  should  always  love  everybody  in  our  house,  that 
she  should,  for  ever  and  ever  —  and  so  forth,  and  so  forth. 
The  ladies  meet ;  cling  together  ;  osculations  are  carried  round 
the  whole  famil\^  circle,  from  our  wondering  eldest  boy,  who 
cries,  "I  say,  hullo!  what  are  yon  kissing  me  so  about?"  to 
darling  baby,  crowing  and  sputtering  unconscious  in  the  rap- 
turous .young  girl's  embraces.  I  tell  30U,  these  two  women  were 
making  fools  of  themselves,  and  they  were  burning  with  enthu- 
siasm for  the  "  preserver"  of  the  Baynes  family,  as  they  called 
that  big  fellow  yonder,  whose  biographer  I  have  aspired  to  be. 
The  lazy  rogue  lay  basking  in  the  glorious  wai-mth  and  sun- 
shine of  early  love.  He  would  stretch  his  big  limbs  out  in  our 
garden  ;  pour  out  his  feelings  with  endless  volubility  ;  call  upon 
hominum  divumque  volicptas^  alma  Venus;  vow  that  he  had 
never  lived  or  been  happy  until  now ;  declare  that  he  laughed 
poverty  to  scorn  and  all  her  ills  ;  and  fume  against  his  mas- 
ters of  the  Pall  3Iall  Gazette^  because  the}'  declined  to  insert 
certain  love-verses  which  Mr.  Philip  now  composed  almost 
every  da}'.  Poor  little  Charlotte  !  And  didst  thou  receive 
those  treasures  of  song ;  and  wonder  over  them,  not  perhaps 
comprehending  them  altogether ;  and  lock  them  up  in  i\\y 
heart's  inmost  casket  as  well  as  in  th}'^  little  desk ;  and  take 
them  out  in  quiet  hours,  and  kiss  them,  and  bless  heaven  for 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  307 

giving  thee  such  jewels?  I  dare  sa}-.  I  can  fancy  all  this, 
without  seeing  it.  I  can  read  the  little  letters  in  the  little  desk, 
without  piclving  lock  or  breaking  seal.  Poor  little  letters ! 
Sometimes  they  are  nt)t  spelt  right,  quite  ;  but  I  don't  know 
that  the  style  is  worse  for  that.  Poor  little  letters  !  You  are 
flung  to  the  winds  sometimes  and  forgotten  with  all  A'our  sweet 
secrets  and  loving  artless  confessions  ;  but  not  always  —  no, 
not  always.  As  for  Philip,  who  was  the  most  careless  creature 
alive,  and  left  all  his  clothes  and  haberdashery  sprawling  on  his 
bedroom  floor,  he  had  at  this  time  a  breast-pocket  stuffed  out 
with  papers  which  crackled  in  the  most  ridiculous  wsxy.  He 
was  always  looking  down  at  this  precious  pocket,  and  putting 
one  of  his  great  hands  over  it  as  though  he  would  guai'd  it. 
The  pocket  did  not  contain  bank-notes,  j-ou  may  be  sure  of 
that.  It  contained  documents  stating  that  manima's  cold  is 
better;  the  Joneses  came  to  tea,  and  Julia  sang,  &c.  Ah, 
friend,  however  old  you  are  now,  however  cold  30U  are  now, 
however  tough,  I  hope  you,  too,  remember  how  Julia  sang,  and 
the  Joneses  came  to  tea. 

Mr.  Philip  stayed  on  week  after  week,  declaring  to  my  wife 
that  she  was  a  perfect  angel  for  keeping  him  so  long.  Bunch 
wrote  from  his  boarding-house  more  and  more  enthusiastic  re- 
ports about  the  comforts  of  the  establishment.  For  his  sake, 
Madame  la  Baronne  de  Smolensk  would  make  unheard-of  sacri- 
fices, in  order  to  accommodate  the  General  and  Ids  distinguished 
party.  The  balls  were  going  to  be  perfectly  splendid  that  win- 
ter. There  were  several  old  Indians  living  near ;  in  fact  they 
could  form  a  regular  little  club.  It  was  agreed  that  Barnes 
should  go  and  reconnoitre  the  ground.  He  did  go.  Madame  de 
Smolensk,  a  most  elegant  woman,  had  a  magnificent  dinner  for 
him  — quite  splendid,  I  give  you  my  word,  but  only  what  they 
have  ever}-  day.  Soup,  of  course,  my  love  ;  fish,  capital  wine, 
and,  I  should  say,  some  five  or  six  and  thirty  made  dishes. 
Tiie  General  was  quite  enraptured.  Bunch  had  put  his  boys  to 
a  famous  school,  where  they  might  "  Avhop"  the  French  boys,* 
and  learn  all  the  modern  languages.  The  little  ones  would  dine 
early  ;  the  baroness  would  take  the  whole  family  at  an  astonish- 
ingly cheap  rate.  In  a  word,  the  Baynes  column  got  the  route 
for  Paris  shortly  before  our  family-party  was  crossing  the  seas 
to  return  to  London  fogs  and  duty. 

You  have,  no  doubt,  remarked  how,  under  certain  tender 
circumstances,  women  will  help  one  another.  They  help  where 
they  ought  not  to  help.  When  Mr.  Darby  ought  to  be  sepa- 
rated from  Miss  Joan,  and  the  best  thing  that  could  happen  for 


308  THE  ADVENTURES  OF   PPITLIP 

both  would  be  a  lettre  de  cachet  to  whip  off  Mons.  Darby  to  the 
Bastile  for  five  years,  and  an  order  from  her  parents  to  lock  up 
Mademoiselle  Jeanne  in  a  convent,  some  aunt,  some  relative, 
some  pitying  female  friend  is  sure  to  be  found,  who  will  give 
the  pair  a  chance  of  meeting,  and  turn  her  head  away  whilst 
those  unhappy  lovers  are  warbling  endless  good-b^'es  close  up 
to  each  other's  ears.  My  wife,  I  have  said,  chose  to  feel  this 
absurd  sympath}'  for  the  3'oung  people  about  whom  we  have  been 
just  talking.  As  the  da3-s  for  Charlotte's  departure  drew  near, 
this  wretched,  misguiding  matron  would  take  the  girl  out  walk- 
ing into  I  know  not  what  unfrequented  bj'-lanes,  quiet  streets, 
rampart-nooks,  and  the  like  ;  and  la !  by  the  most  singular  co- 
incidence, Mr.  Philip's  hulking  boots  would  assuredl}'  come 
tramping  after  the  women's  little  feet.  What  will  3'ou  say, 
when  I  tell  you,  that  I  myself,  the  father  of  the  famil}',  the 
renter  of  the  old-fashioned  house,  Rue  Roucoule,  Haute  Ville, 
Boulogne-sur-Mer  —  as  I  am  going  into  my  own  study  —  am 
met  at  the  threshold  by  Helen,  ni}'  eldest  daughter,  who  puts 
her  little  arms  before  the  glass  door  at  which  I  was  about  to 
enter,  and  says,  "You  must  not  go  in  there,  papa!  Mamma 
says  we  none  of  us  are  to  go  in  there." 

"  And  wh}',  pray?"  I  ask. 

"  Because  Uncle  Philip  and  Charlotte  are  talking  secrets 
there  ;  and  nobod}'  is  to  disturb  them  —  nobody  !" 

Upon  my  word,  wasn't  this  too  monstrous?  Am  I  Sir 
Pandarus  of  Tro}' become  ?  Am  I  going  to  allow  a  penniless 
young  man  to  steal  away  the  heart  of  a  .young  girl  who  has  not 
twopence  halfpenny  to  her  fortune  !  Shall  I,  1  sa}',  lend  my- 
self to  this  most  unjustifiable  intrigue? 

"  Sir,"  says  my  wife  (we  happened  to  have  been  bred  up 
from  childhood  together,  and  I  own  to  have  had  one  or  two 
foohsh  initiatory  flirtations  before  I  settled  down  to  matrimonial 
fidelity)  —  "Sir,"  says  she,  "when  you  were  so  wild  —  so 
spoonej',  I  think  is  your  elegant  word  —  about  Blanche,  and 
tised  to  put  letters  into  a  hollow  tree  for  her  at  home,  I  used  to 
see  the  letters,  and  I  never  disturbed  them.  These  two  people 
have  much  warmer  hearts,  and  are  a  great  deal  fonder  of  each 
other,  than  you  and  Blanche  used  to  be.  I  should  not  like  to 
separate  Charlotte  from  Philip  now.  It  is  too  late,  sir.  She 
can  never  like  anybody  else  as  she  likes  him.  If  she  lives  to 
be  a  hundred,  she  will  never  forget  him.  Why  should  not  the 
poor  thing  be  happy  a  little,  while  she  ma}'?" 

An  old  house,  with  a  green  old  courtjard,  and  an  ancient 
mossy  wall,  through  breaks  of  which  I  can  see  the  roofs  and 


•  ON   HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  309 

gables  of  the  quaint  old  town,  the  city  below,  the  shining  sea, 
and  the  white  English  cliffs  beyond  ;  a  green  old  courtyard,  and 
a  tall  old  stone  house  rising  up  in  it,  grown  over  with  many  a 
creeper  on  which  the  sun  casts  flickering  shadows  ;  and  under 
the  shadows,  and  through  the  glass  of  a  tall  gray  window,  I 
can  just  peep  into  a  brown  twilight  parlor,  and  there  I  see  two 
hazy  figures  by  a  table.  One  slim  figure  has  brown  hair,  and 
one  has  flame-colored  whiskers.  Look,  a  ray  of  sunshine  has 
just  peered  into  the  room,  and  is  lighting  the  whiskers  up  ! 

"  Poor  little  thing,"  whispers  my  wife,  very  gently.  "  They 
are  going  away  to-morrow  Let  them  have  their  talk  out. 
She  is  crying  her  little  eyes  out,  I  am  sure.  Poor  little 
Charlotte ! " 

Whilst  my  wife  was  pitying  Miss  Charlotte  in  this  pathetic 
wa}',  and  was  going,  I  dare  say,  to  have  recourse  to  her  own 
pocket-handkerchief,  as  I  live  there  came  a  burst  of  laughter 
from  the  darkling  chamber  where  the  two  lovers  were  billing 
and  cooing.  First  came  Mr.  Philip's  great  boom  (such  a  roar 
—  such  a  haw-haw,  or  hee-haw,  I  never  heard  any  other  two- 
legged  animal  perform).  Then  follows  Miss  Charlotte's  tink- 
ling peal ;  and  presently  that  young  person  comes  out  into  the 
garden,  with  her  round  face  not  bedewed  with  tears  at  all,  but 
perfectl}^  rosy,  fresh,  dimpled,  and  good-humored.  Charlotte 
gives  me  a  little  curts}',  and  m}-  wife  a  hand  and  a  kind  glance. 
The3'  retreat  through  the  open  casement,  twining  round  each 
other,  as  the  vine  does  round  the  window  ;  though  which  is  the 
vine  and  which  is  the  window  in  this  simile,  I  pretend  not  to 
say  —  I  can't  see  through  either  of  them,  that  is  the  truth. 
They  pass  through  the  parlor,  and  into  the  street  beyond, 
doubtless :  and  as  for  Mr.  Philip,  I  presentl^^  see  his  head 
popped  out  of  liis  window  in  the  upper  floor  with  his  great  pipe 
in  his  mouth.  He  can't  "  work  "  without  his  pipe,  he  says; 
and  my  wife  believes  him.     Work  indeed  ! 

Miss  Charlotte  paid  us  another  little  visit  that  evening,  when 
we  happened  to  be  alone.  The  children  were  gone  to  bed. 
The  darlings  !  Charlotte  must  go  up  and  kiss  them.  Mr. 
Philip  Firmin  was  out.  She  did  not  seem  to  miss  him  in  the 
least,  nor  did  she  make  a  single  inquiry  for  him.  We  had  been 
so  good  to  her  —  so  kind.  How  should  she  ever  forget  our 
great  kindness  ?  She  had  been  so  happ}'  —  oh  !  so  happy  ! 
She  had  never  been  so  happy  before.  Slie  would  write  often 
and  often,  and  Laura  would  write  constantly  —  wouldn't  she? 
"  Yes,  dear  child  !  "  says  my  wife.  And  now  a  little  more 
kissing,  and  it  is  time  to  go  home  to  the  Tintilleries.     What  a 


310  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

lovely  night !     Indeed  the  moon  was  blazing  in  full  round  in 
the  purple  heavens,  and  the  stars  were  twinkling  by  mjriads. 

"  Good-by,  dear  Charlotte;  happiness  go  with  you!"  I 
seize  her  hand.  I  feel  a  paternal  desire  to  kiss  her  fair,  round 
face.  Her  sweetness,  her  happiness,  her  artless  good-humor, 
and  gentleness  has  endeared  her  to  us  all.  As  for  me,  I  love 
her  with  a  fatherly  affection.  "Stay,  ni}'  dear!"  I  cry,  with 
a  happy  gallantry.     "  I'll  go  home  with  you  to  the  Tintilleries." 

You  should  have  seen  the  fair  round  face  then!  Such  a 
piteous  expi'ession  came  over  it !  She  looked  at  m}^  wife  ;  and 
as  for  that  Mrs.  Laura  she  pulled  the  tail  of  m}'  coat. 

"  AVhat  do  you  mean,  m}^  dear?  "  I  ask. 

"  Don't  go  out  on  such  a  dreadful  night.  You'll  catch 
cold  !  "  says  Laura. 

"  Cold,  my  love!  "  I  say.  "Why,  it's  as  fine  a  night  as 
ever  —  " 

"  Oh  !  you  —  you  stoopid !  "  says  Laura,  and  begins  to  laugh. 
And  there  goes  Miss  Charlotte  tripping  away  from  us  without  a 
word  more. 

Philip  came  in  about  half  an  hour  afterwards.  And  do  you 
know  I  very  strongly  suspect  that  he  had  been  waiting  round 
the  corner.  Few  things  escape  ?«e,  you  see,  when  I  have  a 
mind  to  be  observant.  And,  certain!}:,  if  I  had  thought  of 
that  possibility  and  that  I  might  be  spoiHng  sport,  I  should 
not  have  proposed  to  Miss  Charlotte  to  walk  home  with  her. 

At  a  ver}^  early  hour  on  the  next  morning  my  wife  arose, 
and  spent,  in  my  opinion,  a  great  deal  of  unprofitable  time, 
bread,  butter,  cold  beef,  mustard  and  salt,  in  compiling  a  heap 
of  sandwiches,  which  were  tied  up  in  a  copy  of  the  Pall  Mall 
Gazette.  That  persistence  in  making  sandwiches,  in  providing 
cakes  and  other  refreshments  for  a  journe}-,  is  a  strange  infatu- 
ation in  women  ;  as  if  there  was  not  always  enough  to  eat  to 
be  had  at  road  inns  and  railwaj'  stations  I  What  a  good  dinner 
we  used  to  have  at  Montrenil  in  the  old  da^s,  before  railways 
were,  and  when  the  diligence  spent  four  or  six  and  twenty 
cheerful  hours  on  its  way  to  Paris  !  I  think  the  finest  dishes 
are  not  to  be  compared  to  that  well-remembered  fricandeau  of 
youth,  nor  do  wines  of  the  most  daint}-  vintage  surpass  the 
rough,  honest,  blue  ordinaire  which  was  served  at  the  plenteous 
inn-table.  I  took  our  bale  of  sandwiches  down  to  the  office  of 
the  Messageries,  whence  our  friends  were  to  start.  We  saw 
six  of  the  Baynes  family  packed  into  the  interior  of  the  dili- 
gence ;  and  the  boys  climb  cheeril}-  into  the  rotonde.  Char- 
Votte's  pretty  lips  and  hands  wafted  kisses  to  us  from  her  corner. 


Charlotte's  Convoy. 


ON   HIS   WAY  THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  311 

Mrs.  General  Baynes  commanded  the  column,  pushed  the  little 
ones  into  their  places  in  the  ark,  ordered  the  General  and 
young  ones  hither  and  thither  with  her  parasol,  declined  to  give 
"the  gTumbling  porters  any  but  the  suiuUest  gratuity,  and  talked 
a  shrieking  jargon  of  French  and  Hindustanee  to  the  people 
assembled  round  the  carriage.  My  wife  has  that  command 
over  me  that  she  actually  made  me  demean  myself  so  far  as  to 
deliver  the  sandwich  parcel  to  one  of  the  Baynes  boys.  I  said, 
"  Take  this,"  and  the  poor  wretch  held  out  his  hand  eagerly, 
evidently  expecting  that  I  was  about  to  tip  him  with  a  five-franc 
piece  or"  some  such  coin.  Fouette,  cocher  !  The  horses  squeal. 
The  huge  machine  jingles  over  the  road,  and  rattles  down  the 
street.  Farewell,  pretty  Charlotte,  with  your  sweet  fiice  and 
sweet  voice  and  kind  eyes!  But  why,  pray,  is  Mr.  Philip 
Firmin  not  here  to  sa^'  farewell  too? 

Before  the  diligence  got  under  way,  the  Baynes  boys  had 
fouglit,  and  quarrelled,  and  wanted  to  mount  on  the  imperial  or 
cabriolet  of  the  carriage,  where  there  was  only  one  passenger 
as  yet.  But  the  conductor  called  the  lads  off,  sa3-ing  that  the 
remaining  place  was  engaged  by  a  gentleman  who  they  were  to 
take  up  on  the  road.  And  who  should  this  turn  out  to  be? 
Just  outside  tlie  town  a  man  springs  up  to  the  imperial ;  his 
light  luggage,  it  appears,  was  on  the  coach  already,  and  that 
luggage  belonged  to  Philip  Firmin.  Ah,  monsieur!  and  that 
was  the  reason,  was  it,  why  the}-  were  so  merry  yesterday'  — the 
parting  day?  Because  they  were  not  going  to  part  just  then. 
Because,  when  the  time  of  execution  drew. near,  they  had  man- 
aged to  smuggle  a  little  reprieve  !  Upon  m}'  conscience,  I 
never  heard  of  such  imprudence  in  the  whole  course  of  my  hfe  ! 
Why,  it  is  starvation  —  certain  misery  to  one  and  the  other. 
"  I  don't  like  to  meddle  in  other  people's  affairs,"  I  say  to  my 
wife  ;  "  but  I  have  no  patience  with  such  folly,  or  with  myself 
for  not  speaking  to  General  Baynes  on  the  subject.  I  shall 
write  to  the  General." 

"  My  dear,  the  General  knows  all  about  it,"  says  Char- 
lotte's, Philip's  (in  my  opinion)  most  injudicious  friend.  "  We 
have  talked  about  it,  and,  like  a  man  of  sense,  the  General 
makes  light  of  it.  '  Young  folks  will  be  3'oung  folks,'  he  sa,ys  ; 
'  and,  by  George  !  ma'am,  when  I  married  —  I  should  say,  wlien 
Mrs.  B.  ordered  mc^  to  marry  her  —  she  had  nothing,  and  1 
but  my  captain's  paj'.  People  get  on,  somehow.  Better  for  a 
young  man  to  marrj',  and  keep  out  of  idleness  and  mischief; 
and  I  promise  you,  the  chap  who  marries  my  girl  gets  a  treas- 
ure.    I  like  the  boy  for  the  sake  of  iny  old  friend  Phil  Ring- 


312  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

wood.  I  don't  see  that  the  fellows  with  the  rich  wives  are  much 
the  happier,  or  that  men  should  wait  to  marry  until  they  are 
gouty  old  rakes.'"  And,  it  appears,  the  General  instanced 
several  officers  of  his  own  acquaintance  ;  some  of  whom  had 
married  when  thej^  were  .young  and  poor ;  some  who  had  mar- 
ried when  they  were  old  and  sulky ;  some  who  had  never 
married  at  all.  And  he  mentioned  his  comrade,  my  own 
uncle,  the  late  Major  Pendennis,  whom  he  called  a  selfish  old 
creature,  and  hinted  that  the  Major  had  jilted  some  lady  in 
early  life,  whom  he  would  have  done  much  better  to  marry. 

And  so  Philip  is  actually  gone  after  his  charmer,  and  is  pur- 
suing her  summd  diligentid  ?  The  Baynes  family  has  allowed 
this  penniless  young  law  student  to  make  love  to  their  daugh- 
ter, or  accompany  them  to  Paris,  to  appear  as  the  almost  recog- 
nized son  of  the  house.  "  Other  people,  when  they  were  young, 
wanted  to  make  imprudent  marriages,"  says  my  wife  (as  if  that 
wretched  tu  quoque  were  any  answer  to  my  remark !)  "This 
penniless  law  student  might  have  a  good  sum  of  money  if  he 
chose  to  press  the  Baynes  famil}'  to  pa}'  him  what,  after  all, 
they  owe  him."  And  so  poor  little  Charlotte  was  to  be  her 
father's  ransom !  To  be  sure,  little  Charlotte  did  not  object  to 
offer  herself  up  in  payment  of  her  papa's  debt !  And  though  I 
objected  as  a  moral  man  and  a  prudent  man,  and  a  father  of  a 
family,  I  could  not  be  very  seriously'  ?iu^vy.  I  am  secretl}'  of 
the  disposition  of  the  time-honoi'ed  pere  de  famille  in  the  come- 
dies, the  irascible  old  gentleman  in  the  crop  wig  and  George- 
the-Second  coat,  who  is  always  menacing  "Tom  the  young 
dog"  with  his  cane.  When  the  deed  is  done,  and  Miranda 
(the  little  sly-boots!)  falls  before  my  squaretoes  and  shoe- 
buckles,  and  Tom,  the  young  dog,  kneels  before  me  in  his  white 
ducks,  and  they  cry  out  in  a  pretty*  chorus,  "  Forgive  us,  grand- 
papa !  "  I  say,  "  Well,  3'ou  rogue,  boys  will  be  boys.  Take  her, 
sirrah  !  Be  happy  with  her  ;  and,  hark  ye  !  in  this  pocket-book 
you  will  find  ten  thousand,"  &c.  &c.  You  all  know  the  story : 
I  cannot  help  liking  it,  however  old  it  may  be.  In  love,  some- 
how, one  is  pleased  that  young  people  should  dare  a  little. 
Was  not  Bess}'  Eldon  famous  as  an  economist,  and  Lord  Eldon 
celebrated  for  wisdom  and  caution?  and  did  not  John  Scott 
marry  Elizabeth  Surtees  when  they  had  scarcel}'  twopence  a 
year  between  them?  "  Of  course,  my  dear,"  I  say  to  the  part- 
ner of  my  existence,  "  now  this  madcap  fellow  is  utterly'  ruined, 
now  is  the  very  time  he  ought  to  marry.  The  accepted  doc- 
trine is  that  a  man  should  spend  his  own  fortune,  then  his  wife's 
fortune,  and  then  he  may  begin  to  get  on  at  the  bar.     Philip 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  313 

has  a  hundred  pounds,  let  us  say ;  Charlotte  has  nothing ;  so 
that  in  about  six  weeks  we  may  look  to  hear  of  Philip  being  in 
successful  practice  —  "- 

"  Successful  nonsense  !  "  cries  the  lady,  "  Don't  go  on  hke 
a  cold-blooded  calculating  machine  !  You  don't  believe  a  word 
of  what  you  say,  and  a  more  imprudent  person  never  lived  than 
you  yourself  were  as  a  ^-oung  man."  Tiiis  was  departing  from 
the  question,  which  women  will  do.  ''  Nonsense  !  "  again  -says 
my  romantic  being  of  a  partner-of-existence.  "  Don't  tell  me, 
sir.  They  will  be  provided  for  !  Are  we  to  be  for  ever  taking 
care  of  the  morrow,  and  not  trusting  that  we  shall  be  cared  for? 
Tou  may  call  your  way  of  thinking  prudence.  I  call  it  shifnl 
wo7-ldliness,  sir."  When  my  life-partner  speaks  in  a  certain 
strain,  I  know  that  remonstrance  is  useless,  and  argument  un- 
availing, and  I  generally  resort  to  cowardly  subterfuges,  and 
sneak  out  of  the  conversation  by  a  pun,  a  side  joke,  or  some 
other  flippancy.  Besides,  in  this  case,  though  I  argue  against 
my  wife,  my  sympathy  is  on  her  side.  I  know  Mr.  Philip  is 
imprudent  and  headstrong,  but  I  should  like  him  to  succeed, 
and  be  happy.     I  own  he  is  a  scapegrace,  but  I  wish  him  well. 

So,  just  as  the  diligence  of  Lafitte  and  Caillard  is  clearing 
out  of  Boulogne  town,  the  conductor  causes  the  carnage  to 
stop,  and  a  young  fellow  has  mounted  up  on  the  roof  in  a 
twinkhng  ;  and  the  postilion  sa3-s  "Hi!"  to  his  horses,  and 
away  those  squealing  graj's  go  clattering.  And  a  young  lady, 
happening  to  look  out  of  one  of  the  windows  of  the  intcrieur, 
has  perfectly-  recognized  the  3'oung  gentleman  who  leaped  up  to 
the  roof  so  nimbly  ;  and  the  two  bo^'s  who  were  in  tlie  rotoude 
would  have  recognized  the  gentleman,  but  that  the}'  were 
alread}'  eating  the  sandwiches  which  m^^  wife  had  provided. 
And  so  the  diligence  goes  on,  until  it  reaches  that  hill,  where 
the  girls  used  to  come  and  offer  to  sell  you  apples  ;  and  some  of 
the  passengers  descend  and  walk,  and  the  tall  young  man  on  the 
roof  jumps  down,  and  approaches  the  party  in  the  interior,  and 
a  3'oung  ladj'  cries  out  "  La!"  and  licr  mamma  looks  impene- 
trably grave,  and  not  in  the  least  surprised ;  and  her  father 
gives  a  wink  of  one  eye,  and  saj's,  "  It's  him,  is  it,  b}'  George  !  " 
and  the  two  boys  coming  out  of  the  rotonde,  their  mouths  full 
of  sandwich,  cr}-  out,  "  Hullo!     It's  Mr.  Firmin." 

"  How  do  you  do,  ladies?"  he  says,  blushing  as  red  as  an 
apple,  and  his  heart  thumping  —  but  that  may  be  from  walking 
up  hill.  And  he  puts  a  hand  towards  the  carriage-window  and 
a  little  hand  comes  out  and  lights  on  his.  And  IMrs.  General 
Baynes,  who  is  reading  a  religious  work,  looks  up  and  says, 


314  THE  ADVENTURES  OF   PHILIP 

"  Oh  !  how  do  3^011  do,  Mr.  Firmui?  "  And  this  is  the  remr.ik- 
able  dialogue  that  takes  place.  It  is  not  very  wittj' ;  oul 
Philip's  tones  send  a  rapture  into  one  3'oung  heart :  and  wAen 
he  is  absent,  and  has  climbed  up  to  his  place  in  the  cabrioiet, 
the  kick  of  his  boots  on  the  roof  gives  the  said  young  heart 
inexpressible  comfort  and  consolation.  Shine  stars  and  moon. 
Shriek  gray  horses  through  the  calm  night.  Snore  sweetly, 
papa  and  mamma,  in  your  corners,  with  your  pocket-handker- 
chiefs tied  round  your  old  fronts !  I  suppose,  under  all  the 
stars  of  heaven,  there  is  nobody  more  hapi)y  than  that  child  in 
that  carriage — that  wakeful  girl,  in  sweet  maiden  meditation 
—  who  has  given  her  heart  to  the  keeping  of  the  champion  who 
is  so  near  her.  Has  he  not  been  always  their  champion  and 
preserver?  Don't  they  owe  to  his  generosity  everything  in  life? 
One  of  the  little  sisters  wakes  wildly,  and  cries  in  the  night, 
and  Ciiarlotte  takes  the  child  into  her  arms  and  soothes  her. 
"Hush,  dear!  He's  there  —  he's  there,"  she  whispers,  as  she 
bends  over  the  chikl.  Nothing  wrong  can  happen  with  /iim 
there,  she  feels.  If  the  robbers  were  to  spring  out  from  yonder 
dark  pines,  why,  he  would  jump  down,  and  the}'  would  all  fly 
before  him !  The  carriage  rolls  on  through  sleeping  villages, 
and  as  the  old  team  retires  all  in  a  halo  of  smoke,  and  the  fresh 
horses  come  clattering  up  to  their  pole,  Charlotte  sees  a  well- 
known  white  face  in  the  gleam  of  the  carriage-lanterns.  Through 
the  long  avenues  the  great  vehicle  rolls  on  its  course.  The 
dawn  peers  over  the  poplars  :  the  stars  quiver  out  of  sight : 
the  sun  is  up  in  the  sky,  and  the  heaven  is  all  in  a  flame.  The 
night  is  over  —  the  night  of  nights.  In  all  the  round  world, 
whether  lighted  by  stars  or  sunshine,  there  were  not  two  people 
more  happ}'  than  these  had  been. 

A  very  short  time  afterwards,  at  the  end  of  October,  our 
own  little  sea-side  sojourn  came  to  an  end.  That  astounding 
bill  for  broken  glass,  chairs,  crockery,  was  paid.  The  London 
steamer  takes  us  all  on  board  on  a  beautiful,  sunny  autumn 
evening,  and  lands  us  at  the  Custom-house  Quay  in  the  midst 
of  a  deep,  dun  fog,  through  which  our  cabs  have  to  work  their 
way  over  greasy  pavements,  and  bearing  two  loads  of  silent 
and  terrified  chiMren.  Ah,  that  return,  if  but  after  a  fortnight's 
absence  and  holiday !  Oh,  that  heap  of  letters  lyiug  in  a 
ghastly  pile,  and  yet  so  clearly  visible  in  the  dim  twilight  of 
master's  study  !  We  cheerfully  breakfast  b}'  candlelight  for 
the  first  two  days  after  m\-  arrival  at  home,  and  I  have  the 
pleasure  of  cutting  a  part  of  my  chin  off"  because  it  is  too  dark 
to  shave  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  315 

My  wife  can't  be  so  unfeeling  as  to  laugh  and  be  merry 
because  I  have  met  with  an  accident  which  temporarily  dis- 
figures me.  If  the  dun  fog  makes  her  jocular,  she  has  a  very 
queer  sense  of  humor.  She  has  a  letter  before  her,  over  which 
she  is  perfectly  radiant.  When  she  is  especially  pleased  I  can 
see  by  her  face  and  a  particular  animation  and  affectionateness 
towards  the  rest  of  the  famil}'.  On  this  present  morning  her 
face  beams  out  of  the  fog-clouds.  The  room  is  ilhuninated  by 
it,  and  perhaps  by  the  two  candles  which  are  placed  one  on 
either  side  of  the  urn.  The  fire  crackles,  and  flames,  and  spits 
most  cheerfully  ;  and  the  sky  without,  which  is  of  the  hue  of 
brown  paper,  seems  to  setoti*  the  brightness  of  the  little  interior 
scene. 

"A  letter  from  Charlotte,  papa,"  cries  one  little  girl,  with 
an  air  of  consequence.  "And  a  letter  from  Uncle  Philip, 
papa  !  "  cries  another,  "  and  they  like  Paris  so  much,"  continues 
the  little  reporter. 

"  And  there,  sir,  didn't  I  tell  you?"  cries  the  lady,  handing 
me  over  a  letter. 

"Mamma  always  told  .you  so,"  echoes  the  child,  with  an 
important  nod  of  the  head;  "and  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if 
be  were  to  be  very  rich,  should  you,  mamma?"  continues  this 
arithmetician. 

I  would  not  put  Miss  Charlotte's  letter  into  print  if  I  could, 
for  do  you  know  that  little  person's  grammar  was  frequently 
incorrect ;  there  were  three  or  four  words  spelt  wrongly- ;  and 
the  letter  was  so  scored  and  marked  with  dashes  under  every 
other  word,  that  it  is  clear  to  me  her  education  had  been  nes:- 
lected  ;  and  as  I  am  very  fond  of  her,  I  do  not  wish  to  make 
fun  of  her.  And  I  can't  print  Mr.  Philip's  letter,  for  I 
haven't  kept  it.  Of  what  use  keeping  letters?  I  sa}'.  Burn, 
burn,  burn.  No  heart-pangs.  No  rei)roaches.  No  yester- 
day. Was  it  happy,  or  miserable?  To  think  of  it  is  always 
melancholy.  Go  to  !  I  dare  say  it  is  the  thought  of  that  fog, 
which  is  making  this  sentence  so  dismal.  Meanwhile  there  is 
Madame  Laura's  face  smiling  out  of  the  darkness,  as  pleased 
as  may  be  ;  and  no  wonder,  she  is  always  happ}'  when  her 
friends  are  so. 

Charlotte's  letter  contained  a  full  account  of  the  settlement 
of  the  Baynes  family  at  Madame  Smolensk's  boarding-house, 
where  they  appear  to  have  been  really  ver^'  comfortable,  and  to 
have  Uved  at  a  very  cheap  rate.  As  for  Mr.  Philip,  he  made 
his  way  to  a  crib,  to  which  his  artist  friends  had  reconuuended 
him,  on  the   Faubourg  St.  Germain  side  of  the   water  —  the 


316  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

"Hotel  Poussin,"  in  the  street  of  that  name,  which  lies,  you 
know,  between  the  Mazarin  Library  and  the  Musee  des  Beaux 
Arts.  In  former  days,  my  gentleman  had  lived  in  state  and 
bount}'^  in  the  English  hotels  and  quarter.  Now  he  found 
himself  verj'  handsomely  lodged  for  thirty  francs  per  month, 
and  with  five  or  six  pounds,  he  has  repeatedly  said  since,  he 
could  carry  through  the  month  very  comfortably.  I  don't  sa}^, 
my  young  traveller,  that  you  can  be  so  luck}'  now-a-da3's. 
Are  we  not  telling  a  stor^^  of  twenty  years  ago  ?  Aye  marry. 
Ere  steam-coaches  had  begun  to  scream  on  French  rails ;  and 
when  Louis  Philippe  was  king. 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Philip  Firmin  is  ruined  he  must  needs  fall 
in  love.  In  order  to  be  near  the  beloved  object,  he  must  needs 
follow  her  to  Paris,  and  give  up  his  promised  studies  for  the 
bar  at  home  ;  where,  to  do  him  justice,  I  believe  the  fellow 
would  never  have  done  any  good.  And  he  has  not  been  in 
Paris  a  fortnight  when  that  fantastic  jade  Fortune,  who  had 
seemed  to  fly  awa}'  from  him,  gives  him  a  smiling  look  of  rec- 
ognition, as  if  to  say,  "Young  gentleman,  I  have  not  quite 
done  with  3'ou." 

The  good  fortune  was  not  much.  Do  not  suppose  that 
Philip  suddenly  drew  a  twenty-thousand  pound  prize  in  a  lot- 
tery. But,  being  in  much  want  of  money,  he  suddenly  found 
himself  enabled  to  earn  some  in  a  way  pretty  easy  to  himself. 

In  the  first  place,  Philip  found  his  friends  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Mugford  in  a  bewildered  state  in  the  midst  of  Paris,  in  which 
cit}-  Mugford  would  never  consent  to  have  a  luquais  de, place, 
being  firmly  convinced  to  tlie  day  of  his  death  that  he  knew 
the  French  language  quite  sufficiently  for  all  purposes  of  con- 
versation. Philip,  who  had  often  visited  Paris  before,  came  to 
the  aid  of  his  friends  in  a  two-franc  dining-house,  which  he 
frequented  for  economy's  sake  ;  and  they,  Ijecause  they  thought 
the  banquet  there  provided  not  only  clieap,  but  most  mag- 
nificent and  satisfactory.  He  interpreted  for  them,  and  res- 
cued them  from  their  perplexity,  whatever  it  was.  He  treated 
them  handsomely  to  catty  on  the  bullyvard,  as  Mugford  said 
on  returning  home  and  in  recounting  the  adventure  to  me. 
"  He  can't  forget  that  he  has  been  a  swell :  and  he  does  do 
things  like  a  gentleman,  that  Firmin  does.  He  came  back 
with  us  to  our  hotel  —  Meurice's,"  said  Mr.  Mugford,  "and 
who  should  drive  into  the  3-ard  and  step  out  of  his  carriage 
but  Lord  Ringwood  —  you  know  Lord  Ringwood?  everybody 
knows  him.  As  he  gets  out  of  his  carriage  — '  What !  is 
that  you,  Philip?'  says  his  lordship,  giving  the  young  fellow 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  317 

his  hand.     '  Come  and  breakfast  with  me  to-morrow  mornina:.' 
And  awaj'  he  goes  most  friendly." 

How  came  it  to  pass  that  Lord  Ringwood,  whose  instinct 
of  self-preservation  was  strong  —  who,  I  fear,  was  rather  a 
selfish  nobleman  —  and  who,  of  late,  as  we  have  heard,  had 
given  orders  to  refuse  Mr.  Philip  entrance  at  his  door  —  should 
all  of  a  sudden  turn  round  and  greet  the  young  man  with  cor- 
dialitj'?  In  the  first  place,  Philip  had  never  troubled  his  lord- 
ship's knocker  at  all ;  and  second,  as  luck  would  have  it.  on 
this  very  day  of  their  meeting  his  lordship  had  been  to  dine 
with  that  \\ell-known  Parisian  resident  and  hon  vivant,  my  Lord 
Viscount  Trim,  who  had  been  governor  of  the  Sago  Islands 
when  Colonel  Baynes  was  there  with  his  regiment,  the  gallant 
100th.  And  the  General  and  his  old  West  India  governor 
meeting  at  church,  my  Lord  Trim  straightway'  asked  General 
Baynes  to  dinner,  where  Lord  Ringwood  was  present,  along 
with  other  distinguished  compau}',  whom  at  present  we  need 
not  particularize.  Now  it  has  been  said  that  Philip  Ringwood, 
my  lord's  brother,  and  Captain  Ba^-nes  in  early  youth  had  been 
close  friends,  and  that  the  Colonel  had  died  in  the  Captain's 
arms.  Lord  Ringwood,  who  had  an  excellent  memory  when 
he  chose  to  use  it,  was  pleased  on  this  occasion  to  remember 
General  Baynes  and  his  intimac}'  with  his  brother  in  old  da3's. 
Arid  of  those  old  times  the_v  talked  ;  the  General  waxing  more 
eloquent,  I  suppose,  than  his  wont  over  Lord  Trim's  excellent 
wine.  And  in  the  course  of  conversation  Philip  was  named, 
and  the  General,  warm  with  drink,  poured  out  a  most  en- 
thusiastic eulogium  on  his  young  friend,  and  mentioned  how 
noble  and  self-denying  Philip's  conduct  had  been  in  his  own 
case.  And  perhaps  Lord  Ringwood  was  pleased  at  hearing 
these  praises  of  his  brother's  grandson ;  and  perhaps  he 
thought  of  old  times,  when  he  had  a  heart,  and  he  and  his 
b]-other  loved  each  other.  And  though  he  might  think  Philip 
Firmin  an  absurd  young  blockhead  for  giving  up  any  claims 
which  he  might  have  on" General  Baynes,  at  any  rate  I  have  no 
doubt  his  lordship  thought,  "This  boy  is  not  likely  to  come 
begging  money  from  me  !  "  Hence,  when  he  drove  back  to  his 
hotel  on  the  very  night  after  this  dinner,  and  in  the  courtyard 
saw  that  Philip  Firmin,  his  brother's  grandson,  the  heart  of 
the  old  nobleman  was  smitten  with  a  kindly  sentiment,  and  he 
bade  Philip  to  come  and  see  him. 

I  have  described  some  of  Philip's  oddities,  and  amongst 
these  was  a  very  remarkable  change  in  his  appearance,  which 
ensued  very  speedily  after  his  ruin,     I  know  that  the  greater 


318  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

number  of  story  readers  are  young,  and  those  who  are  ever  so 
old  remember  that  tReir  own  .young  da3S  occurred  but  a  very, 
verj'  short  while  ago.  Don't  you  remember,  most  potent, 
grave,  and  reverend  senior,  when  you  were  a  junior,  and  actu- 
ally rather  pleased  with  new  clothes?  Does  a  new  coat  or  a 
waistcoat  cause  you  any  pleasure  now?  To  a  well-constituted 
middle-aged  gentleman,  I  rather  trust  a  smart  new  suit  causes 
a  sensation  of  uneasiness  —  not  from  the  tightness  of  the  fit, 
which  may  be  a  reason  —  but  from  the  gloss  and  splendor. 

When  my  late  kind  friend,  Mrs.  ,  gave  me  the  emerald 

tabbinet  waistcoat,  with  the  gold  shamrocks,  I  wore  it  once  to 
go  to  Richmond  to  dine  with  her ;  but  I  buttoned  myself  so 
closely  in  an  upper  coat,  that  I  am  sure  nobody  in  the  omnibus 
saw  what  a  painted  vest  I  had  on.  Gold  sprigs  and  emerald 
tabbinet,  what  a  gorgeous  raiment !  Tt  has  formed  for  ten 
years  the  chief  ornament  of  m}'  wardrobe ;  and  though  I  have 
never  dared  to  wear  it  since,  I  always  think  with  a  secret 
pleasure  of  possessing  that  treasure.  Do  women,  wlien  they 
are  sixty,  like  handsome  and  fashionable  attire,  and  a  ^-outhful 
appearance?  Look  at  Lad}'  Jezebel's  blushing  cheek,  her 
raven  hair,  her  splendid  garments  !  But  this  disquisition^may 
be  carried  to  too  great  a  length.  I  want  to  note  a  fact  which 
has  occurred  not  seldom  in  my  experience  —  that  men  who 
have  been  great  dandies  will  often  and  suddenl}'  give  up  their 
long-accustomed  splendor  of  dress,  and  walk  about,  most 
happy  and  contented,  with  the  shabbiest  of  coats  and  hats. 
No.  The  majority  of  men  are  not  vain  about  their  dress.  For 
instance,  within  a  very  few  years,  men  used  to  have  pretty  feet. 
See  in  what  a  resolute  wa}'  they  have  kicked  their  prett}'  boots 
off  almost  to  a  man,  and  wear  great,  thick,  formless,  comforta- 
ble walking  boots,  of  shape  scarcely  more  graceful  than  a  tub  ! 
When  Philip  Firmin  first  came  on  the  town,  there  were  dan- 
dies still ;  there  were  dazzling  waistcoats  of  velvet  and  brocade, 
and  tall  stocks  with  cataracts  of  satin  ;  there  were  pins,  studs, 
neck-chains,  I  know  not  what  fantastic  splendors  of  youth. 
His  varnished  boots  grew  upon  forests  of  trees.  He  had  a 
most  resplendent  silver-gilt  dressing-case,  presented  to  him  by 
his  father  (for  which,  it  is  true,  the  doctor  neglected  to  pay, 
leaving  that  duty  to  his  son).  "  It  is  a  mere  ceremony,"  said 
the  worthy  doctor,  "  a  cumbrous  thing  you  ma}^  fanc}'  at  first; 
but  take  it  about  with  you.  It  looks  well  on  a  man's  dressing- 
table  at  a  countr3'-house.  It  poses  a  man,  3-ou  understand.  I 
have  known  women  come  in  and  peei)  at  it.  A  trifle  you  may 
say,  my  bo}' ;  but  what  is  the  use  of  flinging  any  chance  in  life 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  319 

awa}-?"  Now,  when  misfortune  came,  3'onng  Philip  flung 
awa}'  all  these  magnificent  follies.  He  wrapped  himsolt  virtute 
sua ;  and  I  am  bound  to  say  a  more  queer-looking  fellow  than 
friend  Philip  seldom  walked  the  pavement  of  London  or  Paris. 
He  could  not  wear  the  nap  off'  all  his  coats,  or  rub  his  elbows 
into  rags  in  six  months  ;  but,  as  he  would  say  of  himself  with 
much  simplicity,  "■  I  do  think  I  run  to  seed  more  quickl}'  than 
an}^  fellow  I  ever  knew.  All  my  socks  in  holes,  Mrs.  Pen- 
dennis  ;  all  my  shirt-buttons  gone,  I  give  ^'ou  m}'  word.  I 
don't  know  how  the  things  hold  together,  and  why  they  don't 
tumble  to  pieces.  I  suspect  I  must  have  a  *bad  laundress." 
Suspect !  My  children  used  to  laugh  and  crow  as  the}-  sewed 
buttons  on  to  him.  As  for  the  Little  Sister,  she  broke  into 
his  apartments  in  his  absence,  and  said  that  it  turned  her  hair 
gray  to  see  the  state  of  his  poor  wardrobe.  I  believe  that  Mrs. 
Brandon  put  surrei)titious  linen  into  his  drawers.  He  did  not 
know.  Lie  wore  the  shirts  in  a  contented  spirit.  The  glossy 
boots  began  to  crack  and  then  to  burst,  and  Philip  wore  them 
with  perfect  equanimit}'.  Where  were  the  beautiful  lavender 
and  lemon  gloves  of  last  year?  His  great  naked  hands  (with 
which  he  gesticulates  so  grandly)  were  as  brown  an  an  Indian's 
now.  We  iKid  liked  him  heartily  in  his  days  of  splendor ;  we 
loved  him  now  in  his"  threadbare  suit. 

I  can  fancy  the  .young  man  striding  into  the  room  where 
his  lordship's  guests  were  assembled.  In  the  pre'sence  of  great 
or  small,  Philip  has  always  been  entirely  unconcerned,  and  he 
is  one  of  the  half-dozen  men  I  have  seen  in  ni}-  life  upon  whom 
rank  made  no  impression.  It  appears  that,  on  occasion  of  this 
breakfist,  there  were  one  or  two  dandies  present  who  were 
aghast  at  I'hilip's  freedom  of  behavior.  He  engaged  in  con- 
versation with  a  famous  French  statesman  ;  contradicted  him 
with  much  energy  in  his  own  language  ;  and  when  the  statesman 
asked  whether  monsieur  was  membre  du  Parlemcnt?  Philip 
burst  into  one  of  his  roars  of  langhter,  which  almost  breaks  tlie 
glasses  on  a  table,  and  said,  "  Je  suis  journaliste,  monsieur,  a 
vos  ordres  !  "  Young  Timbury  of  the  embassy  was  aghast  at 
Philip's  insolence ;  and  Dr.  Botts,  his  lordshi[)'s  travelling 
physician,  looked  at  him  with  a  terrified  face.  A  bottle  of 
claret  was  bronglit,  which  almost  all  the  gentlemen  present 
began  to  swallow,  until  Philip,  tasting  his  glass,  called  ont, 
"  Faugh  !  It's  corked  !  "  "  So  it  is,  and  very  badly  corked," 
growls  my  lord,  with  one  of  his  usual  oatlis.  "•  Why  didn't 
some  of  you  fellows  speak  ?  Do  you  like  corked  wine  ?  "  There 
were  gallant  fellows  round  that  table  who  would  have  drunk 


t-> 


320  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

corked  black  dose,  had  his  lordship  professed  to  like  senna. 
The  old  host  was  tickled  and  amused.  "Your  mother  was  a 
quiet  soul,  and  your  father  used  to  bow  like  a  dancing-master. 
You  ain't  mucli  like  him.  I  dine  at  home  most  days.  Leave 
word  in  the  morning  with  m}'  people,  and. come  when  j-ou  like, 
Philip,"  he  growled.  A  part  of  this  news  PhiUp  narrated  to  us 
in  his  letter,  and  other  part  was  given  verballj'  b}-  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Mugford  on  their  return  to  London.  "I  tell  you,  sir," 
says  Mugford,  "  he  has  been  taken  by  the  hand  by  some  of  the 
tiptop  people,  and  I  have  booked  him  at  three  guineas  a  week 
for  a  letter  to  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette." 

And  this  was  the  cause  of  m\'  wife's  exultation  and  tri- 
umphant "  Didn't  I  tell  j-ou  ?  "  Philip's  foot  was  on  the  ladder  ; 
and  who  so  capjible  of  mounting  to  tlie  top?  When  happiness 
and  a  fond  and  lovel}'  girl  were  waiting  for  him  there,  would  he 
lose  heart,  spare  exertion,  or  be  afraid  to  climb?  He  had  no 
truer  well-wisher  than  m^'self,  and  no  friend  who  liked  him 
better,  though,  I  dare  say,  many  admired  him  much  more  than 
I  did.  But  these  were  women  for  the  most  part ;  and  women 
become  so  absurdl}'  unjust  and  partial  to  persons  whom  they 
love,  when  these  latter  are  in  misfortune,  that  I  am  surprised 
Mr.  Pliilip  did  not  quite  lose  his  head  in  his  poverty-,  witli  such 
fond  flatterers  and  s^'cophants  round  about  him.  Would  you 
grudge  him  the  consolation  to  be  had  from  these  sweet  uses  of 
adversity?  ^^lan}'  a  heart  would  be  hardened  but  for  the 
memory  of  past  griefs ;  when  eyes,  now  averted,  perhaps,  were 
full  of  s^'mpathy,  and  hands,  now  cold,  were  eager  to  soothe 
and  succor. 


CHAPTER  XIK. 

QU'ON   EST   BIEN   A   VINGT   ANS. 

A  FAIR  correspondent  —  and  I  would  parenthetically  hint 
that  all  correspondents  are  not  fair  —  points  out  the  discrepancy 
existing  I)etween  the  text  and  the  illustrations  of  our  story ;  * 
and  justly  remarks  that  the  stor}-  dated  more  than  twent}' 
years  back,  while  the  costumes  of  the  actors  of  our  little  com- 
edy are  of  the  fashion  of  to-day. 

My  dear  madam,  these  anachronisms  must  be,  or  3'ou  would 
scared}'  be  able  to  keep  any  interest  for  our  characters.     What 

*  This  refers  to  an  illustrated  edition  of  the  work. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  321 

would  be  a  woman  without  a  crinoline  petticoat,  for  example  ? 
an  object  ridiculous,  hateful,  I  suppose  hardly  proper.  What 
would  3'ou  think  of  a  hero  who  wore  a  large  high  black-satia 
stock  cascading  over  a  figured  silk  waistcoat ;  and  a  blue  dress- 
coat,  with  brass  buttons,  mayhap?  If  a  person  so  attired  came 
up  to  ask  you  to  dance,  could  you  refrain  from  laughing?  Time 
was  when  young  men  so  decorated  found  favor  in  the  e^es  of 
damsels  who  had  never  beheld  hooped  petticoats,  except  in 
their  grandmother's  portraits.  Persons  who  flourished  in  the 
first  part  of  the  century  never  thought  to  see  the  hoops  of  our 
ancestors'  age  rolled  downwards  to  our  contemporaries  and 
children.  Did  we  ever  imagine  that  a  period  would  arrive 
when  our  young  men  would  part  their  hair  down  the  middle, 
and  wear  a  piece  of  tape  for  a  neck-cloth  ?  As  soon  should  we 
have  thought  of  their  dyeing  their  bodies  with  woad,  and  array- 
ing themselves  like  ancient  Britons.  So  the  ages  have  their 
dress  and  undress  ;  and  the  gentlemen  and  ladies  of  Victoria's 
time  are  satisfied  witli  their  manner  of  raiment ;  as  no  doubt  in 
Boadicea's  court  they  looked  charming  tattooed  and  painted 
blue. 

The  times  of  which  we  write,  the  times  of  Louis  Philippe  the 
king,  are  so  altered  from  the  present,  that  when  Phihp  Firmin 
went  to  Paris  it  was  absolutely  a  cheap  place  to  live  in  ;  and  he 
has  often  bragged  in  subsequent  days  of  having  lived  well  dur- 
ing a  month  for  five  pounds,  and  bought  a  neat  waistcoat  with 
a  part  of  the  mone}'.  "  A  capital  bedroom,  au  premier^  for  a 
franc  a  day,  sir,"  he  would  call  all  persons  to  remark,  ■"  a  bed- 
room as  good  as  yours,  my  lord,  at  Meurice's.  Very  good  tea 
or  coffee  breakfast,  twenty  francs  a  month,  with  lots  of  bread 
and  butter.  Twenty  francs  a  month  for  washing,  and  fiftj'  for 
dinner  and  pocket-money — that's  about  the  figure.  The  din- 
ner, I  own,  is  sh}',  unless  I  come  and  dine  with  my  friends  ; 
and  then  I  make  up  for  banyan  days."  And  so  saying  Philip 
would  call  out  for  more  truffled  partridges,  or  affably  filled  his 
gol)let  with  my  Lord  Ringwood's  best  Siller}'.  "At  those 
shops,"  he  would  observe,  "  where  I  dine,  I  have  beer:  I  can't 
stand  the  wine.  And  yon  see,  I  can't  go  to  the  cheap  English 
ordinaries,  of  which  there  are  manv,  because  English  gentle- 
men's servants  are  there,  you  know,  and  it's  not  pleasant  to  sit 
with  a  fellow  wlio  waits  on  3-ou  the  day  after." 

"Oh!  the  English  servants  go  to  the  cheap  ordinaries,  do 
they?"  asks  my  lord,  greatl}'  amused,  "  and  you  drink  biere  de 
Mar$.  at  the  shop  where  you  dine  ?  " 

"  And  dine  very  badly,  too,  I  can  tell  you.     Alwa^'s  come 

21 


322  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

away  bungiy.  Give  me  some  champagne  —  the  dry,  if  you 
please.  They  mix  veiy  well  together  —  sweet  and  dry.  Did 
you  ever  dine  at  Fiicoteau's,  Mr.  Pecker?" 

"/  dine  at  one  of  your  horrible  two-franc  houses?"  cries 
Mr.  Pecker,  with  a  look  of  terror.  "  Do  you  know,  my  lord, 
there  are  actually  houses  where  people  dine  for  two  francs  ?  " 

"Two  francs!  Seventeen  sous!"  bawls  out  Mr.  Firmin. 
"The  soup,  the  beef,  the  rOti,  the  salad,  the  dessert,  and  the 
whitey-brown  bread  at  discretion.  It's  not  a  good  dinner,  cer- 
tainly—  in  fact,  it  is  a  dreadful  bad  one.  But  to  dine  so  would 
do  some  fellows  a  great  deal  of  good." 

"What  do  30U  say.  Pecker?  Fiicoteau's;  seventeen  sous 
We'll  make  a  little  part\'  and  try,  and  Firmin  shall  do  the  lion 
ors  of  his  restaurant,"  says  my  lord  with  a  grin. 

"Mercy  !  "  gasps  Mr.  Pecker. 

"  I  had  rather  dine  here,  if  ^-ou  please,  my  lord,"  says  the 
young  man.     "This  is  cheaper,  and  certainlj'  better." 

My  lord's  doctor,  and  man^y  of  the  guests  at  his  table,  my 
lord's  henchmen,  flatterers,  and  led  captains,  looked  aghast  at 
the  freedom  of  the  young  fellow  in  the  shabby  coat.  If  they 
dared  to  be  familiar  with  their  host,  there  came  a  scowl  over 
that  noble  countenance  which  was  awful  to  face.  They  drank 
his  corked  wine  in  meekness  of  spirit.  The}'  laughed  at  his 
jokes  trembling.  One  after  another,  they  were  the  objects  of 
his  satire ;  and  each  grinned  piteously,  as  he  took  his  turn  of 
punishment.  Some  dinners  are  dear,  though  they  cost  noth- 
ing. At  some  great  tables  are  not  toads  sei'ved  along  with 
the  entrees'}  Yes,  and  many  amateurs  are  exceedingly  fond  of 
the  dish. 

How  do  Parisians  live  at  all?  is  a  question  which  has  often 
set  me  wondering.  How  do  men  in  public  offices,  with  fif- 
teen thousand  francs,  let  us  sa^',  for  a  salary  —  and  tliis,  for 
a  French  official,  is  a  high  salarj^ — live  in  handsome  apart- 
ments ;  give  genteel  entertainments ;  clothe  themselves  and 
their  families  with  much  more  sumptuous  raiment  than  Eng- 
lish people  of  the  same  station  can  afford ;  take  their  countr}' 
holiday,  a  six  weeks'  sojourn,  anx  eaux ;  and  appear  cheerful 
and  to  want  for  nothing?  Paterfamilias,  with  six  hundred  a 
year  in  London,  knows  what  a  straitened  life  his  is,  with  rent 
high,  and  beef  at  a  shilling  a  pound.  Well,  in  Paris,  rent  is 
higher,  and  meat  is  dearer ;  and  j-et  madame  is  richl}'  dressed 
when  3'ou  see  her ;  monsieur  has  always  a  little  money  in  his 
pocket  for  his  club  or  his  cafe  ;  and  something  is  pretty  surely 
put  away  every  year  for  the  marriage  portion  of  the  young 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  323 

folks.  "  Sir,"  Philip  used  to  saj',  describing  this  period  of  his 
life,  on  which  and  on  most  subjects  regarding  himself,  by  the 
wa}',  he  was  wont  to  be  very  eloquent,  "  when  my  income  was 
raised  to  five  thousand  francs  a  3'ear,  I  give  3'ou  my  word  I  was 
considered  to  be  rich  by  my  Fr'ench  acquaintance.  I  gave  four 
sous  to  the  waiter  at  our  dining-place  :  —  in  that  respect  I  was 
always  ostentatious  :  —  and  I  believe  the}'  called  me  Milor.  I 
should  have  been  poor  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix  :  but  I  was  wealthy 
in  the  Luxembourg  quarter.  Don't  tell  me  about  povertj-,  sir  ! 
Poverty  is  a  bully  if  you  are  afraid  of  her,  or  truckle  to  her. 
Poverty  is  good-natured  enough  if  you  meet  her  like  a  man. 
You  saw  how  m}'  poor  old  father  was  afraid  of  her,  and  thought 
the  world  would  come  to  an  end  if  Dr.  Firmin  did  not  keep  his 
butler,  and  his  footman,  and  his  fine  house,  and  tine  chariot 
and  horses?  He  was  a  poor  man,  if  3'ou  please.  He  must 
have  suffered  agonies  in  his  struggle  to  make  both  ends  meet. 
P^verj'thing  he  bought  must  have  cost  him  twice  the  honest 
price  ;  and  when  I  tliink  of  nights  that  must  have  been  passed 
without  sleep  —  of  that  proud  man  having  to  smirk  and  cringe 
before  creditors  —  to  coax  butchers,  by  George,  and  wheedle 
tailors  —  I  pity  him  ;  I  can't  be  angry  anj'  more.  That  man 
has  suffered  enough.  As  for  me,  haven't  3'OU  remarked  that 
since  I  have  not  a  guinea  in  the  world,  I  swagger,  and  am 
a  much  greater  swell  than  before?"  And  the  truth  is  that  a 
Prince  Ko^al  could  not  have  called  for  his  gens  with  a  more 
magnificent  air  than  Mr.  Philip  when  he  summoned  the  waiter, 
and  paid  for  his  petit  verre. 

Talk  of  poverty-,  indeed  !  That  period,  Philip  vows,  was 
the  happiest  of  his  life.  He  liked  to  tell  in  after  days  of  the 
choice  acquaintance  of  Bohemians  which  he  had  formed.  Their 
jug,  he  said,  though  it  contained  but  small  beer,  was  always 
full.  Their  tobacco,  though  it  bore  no  higher  rank  than  that 
of  caporal,  was  plentiful  and  fragrant.  He  knew  some  admi- 
rable medical  students  ;  some  artists  w^ho  only  wanted  talent 
and  industry  to  be  at  the  height  of  their  profession  :  and  one 
or  two  of  the  magnates  of  his  own  calling,  the  newspaper  cor- 
respondents, whose  houses  and  tables  were  open  to  him.  It 
was  wonderful  what  secrets  of  politics  he  learned  and  trans- 
mitted to  his  own  paper.  He  pursued  P^rench  statesmen  of 
those  days  with  prodigious  eloquence  and  vigor.  At  the  ex- 
pense of  that  old  king  he  was  wonderfully  witt}-  and  sarcastical. 
He  reviewed  the  affairs  of  iMirope,  settled  the  destinies  of  Rus- 
sia, denounced  the  Spanish  marriages,  disposed  of  the  Pope, 
and  advocated  the  Liberal  cause  in  France  with  an  untiring 


324  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

eloquence.  "Absinthe  used  to  be  my  drink,  sir,"  so  he  was 
good  enough  to  tell  his  friends.  "  It  makes  the  ink  run,  and 
imparts  a  tine  eloquence  to  the  st3'le.  Merc}^  upon  us,  how  I 
would  belabor  that  poor  King  of  the  P^'rench  under  the  influence 
of  absinthe,  in  that  cafe  opposite  the  Bourse  where  I  used  to 
make  my  letter !  Who  knows,  sir,  perhaps  the  influence  of 
those  letters  precipitated  the  fall  of  the  Bourbon  dynastj^ ! 
Before  I  had  an  office,  Gilligan,  of  the  Century,  and  I,  used  to 
do  our  letters  at  that  cafe  ;  we  compared  notes  and  pitched 
into  each  other  amicably." 

Gilligau  of  the  Century,  and  Firmin  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette^ 
were  however,  very  'minor  personages  amongst  the  London 
newspaper  correspondents.  Their  seniors  of  the  daily  press 
had  handsome  apartments,  gave  sumptuous  dinners,  were 
closeted  with  ministers'  secretaries,  and  "entertained  members 
of  the  Chamber  of  Deputies.  Philip,  on  perfectly  easy  terms 
with  himself  and  the  world,  swaggering  about  the  embassj' 
balls  —  Philip,  the  friend  and  relative  of  Lord  Ringwood  — 
was  viewed  by  his  professional  seniors  and  superiors  jvith  an 
eye  of  favor,  which  was  not  certainl}'  turned  on  all  gentlemen 
following  his  calling.  Certainly  poor  Gilligan  was  never  asked 
to  those  dinners,  which  some  of  the  newspaper  ambassadors 
gave,  whereas  Philip  was  received  not  inhospitably.  Gilligan 
received  but  a  cold  shoulder  at  Mrs.  Morning  Messenger's 
Thursday's;  and  as  for  being  asked  to  dinner,  "  Bedad,  that 
fellow,  Firmin,  has  an  air  with  him  which  will  carrj'  him  through 
anywhere  !  "  Phil's  brother  correspondent  owned.  "  Ila  seems 
to  patronize  an  ambassador  when  he  goes  up  and  .speaks  to 
him ;  and  he  sa3's  to  a  secretary,  '  My  good  fellow,  tell  3-our 
master  that  Mr.  Firmin,  of  the  Pall  Mnll  Gazette,  wants  to  see 
him,  and  will  thank  him  to  step  over  to  the  Cafe  de  la  Bourse.'  " 
I  don't  think  Philip,  for  his  part,  would  have  seen  much  matter 
of  surprise  in  a  Minister  stepping  over  to  speak  to  him.  To 
him  all  folk  were  alike,  great  and  small :  and  it  is  recorded  of 
him  that  when,  on  one  occasion.  Lord  Ringwood  paid  him  a 
visit  at  his  lodgings  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain,  Philip  affably 
offered  his  lordship  a  cornet  of  fried  potatoes,  with  which,  and 
plentiful  tobacco  of  course,  Philip  and  one  or  two  of  his  friends 
were  regaling  themselves  when  Lord  Ringwood  chanced  to  call 
on  his  kinsman. 

A  crust  and  a  carafon  of  small  beer,  a  correspondence  with 
a  weekl}'  paper,  and  a  remuneration  such  as  that  we  have 
mentioned,  —  was  Philip  Firmin  to  look  for  no  more  than  this 
pittance,  and  not  to  seek  for   more  permanent  and  lucrative 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  325 

employment?  Some  of  his  friends  at  home  were  rather  vexed 
at  what  Philip  chose  to  consider  his  good  fortune  ;  namely,  his 
connection  with  the  newspaper,  and  the  small  stipend  it  gave 
him.  He  might  quarrel  with  his  employer  any  claj'.  Indeed 
no  man  was*  more  likely  to  fling  his  bread  and  butter  out  of 
window  than  Mr.  Philip.  Pie  was  losing  precious  time  at  the 
bar ;  where  he,  as  hundreds  of  other  poor  gentlemen  had  done 
before  him,  might  make  a  career  for  himself.  For  what  are 
colonies  made?  Wh}' do  bankruptcies  occur?  Why  do  people 
break  the  peace  and  quarrel  with  policemen,  but  that  barristers 
may  be  emploj'ed  as  judges,  commissioners,  magistrates?  A 
reporter  to  a  newspaper  remains  all  his  life  a  newspaper  re- 
porter, Philip,  if  he  would  but  help  himself,  had  friends  in 
the  world  who  might  aid  effectualh-  to  advance  him.  So  it  was 
we  pleaded  with  him,  in  the  language  of  moderation,  urging 
the  dictates  of  common  sense.  As  if  moderation  and  common 
sense  could  be  got  to  move  that  mule  of  a  Philip  Firmin  ;  as  if 
any  persuasion  of  ours  could  induce  him  to  do  anything  but 
what  he  liked  to  do  best  himself! 

"  Tliat  you  should  be  worldly,  ra^'  poor  fellow"  (so  Philip 
wrote  to  his  present  biographer)  —  "  that  you  should  be  think- 
ing of  money  and  the  main  chance,  is  no  matter  of  surprise  to 
me.  You  have  suffered  under  that  curse  of  manhood,  that 
destroyer  of  generosit}-  in  the  mind,  that  parent  of  sellishness 
—  a  little  fortune.  Y"ou  have  your  wretched  hundreds  "  (my 
candid  correspondent  stated  the  sum  correcth'  enough  ;  and  I 
wish  it  were  double  or  treble  ;  but  tliat  is  not  here  tlie  point :) 
"  paid  quarterly.  The  miserable  pittance  numbs  yonv  whole 
existence.  It  prevents  freedom  of  thought  and  action.  It 
makes  a  screw  of  a  man  who  is  certainly  not  without  generous 
impulses,  as  I  know,  my  poor  old  Ilarpagon  :  for  hast  thou  not 
offered  to  open  thy  purse  to  me?  I  tell  you  I  am  sick  of  tlie 
way  in  which  people  in  London,  especially  good  people,  think 
about  mone_y.  Y''ou  live  up  to  your  income's  edge.  You  are 
miserabh'  poor.  You  brag  and  flattor  ^'ourselves  that  you  owe 
no  man  anything ;  but  your  estate  has  creditors  upon  it  as 
insatiable  as  any  usurer,  and  as  hard  as  any  bailiff.  You  call 
me  reckless,  and  prodigal,  and  idle,  and  all  sorts  of  names, 
because  I  live  in  a  single  room,  do  as  little  work  as  I  can,  and 
go  about  with  holes  in  m}'  boots  :  and  you  flatter  yourself  you 
are  prudent,  because  you  have  a  genteel  house,  a  grave  flunk}^ 
out  of  livery,  and  two  greengrocers  to  wait  when  you  give  30ur 
half-dozen  dreary  dinner-parties.  AY  retched  man  !  You  are 
a  slave :  not  a  man.     Y''ou  are  a  pauper,  with  a  good  house 


326  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

and  good  clothes.  You  are  so  miserabl^^  prudent,  that  all  your 
money  is  spent  for  you,  except  the  few  wretched  shillings  which 
you  allow  yourself  for  pocket-mone}'.  You  tremble  at  the 
expense  of  a  cab.  I  believe  you  actually  look  at  half  a  crown 
before  you  spend  it.  The  landlord  is  your  ntaster.  The 
livery-stable  keeper  is  your  master.  A  train  of  ruthless,  useless 
servants  are  your  pitiless  creditors,  to  whom  you  have  to  pay 
exorbitant  dividends  every  da}-.  I,  with  a  hole  in  my  elbow,  who 
live  upon  a  shilling  dinner,  and  walk  on  cracked  boot-soles,  am 
called  extravagant,  idle,  reckless,  I  don't  know  what;  while 
you,  forsooth,  consider  yourself  prudent.  Miserable  delusion  ! 
You  are  flinging  away  heaps  of  money  on  useless  flunkies,  on 
useless  maid-servants,  on  useless  lodgings,  on  useless  finery  — 
and  you  sa}',  '  Poor  Phil !  what  a  sad  idler  he  is  !  how  he  flings 
himself  away  !  in  what  a  wretched,  disreputable  manner  he 
lives  ! '  Poor  Phil  is  as  rich  as  you  are,  for  he  has  enough, 
and  is  content.  Poor  Phil  can  aflford  to  be  idle,  and  you  can't. 
You  must  work  in  order  to  keep  that  great  hulking  footman, 
that  great  raw-boned  cook,  that  army  of  babbling  nursery-maids, 
and  I  don't  know  what  more.  And  if  you  choose  to  submit  to 
the  slavery  and  degradation  inseparable  from  your  condition  ; 

—  the  wretched  inspection  of  candle-ends,  which  you  call  order ; 

—  the  mean  self-denials,  which  3-ou  must  daily  practise  —  I 
pity  you,  and  don't  quarrel  with  you.  But  I  wish  you  would 
not  be  so  insufferably  virtuous,  and  read}-  with  your  blame  and 
pity  for  me.  If  I  am  happy,  pray  need  you  be  disquieted? 
Suppose  I  pi'efer  independence,  and  shabby  boots?  Are  not 
these  better  than  to  be  pinched  by  your  abominable  varnished 
conventionalism,  and  to  be  denied  the  libert,y  of  free  action? 
M}-  poor  fellow,  I  pity  3-ou  from  my  heart ;  and  it  grieves  me 
to  think  how  those  fine  honest  children  —  honest,  and  heart}-, 
and  frank,  and  open  as  yet  —  are  to  lose  their  natural  good 
qualities,  and  to  be  swathed,  and  swaddled,  and  stifled  out  of 
health  and  honesty  b}'  that  obstinate  worldling  their  father. 
Don't  tell  me  about  the  world  ;  I  know  it.  People  sacrifice  the 
next  world  to  it,  and  are  all  the  while  proud  of  their  prudence. 
Look  at  ni}-  miserable  relations,  steeped  in  respectability. 
Look  at  my  father.  There  is  a  chance  for  him,  now  he  is  down 
and  in  poverty.  I  have  had  a  letter  from  him,  containing  more 
of  that  dreadful  worldly  advice  which  you  Pharisees  give.  If 
it  weren't  for  Laura  and  the  children,  sir,  I  heartily  wish  y-ou 
were  ruined  like  your  aff'ectionate  —  P.  F. 

"N.B.,  PS. — Oh,  Pen!  I  am  so  happy!     She  is  such  a 
little  darling !     I  bathe  in  her  innocence,  sir !     I  strengthen 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  327 

mj'self  in  her  purity.  I  kneel  before  her  sweet  goodness  and 
unconsciousness  of  guile.  I  walk  from  ni}'  room,  and  see  her 
ever\-  morning  before  seven  o'clock.  I  see  her  ever\'  after- 
noon. She  loves  you  and  Laura.  And  3'ou  love  her,  don't 
you?  And  to  think  that  six  months  ago  I  was  going  to  marry 
a  woman  without  a  heart !  Whj',  sir,  blessings  be  on  the  poor 
old  father  for  spending  our  money,  and  rescuing  me  from  that 
horrible  fate  !  I  might  have  been  like  that  fellow  in  the  '  Ara- 
bian Nights,'  who  married  Amina  —  the  respectable  woman, 
wdio  dined  upon  grains  of  rice,  but  supped  upon  cold  dead 
bod}'.  Was  it  not  worth  all  the  money  I  ever  was  heir  to  to 
have  escaped  from  that  ghoul?  Lord  Riugwood  says  he 
thinks  I  was  well  out  of  that.  He  calls  people  by  Anglo-Saxon 
names,  and  nses  very  expressive  monosyllables  ;  and  of  Aunt 
Twysden,  of  Uncle  Tw3-sden,  of  the  girls,  and  their  brother, 
he  speaks  in  a  way  which  makes  me  see  he  has  come  to  just 
conclusions  about  them. 

"  PS.  No.  2.  —Ah,  Pen  !  She  is  such  a  darling.  I  think 
I  am  the  happiest  man  in  the  world." 

And  this  was  what  came  of  being  ruined  !  A  scapegrace, 
who,  when  he  had  plenty  of  money  in  his  pocket,  was  ill-tem- 
pered, imperious,  and  discontented  ;  now  that  he  is  not  worth 
twopence,  declares  himself  the  happiest  fellow  in  the  world  ! 
Do  you  remember,  my  dear,  how  he  used  to  grumble  at  our 
claret,  and  what  wr}'  faces  he  made  when  there  was  only  cold 
meat  for  dinner?  The  wretch  is  absolutel}-  contented  with 
bread  and  clipese  and  small  beer,  even  that  bad  beer  which 
they  have  in  Paris  ! 

Now  and  again,  at  this  time,  and  as  our  mutual  avocations 
permitted,  I  saw  Philip's  friend,  the  Little  Sister.  He  wrote 
to  her  dutifully  from  time  to  time.  Lie  told  her  of  his  love- 
affair  with  Miss  Charlotte  ;  and  my  wife  and  I  could  console 
CaroHne,  by  assuring  her  that  this  time  the  young  man's  heart 
was  given  to  a  worthy  mistress.  I  say  console,  for  the  news, 
after  all,  was  sad  for  her.  In  the  little  chamber  which  she 
always  kept  ready  for  him,  he  Avould  lie  awake,  and  think  of 
Home  one  dearer  to  him  than  a  hundred  poor  Carolines.  She 
would  devise  something  that  should  be  agreeable  to  the  .young 
Uidy.  At  Christmas  time  there  came  to  Miss  Baynes  a  won- 
derfully worked  cambric  pocket-handkerchief,  wilh  '' Char- 
lotte "  most  beautifully  embroidered  in  the  corner.  It  was  this 
poor  widow's  mite  of  love  and  tenderness  which  she  meekl}'- 
laid  down  in  the  place  where  she  worshipped.  "And  I  have 
six  for  hiin,  too,  ma'am,"  Mrs.  Brandon  told  my  wile.     "  Poor 


328  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

fellow !  his  shirts  was  in  a  dreadful  way  when  he  went  away 
from  here,  and  that  ^'ou  know,  ma'am."  So  3'ou  see  this  way- 
farer, having  fallen  among  undoubted  thieves,  yet  found  many 
kind  souls  to  relieve  him,  and  man}'  a  good  Samaritan  ready 
with  his  twopence,  if  need  were. 

The  reason  why  Philip  was  the  happiest  "man  in  the  world 
of  course  j'ou  understand.  French  people  are  very  early 
risers ;  and,  at  the  little  hotel  where  Mr.  Philip  lived,  the 
whole  crew  of  the  house  were  up  hours  before  lazy  Englisli 
masters  and  servants  think  of  stirring.  At  ever  so  early  an 
hour  Phil  had  a  fine  bowl  of  coffee  and  milk  and  bread  for  his 
breakfast ;  and  he  was  striding  down  to  the  Invalides,  and 
across  the  bridge  to  the  Champs  El^'sees,  and  the  fumes  of  his 
pipe  preceded  liim  with  a  pleasant  odor.  And  a  short  time  after 
passing  the  Eond  Point  in  the  Elysian  Fields,  where  an  active 
fountain  was  flinging  up  showers  of  diamonds  to  the  sky,  — 
after,  I  sa^-,  leaving  the  Rond  Point  on  his  right,  and  passing 
under  umbrageous  groves  in  the  direction  of  the  present  Castle 
of  Flowers,  Mr.  Philip  would  see  a  little  person.  Sometimes 
a  young  sister  or  brother  came  with  the  little  person.  Some- 
times only  a  blush  fluttered  on  her  cheek,  and  a  sweet  smile 
beamed  in  her  face  as  she  came  forward  to  greet  him.  For 
the  angels  were  scarce  purer  than  this  3'oung  maid  ;  and  Una 
was  no  more  afraid  of  the  lion,  than  Charlotte  of  her  compan- 
ion with  the  loud  voice  and  the  tawny  mane.  I  would  not 
have  envied  that  reprobate's  lot  who  should  have  dared  to  say 
a  doubtful  word  to  this  Una  :  but  the  truth  is,  she  .never  thought 
of  danger,  or  met  with  anj'.  The  workmen  were  going  to 
their  labor ;  the  dandies  were  asleep  ;  and  considering  their 
age,  and  the  relationship  in  which  they  stood  to  one  another,  I 
am  not  surprised  at  Philip  for  announcing  that  this  was  the 
happiest  time  of  his  life.  In  later  days,  when  two  gentlemen 
of  mature  age  happened  to  be  in  Paris  together,  what  must 
Mr.  PhiHp  Firmin  do  but  insist  upon  walking  me  sentimentally 
to  the  Cliamps  Elysees,  and  looking  at  an  old  house  there,  a 
rather  shabby  old  house  in  a  garden.  "That  was  the  place," 
sighs  he.  "  That  was  Madame  de  Smolensk's.  Tliat  was  the 
window,  the  third  one,  with  the  green  jalousie.  B}'  Jove,  sir, 
how  happ3'  and  how  miserable  I  have  been  behind  that  green 
blind  !  "  And  m}'  friend  shakes  his  large  fist  at  the  somewhat 
dilapidated  mansion,  whence  Madame  de  Smolensk  and  her 
boarders  have  long  since  departed. 

I  fear  that  baroness  had  engaged  in  her  enterprise  with 
insufficient  capital,  or  conducted  it  with  such  liberality  that  her 


k 


Morning  Guketings. 


ON  HTS  WAY  THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  329 

profits  were  eaten  up  by  her  boarders.  I  could  tell  dreadful 
stories  impugning  the  baroness's  moral  character.  People  said 
she  had  no  right  to  the  title  of  baroness  at  all,  or  to  the  noble 
foreign  name  of  Smolensk.  People  are  still  alive  who  knew 
her  under  a  different  name.  The  baroness  herself  was  what 
some  amateurs  call  a  fine  woman,  especially  at  dinnei'-time, 
when  she  appeared  in  black  satin  and  with  cheeks  that  bhished 
up  as  far  as  the  eyelids.  In  her  ■peignoir  in  the  morning,  she 
was  perhaps  the  reverse  of  fine.  Contours  which  were  round 
at  night,  in  the  forenoon  appeared  lean  and  angular.  Her 
roses  only  bloomed  half  an  hour  before  dinner-time  on  a  cheek 
which  was  quite  3'ellow  until  five  o'clock.  I  am  sure  it  is  very 
kind  of  elderly  and  ill-complexioned  people  to  supply  the  rav- 
ages of  time  or  jaundice,  and  present  to  our  view  a  figure 
blooming  and  agreeable,  in  place  of  an  object  faded  and  with- 
ered. Do  3'ou  quarrel  with  3-our  opposite  neighbor  for  paint- 
ing his  house  front  or  putting  roses  in  his  balcony  ?  You  are 
rather  thankful  for  the  adornment.  Madame  de  Smolensk's 
front  was  so  decorated  of  afternoons.  Geraniums  were  set 
pleasantly  under  those  first-fioor  windows,  her  eyes.  Carcel 
lamps  beamed  from  those  windows :  lamps  which  she  had 
trimmed  with  her  own  scissors,  and  into  which  that  poor  widow 
poured  the  oil  which  she  got  somehow  and  anyhow.  When 
the  dingy  breakfast  papillotes  were  cast  of  an  afternoon,  what 
beautiful  black  curls  appeared  round  her  brow  !  The  dingy 
papillotes  were  put  away  in  the  drawer :  the  peignoir  retired  to 
its  hook  behind  the  door :  the  satin  raiment  came  forth,  the 
shining,  the  ancient,  the  well-kept,  the  well-wadded  :  and  at 
the  same  moment  the  worthy  woman  took  that  smile  out  of 
some  cunning  box  on  her  scanty  toilet-tal)le  —  that  smile  which 
she  Avore  all  the  evening  along  with  the  rest  of  her  toilette,  and 
took  out  of  her  mouth  when  she  went  to  bed  and  to  think  —  to 
think  how  both  ends  were  to  be  made  to  meet. 

Philip  said  he  respected  and  admired  that  woman :  and 
worthy  of  respect  she  was  in  her  way.  She  painted  her  face 
and  grinned  at  poverty.  She  laughed  and  rattled  with  care 
gnawing  at  her  side.  She  had  to  coax  the  milkman  out  of 
his  human  kindness:  to  pour  oil  —  his  own  oil — upon  the 
stormy  cpicier's  soul :  to  melt  the  butterman  :  to  tap  the  wine- 
merchant  :  to  mollify  the  butcher :  to  invent  new  pretexts  for 
the  landlord:  to  reconcile  the  lady  boarders,' Mrs.  General 
Baynes,  let  us  say,  and  the  Honorable  Mrs,  -Boldero,  who  were 
always  quarrelling:  to  see  that  the  dinner,  when  procured,  was 
cooked   properl}- ;  that   Frangois,  to  whom  she  owed  ever  so 


330  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

many  months'  wages,  was  not  too  rebellious  or  intoxicated  ; 
that  Auguste,  also  her  creditor,  had  his  glass  clean  and  his 
lamps  in  order.  And  this  work  done  and  the  hour  of  six  o'clock 
arriving,  she  had  to  carve  and  be  agreeable  to  her  table  ;  not  to 
hear  the  growls  of  the  discontented  (and  at  what  table-d'hote 
are  there  not  grumblers?)  ;  to  have  a  word  for  CA'crybod}'  pres- 
ent ;  a  smile  and  a  laugh  for  Mrs.  Bunch  (with  whom  there  had 
been  veiy  likely  a  dreadful  row  in  the  morning)  ;  a  I'ciuark  for 
the  Colonel ;  a  polite  phrase  for  the  Geneial's  lady  ;  and  even 
a  good  word  and  compliment  for  sulky  Auguste,  who  just  be- 
fore dinner-time  had  unfolded  the  napkin  of  mutiny  about  his 
wages. 

AVas  not  this  enough  work  for  a  woman  to  do  ?  To  conduct 
a  great  house  without  sufficient  mone}',  and  make  soup,  fish, 
roasts,  and  half  a  dozen  entrees  out  of  wind  as  it  were?  to 
conjure  up  wine  in  piece  and  b}'  the  dozen?  to  laugh  and  joke 
without  the  least  gayety?  to  receive  scorn,  abuse,  rebuffs,  inso- 
lence, with  gay  good-humor?  ajid  then  to  go  to  bed  wearied  at 
night,  and  have  to  think  about  figures  and  that  dreadful,  dread- 
ful sum  in  arithmetic  —  given  5/.  to  pay  6/.?  Lad}'^  Macbeth  is 
supposed  to  have  been  a  resolute  woman  :  and  great,  tall,  loud, 
hectoring  females  are  set  to  represent  the  character.  I  Say  No. 
She  was  a  weak  woman.  She  began  to  walk  in  her  sleep,  and 
blab  after  one  disagreeable  little  incident  had  occurred  in  her 
house.  She  broke  down,  and  got  all  the  people  away  from  her 
own  table  in  the  most  abrupt  and  clumsy  manner,  because  that 
drivelling,  epileptic  husband  of  hers  fancied  he  saw  a  ghost. 
In  Lady  Smolensk's  place  Madame  de  Macbeth  would  have 
broken  down  in  a  week,  and  Smolensk  lasted  for  years.  If 
twenty  gibbering  ghosts  had  come  to  the  boarding-house  din- 
ner, madame  would  have  gone  on  carving  her  dishes,  and  smil- 
ing and  helping  the  live  guests,  the  paying  guests  ;  leaving  the 
dead  guests  to  gibber  away  and  help  themselves.  "My  poor 
father  had  to  keep  up  appearances,"  Phil  would  say,  recounting 
these  things  in  after  da3's  ;  "but  how?  You  know  he  alwa3S 
looked  as  if  he  was  going  to  be  hung."  Smolensk  was  the 
gayest  of  the  gay  always.  That  widow  would  have  tripped  up 
to  her  funeral  pile  and  kissed  her  hands  to  her  friends  with  a 
smiling  "  Bon  jour  !  " 

"Fray,  who  was  Monsieur  de  Smolensk?"  asks  a  simple 
lady  who  may  be  listening  to  our  friend's  narrative. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  lady  !  there  was  a  pretty  disturbance  in  the 
house  when  that  question  came  to  be  mooted,  I  promise  3'ou," 
6a3'S  our  friend,  laughing,  as  he  recounts  his  adventures.     And, 


I 


ON  HIS  WAY  TPIROUGH   THE  WORLD.  331 

nfter  all,  what  does  it  matter  to  3'on  and  me  and  this  stoiy  who 
Smolensk  was  ?  I  am  sure  this  poor  lady  had  hardships  enough 
in  her  life  campaign,  and  that  Ney  himself  could  not  have  faced 
fortune  with  a  constanc}'  more  heroical. 

Well.  When  the  Ba3neses  first  came  to  her  house,  I  tell 
3'ou  Smolensk  and  all  round  her  smiled,  and  our  friends  thought 
the}'  were  landed  in  a  real  rosy  Elysium  in  the  Champs  of  that 
name.  Madame  had  a  Corrick  a  V Indienne  prepared  in  compli- 
ment to  lier  guests.  She  had  had  many  Indians  in  her  estab- 
lishment. She  adored  Indians.  N'ctnit  ce  la  polycjamie  —  they 
were  most  estimable  people  the  Hindus.  Surtout,  she  adored 
Indian  shawls.  That  of  Madame  la  Generale  was  ravishing. 
The  company-  at  Madame's  was  pleasant.  The  Honorable  Mrs. 
Boldero  was  a  dashing  woman  of  fashion  and  respectabiHty, 
who  had  lived  in  the  best  world  —  it  was  easy  to  see  that. 
The  young  ladies'  dtiets  were  very  striking.  The  Honorable 
Mr.  Boldero  was  awa^'  shooting  in  Scotland  at  his  brother, 
Lord  Strongitharm's,  and  would  take  Gaberlunzie  Castle  and 
the  duke's  on  his  waj'  south.  Mrs.  Baynes  did  not  know  Lady 
Estridge,  the  ambassadress?  When  the  Estridges  returned 
from  C'hantill}',  the  Honorable  Mrs.  B.  would  be  delighted  to 
introduce  her.  "  Your  prett}'  girl's  name  is  Charlotte?  So  is 
Lad}'  Estridge's  —  and  verj-  nearl}'  as  tall ;  —  fine  girls  the 
Estridges;  fine  long  necks  —  large  feet  —  but  your  girl.  Lady 
Baynes,  has  beautiful  feet.  Lady  Barnes,  I  said?  Well,  you 
must  be  Lady  Ba^'ues  soon.  The  General  must  be  a  K.C.B. 
after  his  services.  What,  you  know  Lord  Trim?  He  will, 
and  must,  do  it  for  3'ou.  If  not,  my  brother  Strongitharm 
shall."  I  have  no  doubt  Mrs.  Baynes  was  greatly  elated  by 
the  attentions  of  Lord  Strongitharm's  sister ;  and  looked  him 
out  in  the  Peerage,  where  his  Lordship's  arms,  pedigree,  and 
residence  of  Gaberlunzie  Castle  are  duly  recorded.  The  Honor- 
able Mrs.  Boldero's  daughters,  the  Misses  Minna  and  Brcnda 
Boldero,  plaj'ed  some  rattling  sonatas  on  a  piano  which  was  a 
good  deal  fatigued  by  their  exertions,  for  the  young  ladies' 
hands  were  ver}'  powerful.  And  madame  said,  ''Thank  you," 
with  her  sweetest  smile  ;  and  Auguste  handed  about  on  a  silver 
tra}'  —  I  sa}'  silver,  so  that  the  convenances  ma}'  not  be  wounded 
—  well,  say  silver  that  was  blushing  to  find  itself  copper — ■ 
handed  up  on  a  tra}'  a  white  drink  which  made  the  Baynes 
bo3'S  cr}'  out,  "I  sa3',  mother,  what's  this  beastly  tiling?" 
On  which  madame,  with  the  sweetest  smile,  appealed  to 
the  company,  and  said,  "  The3'  love  orgeat,  these  dear  in- 
fants!" and   resumed   her  piquet  with  old  M.  Bidois  —  that 


332  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

odd  old  gentleman  with  the  long  brown  coat,  with  the  red 
ribbon,  who  took  so  much  sniifT  and  blew  his  nose  so  often  and 
so  londl}'.  One,  two,  three  rattling  sonatas  Minna  and  Brenda 
played;  Mr.  Clancy-,  ofTrinit}'  College,  Dublin  (M.  de  Clanci, 
madame  called  him),  turning  over  the  leaves,  and  presently 
being  persuaded  to  sing  some  Irish  melodies  for  the  ladies.  I 
don't  think  Miss  Charlotte  Baynes  listened  to  the  music  much. 
She  was  listening  to  another  music,  which  she  and  Mr.  Firmin 
were  performing  together.  Oh,  how  pleasant  that  music  used 
to  be  !  There  was  a  sameness  in  it,  I  dare  say,  but  still  it  was 
pleasant  to  hear  the  air  over  again.  The  prett}-  little  duet  a 
quatre  mains,  where  the  hands  cross  over,  and  hop  up  and  down 
the  ke3s,  and  the  heads  get  so  close,  so  close.  Oh,  duets,  oh, 
regrets  !  Psha  !  no  more  of  this.  Go  down  stairs,  old  dotard. 
Take  your  hat  and  umbrella  and  go  walk  b}^  the  sea-shore,  and 
whistle  a  toothless  old  solo.  "These  are  our  quiet  nights," 
whispers  M.  de  Clanci  to  the  Baynes  ladies,  when  the  evening 
draws  to  an  end.  "  Madame's  Thursdays  are,  I  promise  ye, 
much  more  fully  attended."  Good  night,  good  night.  A 
squeeze  of  a  little  hand,  a  hearty  hand-shake  from  papa  and 
mamma,  and  Philip  is  striding  through  the  dark  P^l3-sian  fields 
and  over  the  Place  of  Concord  to  his  lodgings  in  the  Faubourg 
St.  Germain.  Or,  stay  !  What  is  that  glowworm  beaming  by 
the  wall  opposite  Madame  de  Smolensk's  house  ?  —  a  glowworm 
that  wafts  an  aromatic  incense  and  odor?  I  do  believe  it  is 
Mr.  Philip's  cigar.  And  he  is  watching,  watching  a  window 
by  which  a  slim  figure  flits  now  and  again.  Then  darkness 
falls  on  the  little  window.  The  sweet  eyes  are  closed.  Oh, 
blessings,  blessings  be  upon  them !  The  stars  shine  overhead. 
And  homeward  stalks  Mr.  Firmin,  talking  to  himself,  and 
brandishing  a  great  stick. 

I  wish  that  poor  Madame  Smolensk  could  sleep  as  well  as 
the  people  in  her  house.  But  Care,  with  the  cold  feet,  gets 
under  the  coverlid,  and  says,  "  Here  I  am ;  3^ou  know  that  bill 
is  coming  due  to-morrow."  Ah,  atra  cura !  can't  you  leaA^e 
the  poor  thing  a  little  quiet?  Hasn't  she  had  work  enough  all 
day? 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  333 


CHAPTER  XX. 

COURSE    OF    TRUE  LOVE. 

We  beg  the  gracious  reader  to  remember  that  Mr.  Philip's 
business  at  Paris  was  onl_y  with  a  weekly  London  paper  as  yet ; 
and  hence  that  he  had  on  his  hands  a  great  deal  of  leisure.  He 
.could  glance  over  the  state  of  Europe  ;  give  the  latest  news 
from  the  salons,  imparted  to  him,  I  do  believe,  for  the  most 
part,  by  some  brother  hireling  scribes  ;  be  present  at  all  the 
theatres  by  deputy ;  and  smash  Louis  Philippe  or  Messieurs 
Guizot  and  Thiers  in  a  few  easil}'  turned  pa«-agraphs,  which 
cost  but  a  very  few  hours'  labor  to  that  bold  and  rapid  pen. 
A  wholesome  though  humiliating  thought  it  must  be  to  great 
and  learned  public  writers,  that  their  eloquent  sermons  are  but 
for  the  da}' ;  and  that,  having  read  what  the  philosophers  say 
on  Tuesday  or  Wednesda}',  we  think  about  their  yesterday's 
sermons  or  essa3-s  no  more.  A  score  of  3'ears  hence,  men  will 
read  the  papers  of  1861  for  the  occurrences  narrated  —  births, 
marriages,  bankruptcies,  elections,  murders,  deaths,  and  so 
forth;  and  not  for  the  leading  articles.  "  Though  there  were 
some  of  my  letters,"  Mr.  Philip  would  say,  in  after  times, 
"  that  I  fondl}'  fancied  the  world  would  not  willingly  let  die.  I 
wanted  to  have  tliem  or  see  them  reprinted  in  a  volume,  but  I 
could  find  no  publisher  willing  to  undertake  the  risk.  A  fond 
being,  who  fancies  there  is  genius  in  everything  I  say  or  write, 
would  have  had  me  reprint  my  letters  to  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette;. 
but  I  was  too  timid,  or  she,  perhaps,  was  too  confident.  The 
letters  never  were  republished.  Let  them  pass."  They  have 
passed.  And  he  sighs,  in  mentioning  this  circumstance  ;  and  I 
think  tries  to  persuade  himself,  rather  than  others,  that  he  is  an 
unrecognized  genius. 

"  And  then,  you  know,"  he  pleads,  "  I  was  in  love,  sir,  and 
spending  all  my  days  at  Omphale's  knees.  I  didn't  do  justice 
to  my  powers.  If  I  hud  had  a  daily  paper,  I  still  think  I  might 
have  made  a  good  public  writer ;  and  that  I  had  the  stuff  in  me 
—  the  stuff  in  me,  sir  !  " 

The  truth  is  that,  if  he  had  had  a  daily  paper,  and  ten  times 
as  much  work  as  fell  to  his  lot,  Mr.  Philip  would  have  found 
means  of  pursuing  his  inclination,  as  he  ever  through  life  has 
done.     The  being  whom  a  young  man  wishes  to  see,  he  sees. 


334  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  rillLIP 

What  business  is  superior  to  that  of  seeing  her  ?  'Tis  a  little 
Hellespontine  matter  keeps  Leander  from  his  Hero?  He  would 
die  rather  than  not  see  her.  Had  he  swum  out  of  that  difficult}' 
on  that  stormy  night,  and  carried  on  a  few  months  later,  it 
might  have  been,  "Beloved!  m}' cold  and  rheumatism. are  so 
severe  that  the  doctor  says  I  must  not  think  of  cold  bathing  at 
night ;  "  or,  "  Dearest !  we  have  a  party  at  tea,  and  yon  mustn't 
expect  your  ever  fond  Lambda  to-night,"  and  so  forth,  and  so 
forth.  But  in  the  heat  of  his  passion  water  could  not  stay 
him  ;  tempests  could  not  frighten  him  ;  and  in  one  of  them  he 
went  down,  while  poor  Hero's  lamp  was  twinkling  and  spending 
its  best  flame  in  vain.  So  Philip  came  from  Sestos  to  Abydos 
daily  —  across  one  of  the  bridges,  and  paying  a  halfpenny  toll 
very  likel}'  —  and,  late  or  earl}^  poor  little  Charlotte's  virgin 
lamps  were  lighlssd  in  her  eyes,  and  watching  for  him. 

Philip  made  man}'  sacrifices,  mind  30U  :  sacrifices  which  all 
men  are  not  in  the  habit  of  making.  When  Lord  Ringwood 
was  in  Paris,  twice,  thrice  he  refused  to  dine  with  his  lordship, 
until  that  nobleman  smelt  a  rat,  as  the  saying  is  —  and  said, 
"  Well,  youngster,  I  suppose  you  are  going  where  there  is 
metal  more  attractive.  AVhen  you  come  to  twehe  lustres,  my 
hoy,  you'll  find  vanity  and  vexation  in  that  sort  of  thing,  and 
a  good  dinner  better,  and  cheaper,  too,  than  the  best  of  them." 
And  when  some  of  Philip's  rich  college  friends  mot  him  in  his 
exile,  and  asked  him  to  the  "  Rocher"  or  the  "  Trois  Freres," 
he  would  break  away  from  those  banquets  ;  and  as  for  meeting 
at  those  feasts  doubtful  companions,  whom  young  men  will 
sometimes  invite  to  their  entertainments,  Philip  turned  from 
such  with  scorn  and  anger.  His  virtue  was  loud,  and  he  pro- 
claimed it  loudly.  He  expected  little  Charlotte  to  giAe  him 
credit  for  it,  and  told  her  of  his  self-denial.  And  she  believed 
anything  he  said  ;  and  delighted  in  everytliing  he  wrote  ;  and 
copied  out  his  articles  for  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  ;  and  treasured 
his  poems  in  her  desk  of  desks  :  and  there  never  was  in  all 
Sestos,  in  all  Abydos.  in  all  Europe,  in  all  Asia  Minor  or  Asia 
Major,  such  a  noble  creature  as  Leander,  Hero  thought ;  never., 
never !  I  hope,  ^oung  ladies,  you  may  all  have  a  Leander  on 
his  wa}'  to  the  tower  where  the  light  of  your  love  is  burning 
steadfastly'.  I  hope,  young  gentlemen,  you  have  each  of  you 
a  beacon  in  sight,  and  may  meet  with  no  mishap  in  swim- 
ming to  it. 

From  my  previous  remarks  regarding  Mrs.  Ba3'nes,  the 
reader  has  been  made  aware  that  the  General's  wife  was  no 
more  faultless  than  the  rest  of  her  fellow-creatures  ;  and  having 


ON  HIS  WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  335 

alreadj'  candidly  informed  the  public  that  the  writer  and  his 
family  were  no  favorites  of  this  lady,  I  have  now  the  pleasing 
duty  "of  recording  my  own  opinions  regarding  /ler.  Mrs.  Gen- 
eral B.  was  an  early  riser.  She  was  a  frugal  woman  ;  fond  of 
her  young,  or,  let  us  say,  anxious  to  provide  for  their  main- 
tenance ;  and  here,  with  my  l^est  compliments,  I  think  the  cata- 
logue of  her  good  qualities  is  ended.  She  had  a  bad,  violent 
temper ;  a  disagreeal)le  person,  attired  in  very  bad  taste  ;  a 
shrieking  voice  ;  and  two  manners,  the  respectful  and  the  pat- 
ronizing, which  .were  both  alike  odious.  When  she  ordered 
Baynes  to  marry  her,  gracious  powers  !  why  did  he  not  run 
away?  Who  dared  first  to  say  that  marriages  are  made  in 
heaven  ?  We  know  that  there  are  not  only  blunders,  but  roguery 
in  the  marriage  office.  Do  not  mistakes  occur  every  day,  and 
are  not  the  wrong  people  coupled ?  Had  heaven  anything  to 
do  with  the  bargain  by  which  young  Miss  Blushrose  was  sold  to 
old  Mr.  Hoarfrost?  Did  heaven  order  young  Miss  Tripper 
to  throw  over  poor  Tom  Spooner,  and  marry  the  wealthy 
Mr.  Bung?  You  may  as  well  say  that  horses  are  sold  in 
heaven,  which,  as  you  know,  are  groomed,  are  doctored,  are 
chanted  on  to  the  market,  and  warranted  b}-  dexterous  horse- 
venders  as  possessing  every  quality  of  blood,  pace,  temper, 
age.  Agaiust  these  Mr.  Greenhorn  has  his  remedy  sometimes  ; 
but  against  a  mother  who  sells  you  a  warranted  daughter,  what 
remedy  is  there  ?  You  have  been  jockeyed  by  false  representa- 
tions into  bidding  for  the  Cecilia,  and  the  animal  is  yours  for 
life.  She  shies,  kicks,  stumbles,  has  an  infernal  temper,  is  a 
crib-biter  —  and  she  was  warranted  to  you  by  her  mother  as 
the  most  perfect,  good-tempered  creature,  whom  the  most  timid 
might  manage  !  You  have  bought  her.  She  is  yours.  Heaven 
bless  you  !  Take  her  home,  and  be  miserable  for  the  rest  of 
your  days.  You  have  no  redress.  You  have  done  the  deed. 
Marriages  were  made  in  heaven,  you  know  ;  and  in  yours  you 
were  as  much  sold  as  Moses  Primrose  was  when  he  bought  the 
gross  of  green  spectacles. 

I  don't  think  poor  General  Baynes  ever  had  a  proper  sense 
of  his  situation,  or  knew  how  miserable  he  ought  by  rights  to 
have  been.  He  was  not  uncheerful  at  times:  a  silent  man, 
liking  his  rubber  and  his  glass  of  wine  ;  a  veiy  weak  person  in 
the  common  affairs  of  life,  as  his  best  friends  must  own  ;  but, 
as  I  have  heard,  a  very  tiger  in  action.  "  I  know  your  opinion 
of  the  General,"  Philip  used  to  say  to  me,  in  his  grandiloquent 
waj'.  "  You  despise  men  who  don't  bully  their  wives  ;  you  do, 
sir !     You  think  the  General  weak,  I  know,  I  know.     Other 


336  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   THILIP 

brave  men  were  so  about  women,  as  I  dare  say  you  have  heard. 
This  man,  so  weak  at  home,  was  mighty  on  the  war-path  ;  and 
in  his  wigwam  are  the  scalps  of  countless  warriors." 

"In  his  wig  whatV  say  I.  The  truth  is,  on  his  meek 
head  the  General  wore  a  little  curling  chestnut  top-knot,  which 
looked  very  queer  and  out  of  place  over  that  wrinkled  and  war- 
worn face. 

"  If  3'ou  choose  to  laugh  at  your  joke,  pray  do,"  says  Phil, 
majestically.  "  I  make  a  noble  image  of  a  warrior.  You  pre- 
fer a  barber's  pole.  Bon!  Pass  me  the  wine.  The  veteran 
whom  I  hope  to  salute  as  father  ere  long  —  the  soldier  of  twenty 
battles  ;  —  who  Saw  m}'  own  brave  grandfather  die  at  his  side 
—  die  at  Busaco,  b}^  George  ;  3'ou  laugh  at  on  account  of  his 
wig.  It's  a  capital  joke."  And  here  Phil  scowled  and  slapped 
the  tal»le,  and  passed  his  hand  across  his  e^'es,  as  though  the 
death  of  his  grandfather,  which  occurred  long  before  Philip  was 
born,  caused  him  a  very  serious  pang  of  grief.  Philip's  news- 
paper business  brought  him  to  London  on  occasions.  I  think 
it  was  on  one  of  these  visits  that  we  had  our  talk  about  General 
Baynes.  And  it  M^as  at  the  same  time  Philip  described  the 
boarding-house  to  us,  and  its  inmates,  and  the  landlady,  and 
the  doings  there. 

For  that  struggling  landlady,  as  for  all  women  in  distress, 
our  friend  had  a  great  sympathy  and  liking ;  and  she  returned 
Philip's  kindness  by  being  very  good  to  Mademoiselle  Charlotte, 
and  very  forbearing  with  the  General's  wife  and  his  other  chil- 
dren. The  appetites  of  those  little  ones  were  frightful,  the 
temper  of  Madame  la  Generale  was  almost  intolerable,  but 
Charlotte  was  an  angel,  and  the  General  was  a  mutton  —  a  true 
mutton.  Her  own  father  had  been  so.  The  brave  are  often 
muttons  at  home.  I  suspect  that,  though  madame  could  have 
made  but  little  profit  by  the  General's  family,  his  monthly 
payments  were  very  welcome  to  her  meagre  little  exchequer. 
"Ah!  if  all  my  locataires  .were  like  him!"  sighed  the  poor 
lad}'.  "That  Madame  Boldero,  whom  the  Generaless  treats 
alwa3-s  as  Honorable,  I  wish  I  was  as  sure  of  hers  !  And  others 
again !  " 

I  never  kept  a  boarding-house,  but  I  am  sure  there  must  be 
many  painful  duties  attendant  on  that  profession.  What  can 
3'ou  do  if  a  lady  or  gentleman  doesn't  pay  his  bill?  Turn  him 
or  her  out?  Perhaps  the  very  thing  that  lady  or  gentleman 
would  desire.  They  go.  Those  trunks  which  you  have  insanely 
detained,  and  about  which  you  have  made  a  fight  and  a  scan- 
dal, do  not  contain  a  hundred  francs'  worth  of  goods,  and  your 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  337 

debtors  never  come  back  again.  You  do  not  like  to  have  a 
row  in  a  boarding-house  anj^  more  than  3'ou  would  like  to  have 
a  party  with  scarlet-fever  in  your  best  bedroom.  The  scarlet- 
fever  party  sta3'S,  and  the  other  boarders  go  away.  What,  you 
ask,  do  I  mean  by  this  mystery?  I  am  sorr}'  to  have  to  give 
up  names,  and  titled  names.  I  am  sorry  to  say  the  Honorable 
Mrs.  Boldero  did  not  pay  her  bills.  She  was  waiting  for  remit- 
tances, which  the  Honorable  Boldero  was  dreadfully  remiss  in 
sending.  A  dreadful  man  !  He  was  still  at  his  lordship's  at 
Gaberlunzie  Castle,  shooting  the  wild  deer  and  hunting  the  roe. 
And  though  the  Honorable  Mrs.  B.'s  heart  was  in  the  Highlands, 
of  course  how  could  she  join  her  Highland  chief  without  the 
money  to  pay  madame?  The  Highlands,  indeed!  One  dull 
day  it  came  out  that  the  Honorable  Boldero  was  amusing  him- 
self in  the  Plighlands  of  Hesse  Homburg  ;  and  engaged  in  the 
dangerous  sport  which  is  to  be  had  in  the  green  plains  about 
Loch  Badenbadenoch ! 

' '  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  depravity  ?  The  woman  is  a 
desperate  and  unprincipled  adventuress  !  I  wonder  madame 
dares  to  put  me  and  my  children  and  my  General  down  at  table 
■with  such  people  as  those,  Philip  ! "  cries  Madame  la  Generale. 
"I  mean  those  opposite  —  that  woman  and  her  two  daughters 
who  haven't  paid  madame  a  shilling  for  three  months  —  who 
owes  me  five  hundred  francs,  which  she  borrowed  until  next 
Tuesday,  expecting  a  remittance  —  a  pretty  remittance  indeed 
—  from  Lord  Strongitharm.  Lord  Strongitharm,  I  dare  say! 
And  she  pretends  to  be  most  intimate  at  the  embassy ;  and 
that  she  would  introduce  us  there,  and  at  the  Tuileries :  and 
she  told  me  Lady  Garterton  had  the  small-pox  in  the  house  ; 
and  when  I  said  all  ours  had  been  vaccinated,  and  I  didn't 
mind,  she  folibed  me  off  with  some  other  excuse  ;  and  it's  my 
belief  the  woman's  a  humbug  .  Overhear  me  !  I  don't  care  if 
she  does  overhear  me.  No.  You  may  look  as  much  as  j'ou 
like,  m}-  Honorable  Mrs.  Boldero  ;  and  I  don't  care  if  you  do 
overhear  me.  Ogoost !  Ponidytare  pour  le  General !  How 
tough  madame's  boof  is,  and  it's  boof,  boof,  boof  every  day, 
till  I'm  sick  of  boof.  Ogoost !  why  don't  3'ou  attend  to  my 
children?"     And  so  forth. 

By  this  report  of  the  worthy  woman's  conversation,  you  will 
see  tliat  the  friendship  whicli  had  sprung  up  between  the  two 
ladies  had  come  to  an  end,  in  consequence  of  painful  pecuniar}'^ 
disputes  between  them  ;  that  to  keep  a  boarding-house  can't  be 
a  ver3'  i)leasant  occu[)ation  ;  and  that  even  to  dine  in  a  board- 
ing-house must  be  only  bad  fun  when  the  company  is  frightened 

22 


338  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

and  dull,  and  when  there  are  two  old  women  at  table  ready  to 
fling  the  dishes  at  eacli  other's  fronts.  At  the  period  of  which 
I  now  write,  I  promise  you,  there  was  very  little  of  the  piano- 
duet  business  going  on  after  dinner.  In  the  first  place,  ever}"- 
body  knew  the  girls'  pieces ;  and  when  they  began,  Mrs. 
General  Baj-nes  would  lift  up  a  voice  louder  than  the  jingling 
old  instrument,  thumped  Minna  and  Brenda  ever  so  loudly, 
"  Perfect  strangers  to  me,  Mr.  Clancy,  I  assure  you.  Had  I 
known  her,  you  don't  suppose  I  would  have  lent  her  the  money. 
Honorable  Mrs.  Boldero,  indeed !  Five  weeks  she  has  owed 
me  five  hundred  frongs.  Bong  swor,  Monsieur  Bidois  !  Sang 
song  frong  pas  payy  encor  !  Promm^',  pas  pa^y  !  "  Fancy,  I 
say,  what  a  dreary  life  that  must  have  been  at  the  select  board- 
ing-house, where  these  two  parties  were  doing  battle  daily  after 
dinner  !  Fanc}-,  at  the  select  soirees,  the  General's  lad}'  seizing 
npon  one  guest  after  another,  and  calling  out  her  wrongs,  and 
pointing  to  the  wrong-doer ;  and  poor  Madame  Smolensk, 
smirking,  and  smiling,  and  flying  from  one  end  of  the  salon  to 
the  other,  and  thanking  M.  Pivoine  for  his  charming  romance, 
and  M.  Brumm  for  his  admirable  performance  on  the  violoncello, 
and  even  asking  those  poor  Miss  Bolderos  to  perform  their  duet 
—  for  her  heart  melted  towards  them.  Not  ignorant  of  evil, 
she  had  learned  to  succor  the  miserable.  She  knew  what  pov- 
erty was,  and  had  to  coax  scowling  duns  and  wheedle  vulgar 
creditors.  "  Tenez,  Monsieur  Philippe,"  she  said,  "  tlie  Ge- 
nerale  is  too  cruel.  Thei-e  are  others  here  who  might  complain, 
and  are  silent."  Philip  felt  all  this  ;  the  conduct  of  his  future 
mother-in-law  filled  him  with  dismay  and  horror.  And  some 
time  after  these  remai'kable  circumstances,  he  told  me,  blushing 
as  he  spoke,  a  humiliating  secret.  "  Do  you  know,  sir,"  sa3'S 
he,  "  that  that  autumn  I  made  a  pretty  good  thing  of  it  with 
one  thing  or  another.  I  did  my  work  for  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette : 
and  Smith  of  the  Daily  Intelligencer,  wanting  a  month's  holidaj', 
gave  me  his  letter  and  ten  francs  a  day.  And  at  that  very 
time  I  met  Redman,  who  had  owed  me  twenty  pounds  ever 
since  we  were  at  college,  and  who  was  just  coming  back  flush 
from  Homburg,  and  paid  me.  Well,  now.  Swear  you  won't 
tell.  Swear  on  your  faith  as  a  Christian  man  !  With  this 
money  I  went  sir,  privily  to  Mrs.  Boldero.  I  said  if  she  would 
pay  the  dragon  —  I  mean  Mrs.  Baynes  —  I  would  lend  her  the 
money.  And  I  did  lend  her  the  monej',  and  the  Boldero  never 
paid  back  Mrs.  Baynes.  Don't  mention  it.  Promise  me  you 
won't  tell  Mrs.  Baynes.  I  never  expected  to  get  Redman's 
money,  3'ou  know,  and  am  no  worse  off  than  before.     One  day 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  339 

of  the  Grandes  Eaux  we  went  to  Versailles,  I  think,  and  the 
Honorable  Mrs.  Boldero  gave  us  the  slip.  She  left  the  poor 
girls  behind  her  in  pledge,  who,  to  do  them  justice,  cried  and 
were  in  a  dreadful  way  ;  and  when  Mrs.  Baynes,  on  our  return, 
began  shrieking  about  her  '  sang  song  frong,'  Madame  Smolensk 
fairly  lost  patience  for  once,  and  said,  '  Mais,  madame,  vous 
nous  fatiguez  avec  vos  cinq  cent  francs  ; '  on  which  the  other 
muttered  something  about  '  Ansolong,'  but  was  briskl}'  taken 
up  b}' her  husband,  who  said,  '  B3'  George,  Eliza,  madame  is 
quite  right.  And  I  wish  the  five  hundred  francs  were  in  the 
sea.'  " 

Thus,  3'ou  understand,  if  Mrs.  General  Ba^mes  thought  some 
people  were  "  stuck-up  people,"  some  people  can —  and  hereby 
do  by  these  presents  —  pay  off  Mrs.  Baynes,  b}-  furnishing  the 
public  with  a  candid  opinion  of  that  lady's  morals,  manners, 
and  character.  How  could  such  a  shrewd  woman  be  dazzled 
so  repeatedly  by  ranks  and  titles?  There  used  to  dine  at 
Madame  Smolensk's  boarding-house  a  certain  German  baron, 
with  a  large  finger-ring,  upon  a  dingy  finger,  towards  whom 
the  lady  was  pleased  to  cast  the  eye  of  favor,  and  who  chose  to 
fall  in  love  with  her  pretty  daughter ;  young  Mr.  Clancy,  the 
Irish  poet,  was  also  smitten  with  the  charms  of  the  fair  young 
lad}- ;  and  this  intrepid  mother  encouraged  both  suitors,  to  the 
unspeakable  agonies  of  Philip  Firmin,  who  felt  often  that  whilst 
he  was  away  at  his  work  these  inmates  of  Madame  Smolensk's 
house  were  near  his  charmer  —  at  her  side  at  lunch,  ever  hand- 
ing her  the  cup  at  breakfast,  on  the  watch  for  her  when  she 
walked  forth  in  the  garden  ;  and  I  take  the  pangs  of  jealousy 
to  have  formed  a  part  of  those  unspeakable  sufferings  which 
Philip  said  he  endured  in  the  house  whither  he  came  courting. 

Little  Charlotte,  in  one  or  two  of  her  letters  to  her  friends 
in  Queen  Squai-e,  London,  meekly  complained  of  Philip's  ten- 
denc}'  to  jealous}'.  "  Does  he  think,  after  knowing  him,  I  can 
think  of  these  horrid  men?  "  she  asked.  "  I  don't  understand 
what  Mr.  Clancy-  is  talking  about,  when  he  comes  to  me  with 
his  '  pomes  and.  potry  ; '  and  who  can  read  poetry  hke  Philip 
himself?  Then  the  Gei'man  baron  —  who  does  not  call  even 
himself  baron :  it  is  mamma  who  will  insist  upon  calling  him 
so  —  has  such  very  dirty  things,  and  smells  so  of  cigars,  that 
I  don't  like  to  come  near  him.  Philip  smokes  too,  but  his 
cigars  are  quite  pleasant.  Ah,  dear  friend,  how  could  he  ever 
think  such  men  as  these  were  to  be  put  in  comparison  with 
him !  And  he  scolds  so ;  and  scowls  at  the  poor  men  in  the 
evening  when  he  comes  !  and  his  temper  is  so  high  !     Do  say 


340  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

a  word  to  him  —  quite  cautiously  and  gentlj^  3'ou  know  —  in 
behalf  of  your  fondly  attached  and  most  happy  —  only  he  will 
make  me  unhappy  sometimes  ;  but  you'll  prevent  him,  won't 
3'Ou? —  Charlotte  B." 

I  could  fancy  Philip  hectoring  through  the  part  of  Othello, 
and  his  poor  3'oung  Desdemona  not  a  little  frightened  at  his 
black  humors.  Such  sentiments  as  Mr.  Philip  felt  strongly, 
he  expressed  with  an  uproar.  Charlotte's  correspondent,  as 
usual,  made  light  of  these  little  domestic  confidences  and  griev- 
ances. -'Women  don't  dislike  a  jealous  scolding,"  she  said. 
"It  may  be  rather  tiresome,  but  it  is  always  a  compliment. 
Some  husbands  think  so  well  of  themselves,  that  they  can't 
condescend  to  be  jealous."  "Yes,"  I  saj^,  "women  prefer 
to  have  tyrants  over  them.  A  scolding  you  think  is  a  mark 
of  attention.  Hadn't  you  better  adopt  the  Russian  system  at 
once,  and  go  out  and  buy  me  a  whip,  and  present  it  to  me  with 
a  curtsy,  and  3'our  comphments  ;  and  a  meek  prayer  that  I 
should  use  it."  "  Present  yon  a  whip  !  present  j-ou  a  goose  !  " 
says  the  lad}',  who  encourages  scolding  in  other  husbands,  it 
seems,  but  won't  suffer  a  word  from  her  own. 

Both  disputants  had  set  their  sentimental  hearts  on  the 
marriage  of  this  young  man  and  this  young  woman.  Little 
Charlotte's  heart  was  so  bent  on  the  match,  that  it  would  break, 
we  fancied,  if  she  were  disappointed  ;  and  in  her  mother's 
behavior  we  felt,  from  the  knowledge  we  had  of  the  woman's 
"disposition,  there  was  a  serious  cause  for  alarm.  .  Should  a 
better  offer  present  itself,  Mrs.  Baynes,  we  feared,  would  fling 
over  poor  Philip  :  or  it  was  in  reason  and  nature,  that  he  would 
come  to  a  quarrel  with  her,  and  in  the  course  of  tlie  pitched 
battle  which  must  ensue  between  them,  he  would  fire  off  ex- 
pressions mortall}'  injurious.  Are  there  not  man}-  people,  in 
every  one's  acquaintance,  who,  as  soon  as  the}'  have  made 
a  bargain,  repent  of  it?  Philip,  as  "preserver"  of  General 
Baj-nes,  in  the  first  fervor  of  famil}^  gratitude  for  that  act  of 
self-sacrifice  on  the  3'oung  man's  part,  was  very  well.  But 
gratitude  wears  out ;  or  suppose  a  woman  says,  "  It  is  my  duty 
to  my  child  to  recall  my  word  ;  and  not  allow  her  to  fling  her- 
self awa}'  on  a  beggar."  Suppose  that  3'Ou  and  I,  strongl}' 
inclined  to  do  a  mean  action,  get  a  good,  available,  and  moral 
motive  for  it?  I  trembled  for  poor  Philip's  course  of  true  love, 
and  little  Charlotte's  chances,  when  these  surmises  crossed  my 
mind.  There  was  a  hope  still  in  the  honor  and  gratitude  of 
General  Ba3'nes.  He  would  not  desert  his  3'oung  friend  and 
benefactor.     Now  General  Ba3'nes  was  a  brave  man  of  war, 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  341 

and  so  was  John  of  Marlborough  a  brave  man  of  war  ;  but  it  is 
certain  that  both  were  afraid  of  their  wives. 

We  have  said  by  whose  invitation  and  encouragement  Gen- 
eral Baynes  was  induced  to  bring  his  faniil}'  to  the  boarding- 
house  at  Paris  ;  the  instigation,  namel}-,  of  his  friend  and  com- 
panion in  arras,  the  gallant  Colonel  Bunch.  When  the  Baynes 
famil}^  arrived,  the  Bunches  were  on  the  steps  of  madame's 
house,  waving  a  welcome  to  the  new-comers.  It  was,  "Here 
we  are,  Bunch,  m^-  boy."  "  Glad  to  see  you,  Baynes.  Right 
well  you're  looking,  and  so's  Mrs.  B."  And  the  General 
replies,  "And  so  are  3-ou,  Bunch;  and  so  do  you^  Mrs.  B." 
"  How  do,  boj's?  How  d'^ou  do.  Miss  Charlotte?  Come  to 
show  the  Paris  fellows  what  a  pretty  girl  is,  hej-?  Blooming 
like  a  rose,  Baj'nes ! "  "I'm  telhng  the  General,"  cries  the 
Colonel  to  the  General's  lady,  "  the  girl's  the  very  image  of  her 
mother."  In  this  case  poor  Charlotte  must  have  looked  like  a 
3'ellow  rose,  for  Mrs.  Baj-nes  was  of  a  bilious  temperament  and 
complexion,  whereas  Miss  Charlotte  was  as  fresh  pink  and  white 
as  —  what  shall  we  say  ?  —  as  the  very  freshest  strawberries 
mingled  with  the  very  nicest  cream. 

The  two  old  soldiers  were  of  very  great  comfort  to  one 
another.  They  toddled  down  to  Galignani's  together  daily, 
and  read  the  papers  there.  They  went  and  looked  at  the 
reviews  in  the  Carrousel,  and  once  or  twice  to  the  Champ  de 
Mars: — recognizing  here  and  there  the  numbers  of  the  regi- 
ments against  which  they  had  been  engaged  in  the  famous 
ancient  wars.  They  did  not  brag  in  the  least  about  their 
achievements,  they  winked  and  understood  each  other.  They 
got  their  old  uniforms  out  of  their  old  boxes,  and  took  a  voiture 
de  remise^  by  Jove  !  and  went  to  be  presented  to  Louis  Philippe. 
They  bought  a  catalogue,  and  w^ent  to  the  Louvre,  and  wagged 
their  honest  old  heads  before  the  pictures  ;  and,  I  dare  sa}', 
winked  and  nudged  each  other's  brave  old  sides  at  some  of  the 
n3-mphs  in  the  statue  gallery.  They  went  out  to  Versailles  with 
their  families  ;  loyally'  stood  treat  to  the  ladies  at  the  restau- 
rateur's. (Bunch  had  taken  down  a  memorandum  in  his 
pocket-book  from  Benyon,  who  had  been  the  duke's  aide-de- 
camp in  the  last  campaign,  to  "go  to  Beauvillier's,"  onl}' 
Beauvillier's  had  been  shut  up  for  twenty  years.)  The}'  took 
their  families  and  Charlotte  to  the  Theatre  Fran9ais,  to  a 
traged}^ ;  and  the}^  had  books :  and  the}'-  said  it  was  the  most 
confounded  nonsense  they  ever  saw  in  their  lives  ;  and  I  am 
bound  to  sa}'  that  Bunch,  in  the  back  of  the  box,  snored  so, 
that,    though   in    retirement,    he   created   quite   a    sensation. 


342  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

"Corneal,"  he  owns,  was  too  much  for  him:  give  him  Shak- 
speare  :  give  him  John  Kemble  :  giA'^e  him  Mrs.  Siddons  :  give 
him  Mrs.  Jordan.  But  as  for  this  sort  of  tiring?  "  I  think  our 
phi}"  da^'s  are  over,  Baynes,  — he}'?  "  And  I  also  believe  that 
Miss  Charlotte  Baynes,  whose  knowledge  of  the  language  was 
imperfect  as  3'et,  was  very  much  bewildered  during  the  traged}', 
and  could  give  but  an  imperfect  account  of  it.  But  then  Philip 
Firmin  was  in  the  orchestra  stalls  ;  and  had  he  not  sent  three 
bouquets  for  the  three  ladies,  regretting  that  he  could  not  come 
to  see  soraebod3'in  the  Champs  Elysees,  because  it  was  his  post 
da}',  and  he  must  write  his  letter  for  tire  Pall  Mall  Gazette'? 
There  he  was,  her  Cid  ;  her  peerless  champion  :  and  to  give  up 
father  and  mother  for  him  ?  our  little  Chimene  thought  such  a 
sacrifice  not  too  difficult.  After  that  dismal  attempt  at  the 
theatre,  the  experiment  was  not  repeated.  The  old  gentlemen 
preferred  their  whist  to  those  pompous  Alexandrines  sung 
through  the  nose,  which  Colonel  Bunch,  a  facetious  little 
Colonel,  used  to  imitate,  and,  I  am  given  to  understand,  very 
badly. 

The  good  gentlemen's  ordinary  amusement  was  a  game  at 
cards  after  dinner ;  and  they  compared  Madame's  to  an  East 
Indian  ship,  quarrels  and  all.  Sarah  went  on  just  in  that  way 
on  board  the  "  Burrumpooter."  Always  rows  about  precedence, 
and  the  services,  and  the  deuce  knows  what.  Women  always 
will.  Sarah  Bunch  went  on  in  that  way  :  and  Eliza  Baynes 
also  went  on  in  that  way ;  but  I  should  think,  from  the 
most  trustworthy  information,  that  Eliza  was  worse  than 
Sarah. 

"About  any  person  with  a  title,  that  woman  will  make  a 
fool  of  herself  to  the  end  of  the  chapter,"  remarked  Sarah  of 
her  friend.  "  You  remember  how  she  used  to  go  on  at  Barrack- 
pore  about  that  little  shrimp,  Stoney  Battersby,  because  he  was 
an  Irish  viscount's  son?  See  how  she  flings  herself  at  the  head 
of  this  Mrs.  Boldero,  —  with  her  airs,  and  her  paint,  and  her 
black  front !  I  can't  bear  the  woman  !  I  know  she  has  not 
paid  maclanie.  I  know  she  is  no  better  than  she  should  be  — 
and  to  see  Eliza  Baynes  coaxing  her,  and  sidling  up  to  her, 
and  flattering  her  ;  —  it'^  too  bad,  that  it  is  !  A  woman  who 
owes  ever  so  much  to  niadame  !  a  woman  who  doesn't  pay  her 
washerwoman !  " 

"  Just  like  the  '  Burrumpooter'  over  again,  my  dear,"  cries 
Colonel  Bunch.  "  You  and  Eliza  Baynes  were  always  quarrel- 
ling, that's  the  fact.  Why  did  you  ask  her  to  come  here?  I 
knew  you  would  begin  again,  as  soon  as  you  met."     And  the 


o:n'  his  way  through  the  world.        343 

truth  was  that  these  ladies  were  alwaj-s  fighting  and  making  up 
again. 

"  So  3'ou  and  Mrs.  Bunch  were  old  acquaintances?"  asked 
Mrs.  Boldero  of  her  new  friend.  "My  dear  Mrs.  Baynes  !  I 
should  hardl}^  have  thought  it :  your  manners  are  so  different ! 
Your  friend,  if  I  may  be  so  free  as  to  speak,  has  the  camp 
manner.  Y"ou  have  not  the  camp  manner  at  all.  I  should  have 
thought  you  —  excuse  me  the  phrase,  but  I'm  so  open,  and 
alwa3S  speak  my  mind  out  —  you  haven't  the  camp  manner  at 
all.  You  seem  as  if  30U  were  one  of  us.  Minna  !  doesn't  Mrs. 
Baynes  put  3'Ou  in  mind  of  Lad^'  Hm ?  "  (The  name  is  in- 
audible, in  consequence  of  Mrs.  Boldero's  exceeding  sh3'ness  in 
mentioning  names  —  but  the  girls  see  the  likeness  to  dear  Lad3' 

Hm at  once.)     "And  when  3-ou  bring  your  dear  girl  to 

London  you'll  know  the  lad3'  I  mean,  and  judge  for  yourself. 
I  assure  you  I  am  not  disparaging  you,  m3'  dear  Mrs.  Baynes, 
in  comparing  you  to  her  !  " 

And  so  the  conversation  goes  on.  If  Mrs.  Major  Mac- 
Whirter  at  Tours  chose  to  betra3'  secrets,  she  could  give  ex- 
tracts from  her  sister's  letters  to  show  how  profound  was  the 
impression  created  in  Mrs.  General  Ba3-nes's  mind  b3-  the  pro- 
fessions and  conversations  of  the  Scotch  lad3'. 

"Didn't  the  General  shoot  and  love  deer-stalking?  The 
dear  General  must  come  to  Gaberlunzie  Castle,  where  she 
would  promise  him  a  Highland  welcome.  Her  brother  Strong- 
itharm  was  the  most  amiable  of  men  ;  adored  her  and  her  girls  : 
there  was  talk  even  of  marrying  Minna  to  the  Captain,  but  she, 
for  her  part,  could  not  endure  the  marriage  of  first-cousins. 
There  was  a  tradition  against  such  marriages  in  their  faniil3\ 
Of  three  Bolderos  and  Strongitharms  who  married  their  first- 
cousins,  one  was  drowned  in  Gaberlunzie  lake  three  weeks 
after  the  marriage  ;  one  lost  his  wife  by  a  galloping  consump- 
tion, and  died  a  monk  at  Rome  ;  and  the  third  married  a  fort- 
night before  the  battle  of  Culloden,  where  he  was  slain  at  the 
head  of  the  Strongitharms.  Mrs.  Ba3'nes  had  no  idea  of  the 
splendor  of  Gaberlunzie  Castle  ;  sevent3'  bedrooms  and  thirteen 
compan3'-rooms,  besides  the  picture-galler3- !  In  Edinburgh, 
the  Strongitharm  had  the  right  to  wear  his  bonnet  in  the  pres- 
ence of  his  sovereign."  "  A  bonnet !  how  ver3'  odd,  m3'  dear  ! 
But  with  ostrich  plumes,  I  dare  sa3'  it  ma3'  look  well,  especiall3' 
as  the  Highlanders  wear  frocks,  too."  "  Lord  Strongitharm 
had  no  house  .in  London,  having  almost  ruined  himself  in  build- 
ing his  princel3'  castle  in  the  North.  Mrs.  Baynes  must  come 
there  and  meet  their  noble  relatives  and  all  the  Scottish  no- 


344  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

bilit}^"  "  Nor  do  /  care  about  these  vanities,  mj'^  dear,  but  to 
bring  m}-  sweet  Charlotte  into  the  world :  is  it  not  a  mother's 
duty  ? " 

Not  only  to  her  sister,  but  likewise  to  Charlotte's  friends 
of  Queen  Square,  did  Mrs.  Baynes  impart  these  delightful 
S.jiews.  But  this  is  in  the  first  ardor  of  the  friendship  which 
arises  between  Mrs.  Baynes  and  Mrs.  Boldero,  and  be- 
fore those  unpleasant  mone}'  disputes  of  which  we  have 
spoken. 

Afterwards,  when  the  two  ladies  have  quarrelled  regarding 
the  memorable  "  sang  song  frong,"  I  think  Mrs.  Bunch  came 
round  to  Mrs.  Boldero's  side.  "  Eliza  Baynes  is  too  hard  on 
her.  It  is  too  cruel  to  insult  her  before  those  two  unhappy 
daughters.  The  woman  is  an  odious  woman,  and  a  vulgar 
woman,  and  a  schemer,  and  I  always  said  so.  But  to  box  her 
ears  before  her  daughters  — •  her  honorable  friend  of  last  week  ! 
it's  a  shame  of  Eliza  !  " 

"  My  dear,  j-ou'd  better  tell  her  so  !  "  sa3's  Bunch,  dr3'ly. 
"  But  if  you  do,  tell  her  when  I'm  out  of  the  way,  please  !  " 
And  accordingly,  one  day  when  the  two  old  officers  return 
from  their  stroll,  Mrs.  Bunch  informs  the  Colonel  that  she  has 
had  it  out  with  Eliza;  and  Mrs.  Ba3'nes,  with  a  heated  face, 
tells  the  General  that  she  and  Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch  have  quar- 
relled ;  and  she  is  determined  it  shall  be  for  the  last  time.  So 
that  poor  Madame  de  Smolensk  has  to  interpose  between  Mrs. 
Baynes  and  Mrs.  Boldero ;  between  Mrs.  Baynes  and  Mrs. 
Bunch  ;  and  to  sit  surrounded  by  glaring  e}'es,  and  hissing  in- 
nuendoes, and  in  the  midst  of  feuds  unhealable.  Of  course, 
from  the  women  the  quarrelling  will  spread  to  the  gentlemen. 
That  alwaj's  happens.  Poor  madarae  trembles.  Again  Bunch 
gives  his  neighbor  his  word  that  it  is  like  the  "  Burrumpooter  " 
East  Indiaman  —  the  ' '  Burrumpooter  "  in  ver}'  bad  weather, 
too. 

"  At  any  rate,  we  won't  be  lugged  into  it,  Baynes  my  boy  !  " 
says  the  Colonel,  who  is  of  a  sanguine  temperament,  to  his 
friend. 

"  Hey,  hey  !  don't  be  too  sure,  Bunch  ;  don't  be  too  sure," 
sighs  the  other  veteran,  who,  it  may  be,  is  of  a  more  despond- 
ing turn,  as,  after  a  battle  at  luncheon,  in  which  the  Amazons 
were  fiercely  engaged,  the  two  old  warriors  take  their  walk  to 
Galignani's. 

Towards  his  Charlotte's  relatives  poor  Philip  was  respectful 
by  dut}'  and  a  sense  of  interest,  perhaps.  Before  marriage, 
especially-,   men  are  very  kind  to  the  relatives  of  the  beloved 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  345 

object.  The}'  pa}'  compliments  to  mamma  ;  the}-  listen  to  papa's 
old  stories,  and  laugh  appositely' ;  they  bring  presents  for  the 
innocent  .young  ones,  and  let  the  little  brothers  kick  their  shins. 
Philip  endured  the  juvenile  Bayneses  very  kindly :  he  took  the 
boys  to  Franconi's,  and  made  his  conversation  as  suitable  as 
he  could  to  the  old  people.  He  was  fond  of  the  old  General,  a 
simple  and  worthy  old  man  ;  and  had,  as  we  have  said,  a  hearty 
sj-mpathy  and  respect  for  Madame  Smolensk,  admiring  her 
constancy  and  good-humor  under  her  manj'  trials.  But  those 
who  have  perused  his  memoirs  are  aware  that  Mr.  Firmin  could 
make  himself,  on  occasions,  not  a  little  disagreeable.  When 
sprawling  on  a  sofa,  engaged  in  conversation  with  his  charmer, 
he  would  not  budge  when  other  ladies  entered  the  room.  He 
scowled  at  them,  if  he  did  not  like  them.  He  was  not  at  the 
least  trouble  to  conceal  his  likes  or  dislikes.  He  had  a  manner 
of  fixing  his  glass  in  his  eye,  putting  his  thumbs  into  the  arm- 
holes  of  his  waistcoat,  and  talking  and  laughing  very  loudly  at 
his  own  jokes  or  conceits',  which  was  not  pleasant  or  respectful 
to  ladies. 

"  Your  loud  young  friend,  with  the  cracked  boots,  is  very 
mauvais  ton^  my  dear  Mrs.  Baynes,"  Mrs.  Boldero  remarked  to 
her  new  friend,  in  the  first  ardor  of  their  friendship.     "  A  rela- 
tive of  Lord  Ringwood's,  is  he?     Lord  Ringwood  is  a  very 
queer  person.     A  son  of  that  dreadful  Dr.  Firmin,  who  ran 
away  after  cheating  everybody?     Poor  3'oung  man!     He  can't 
help  having  such  a  father,  as  you  say,  and  most  good,  and 
kind,  and  generous  of  you  to  say  so.    And  the  General  and  the 
Honorable  Philip  Ringwood  were  early  companions  together, 
I  dare  say.     But,   having  such  an  unfortunate  father  as  Dr. 
Firmin,  I  think  Mr.  Firmin  might  be  a  little  less  prononce  ; 
don't  3'ou?     And  to  see  him  in  cracked  boots,  sprawling  over 
the  sofas,  and  hear  him,  when  my  loves  are  playing  their  duets, 
laughing  and  talking  so  very  loud,  — I  confess  isn't  pleasant  to 
me.     I  am  not  used  to  that  kind  of  monde,  nor  are  my  dear 
loves.     You  are  under  great  obligations  to  him,  and  he  has  be- 
haved nobl}',  3-ou  say  ?    Of  course.    To  get  into  your  society  an 
unfortunate  young  man  will  be  on  his  best  behavior,  though  he 
certainly  does  not  condescend  to  be  civil  to  us.     But  .... 
What !  that  young  man  engaged  to  that  lovely,  innocent,  charm- 
ing child,  your  daughter?     My  dear  creature,  you  frighten  me  ! 
A  man,  with   such  a  father ;    and,   excuse   me,  with   such  a 
manner  ;  and  without  a  penny  in  the  world,  engaged  to  IMiss 
Baynes  !     Goodness,  powers  !     It  must  never  be.     It  shall  not 
be,  my  dear  Mrs.  Baynes.     Why,  I  have  written  to  my  nephew 


346  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

Lenox  to  come  over,  Strongitharm's  favorite  son  and  my  favor- 
ite nephew.  I  have  told  him  that  there  is  a  sweet  young 
creature  here,  whom  he  must  and  ought  to  see.  How  well  that 
dear  child  would  look  presiding  at  Strongitharm  Castle?  And 
you  are  going  to  give  her  to  that  dreadful  3'oung  man  with  the 
loud  voice  and  the  cracked  boots  —  that  smoky  3'oung  man  — 
oh,  impossible  !  " 

Madame  had,  no  doubt,  given  a  very  favorable  report  of  her 
new  lodgers  to  the  other  inmates  of  her  house  ;  and  she  and 
Mrs.  Boldero  had  concluded  that  all  general  officers  returning 
from  India  were  immensely  rich.  To  think  that  her  daughter 
might  be  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Strongitharm,  Baroness  Strong- 
itharm, and  walk  in  a  coronation  in  robes,  with  a  coronet  in 
her  hand !  Mrs.  Baynes  3-ielded  in  loyalty  to  no  woman,  but 
1  fear  her  wicked  desires  compassed  a  speedy  royal  demise,  as 
this  thought  passed  through  her  mind  of  the  Honorable  Lenox 
Strongitharm.  She  looked  him  out  in  the  Peerage,  and  found 
that  young  nobleman  designated  as  the  Captain  of  Strong- 
itharm. Charlotte  might  be  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Captain  of 
Strongitharm  !  When  jDoor  Phil  stall^ed  in  after  dinner  that 
evening  in  his  shabby  boots  and  smoky  paletot,  Mrs.  Baynes 
gave  him  but  a  grim  welcome.  He  went  and  prattled  uncon- 
sciously by  the  side  of  his  little  Charlotte,  whose  tender  ej-es 
dwelt  upon  his,  and  whose  fair  cheeks  flung  out  their  blushes 
of  welcome.  He  prattled  awa}'.  He  laughed  out  loud  whilst 
Minna  and  Brenda  were  thumping  their  duet.  "  Taisez- 
vous  done.  Monsieur  Philippe,"  cries  madame,  putting  her  fin- 
ger to  her  lip.  The  Honorable  Mrs.  Boldero  looked  at  dear 
Mrs.  Ba3-nes,  and  shrugged  her  shoulders.  Poor  Philip!  would 
he  have  laughed  so  loudly  (and  so  rudely  too,  as  I  own)  had 
he  known  what  was  passing  in  the  minds  of  those  women? 
Treason  was  passing  there  :  and  before  that  glance  of  knowing 
scorn,  shot  from  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Boldero's  e3-es,  dear  Mrs. 
General  Ba3'nes  faltered.  How  ver3'  curt  and  dr3^  she  was  with 
Philip  !  how  testy  with  Charlotte  !  Poor  Philip,  knowing  that  his 
charmer  was  in  the  power  of  her  mother,  was  pretty  humble  to 
this  dragon  ;  and  attempted,  by  uncouth  flatteries,  to  soothe  and 
propitiate  her.  She  had  a  queer,  dr3^  humor,  and  loved  a  joke  ; 
but  Phil's  fell  very  flat  this  night.  Mrs.  Ba3-nes  received  his 
pleasantries  with  an  "Oh,  indeed!"  She  was  sure  she  heard 
one  of  the  children  crying  in  their  nursery.  Do,  pra3',  go  and 
see,  Charlotte,  what  that  child  is  crying  about."  And  awa3'' 
goes  poor  Charlotte,  having  but  dim  presentiment  of  misfortune 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  Sx^^k 

as  3'et.    Was  not  mamma  often  in  an  ill  humor  ;  and  were  the}  ^ 
not  all  used  to  her  scoldings  ? 

As  for  Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch,  I  am  sorry  to  say  that,  up  to 
this  time,  Philip  was  not  only  no  favorite  with  her,  but  was 
heartily  disliked  by  that  lad3\  1  have  told  you  our  friend's 
faults.  He  was  loud  :  he  was  abrupt :  he  was  rude  often  :  and 
often  gave  just  cause  of  auno3-ance  by  his  laughter,  his  dis- 
respect, and  his  swaggering  manner.  To  those  whom  he  liked 
he  was  as  gentle  as  a  woman  ;  and  treated  them  with  an  extreme 
tenderness  and  touching  rough  respect.  But  those  persons  about 
whom  he  was  indifferent,  he  never  took  the  least  trouble  to 
conciliate  or  please.  If  the}'  told  long  stories,  for  example,  he 
would  turn  on  his  heel,  or  interrupt  them  by  observations  of 
his  own  on  some  quite  different  subject.  Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch, 
then,  positively'  disliked  that  young  man,  and  I  think  had  very 
good  reasons  for  her  dislike.  As  for  Bunch,  Bunch  said  to 
Baynes,  "Cool  hand,  that  3'oung  fellow!"  and  winked.  And 
Baynes  said  to  Bunch,  "  Queer  chap.  Fine  fellow,  as  I  have 
reason  to  know  pretty  well.  I  play  a  club.  No  club?  I  mark 
honors  and  two  tricks."  And  the  game  went  on.  Clancy  hated 
Philip  :  a  meek  man  whom  Firmin  had  yet  managed  to  offend. 
"That  man,"  the  pote  Clancy  remarked,  "has  a  manner  of 
treading  on  me  corrans  which  is  intolerable  to  me  !  " 

The  truth  is,  Philip  was  always  putting  his  foot  on  some 
other  foot,  and  trampling  it.  And  as  for  the  Boldero  clan,  Mr. 
Firmin  treated  them  with  the  most  amusing  insolence,  and 
ignored  them  as  if  the}-  were  out  of  existence  altogether.  So 
you  see  the  poor  fellow  had  not  with  his  poverty  learned  the  least 
lesson  of  humilitj',  or  acquired  the  very  earliest  rudiments  of  the 
art  of  making  friends.  I  think  his  best  friend  in  the  house  was 
its  mistress,  Madame  Smolensk.  Mr.  Philip  treated  her  as  an 
equal :  which  mark  of  affabilit}'  he  was  not  in  the  habit  of  be- 
stowing on  all  persons.  Some  great  people,  some  rich  people, 
some  would-be-fine  people,  he  would  patronize  with  an  insuffer- 
able audacit3\  Rank  or  wealth  do  not  seem  somehow  to  influ- 
ence this  man,  as  they  do  common  mortals.  He  would  tap  a 
bishop  on  the  waistcoat,  and  contradict  a  duke  at  their  first 
meeting.  I  have  seen  him  walk  out  of  church  during  a  stupid 
sermon,  with  an  audible  remark  perhaps  to  that  effect,  and  as  if 
it  were  a  matter  of  course  that  he  should  go.  If  the  company 
bored  him  at  dinner,  he  would  go  to  sleep  in  the  most  unaffected 
manner.  At  home  we  were  alwaj's  kept  in  a  pleasant  state  of 
anxiety,  not  only  b}'  what  he  did  and  said,  but  by  the  idea  of 
what  he  might  do  or  say  next.     He  did  not  go  to  sleep  at 


34^  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

yiadame's  boarding-house,  preferring  to  keep  his  eyes  open  to 
iOok  at  pretty  Charlotte's.  And  were  there' ever  such  sapphires 
as  his?  she  thought.  And  hers?  Ah!  if  they  have  tears  to 
shed,  I  hope  a  kind  fate  will  dry  them  quickly  ! 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

TREATS    OF   DANCING,    DINING,  DYING. 

Old  schoolboys  remember  how,  when  pious  ^neas  was  com- 
pelled by  painful  circumstances  to  quit  his  country,  he  and  his 
select  band  of  Trojans  founded  a  new  Tro}^,  where  they  landed  ; 
raising  temples  to  the  Trojan  gods  ;  building  streets  with  Trojan 
names  ;  and  endeavoring,  to  the  utmost  of  their  power,  to  recall 
their  beloved  native  place.  In  like  manner  British  Trojans  and 
French  Trojans  take  their  Troy  everywhere.  Algiers  I  have 
onl}^  seen  from  the  sea  ;  but  New  Orleans  and  Leicester  Square 
I  have  visited  ;  and  have  seen  a  quaint  old  France  still  lingering 
on  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi ;  a  dingy  modern  France  round 
that  great  Globe  of  Mr.  Wyld's,  which  they  sa}^  is  coming  to 
an  end.  There  are  French  cafes,  billiards,  estaminets,  waiters, 
markers,  poor  Frenchmen,  and  rich  Frenchmen,  in  a  new  Paris 
—  shabb}'  and  dirty,  it  is  true  —  but  offering  the  emigrant  the 
dominoes,  the  chopine,  the  petit- verre  of  the  patrie.  And  do 
not  British  Trojans,  who  emigrate  to  the  continent  of  Europe, 
take  their  Troy  with  them  ?  You  all  know  the  quarters  of  Paris 
which  swarm  with  us  Trojans.  From  Peace  Street  to  the  Arch 
of  the  Star  are  collected  thousands  of  refugees  from  our  Ilium. 
Under  the  arcades  of  the  Rue  de  Rivoli  you  meet,  at  certain 
hours,  as  man}'  of  our  Trojans  as  of  the  natives.  In  the  Trojan 
inns  of  "  Meurice,"  the  "  Louvre,"  &c.,  we  swarm.  We  have 
numerous  Anglo-Trojan  doctors  and  apothecaries,  who  give  us 
the  dear  j)ills  and  doses  of  Pergamus.  We  go  to  Mi'S.  Guerre 
or  kind  Mrs.  Colombin,  and  can  purchase  the  sandwiches  of 
Troy,  the  pale  ale  and  sherry  of  Troy,  and  the  dear,  dear 
muffins  of  home.  We  live  for  3'ears,  never  speaking  any  lan- 
guage but  our  native  Trojan  ;  except  to  our  servants,  whom  we 
instruct  in  the  Trojan  way  of  preparing  toast  for  breakfast ; 
Trojan  l)read-sauce  for  fowls  and  partridges  ;  Trojan  corn-beef, 
&c.  We  have  temples  where  we  worship  according  to  the  Tro- 
jan rites,     A  kindly  sight  is  that  which  one  beholds  of  a  Sunday 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  349 

in  the  El3'sian  fields  and  the  St.  Honore  quarter,  of  processions 
of  English  gi'own  people  and  children,  stalwart,  red-cheeked, 
marching  to  their  churches,  their  gilded  prayer-books  in  hand, 
to  sing  in  a  stranger's  land  the  sacred  songs  of  their  Zion.  I 
am  sure  there  are  many  English  in  Paris  who  never  speak  to 
any  native  above  the  rank  of  a  waiter  or  sho[iman.  Not  long 
since  I  was  listening  to  a  Frenchman  at  Folkestone,  speaking 
English  to  the  waiters  and  acting  as  interpreter  for  his  party. 
He  spoke  pretty  well  and  very  quickly.  He  was  irresistibly 
comical.  I  wonder  how  we  maintained  our  gravit}'.  And  j'ou 
and  I,  my  dear  friend,  when  we  speak  French,  I  dare  say  we 
are  just  as  absurd.  As  absurd!  And  why  not?  Don't  you 
be  discouraged,  3'oung  fellow.  Courage^  mon  jeime  ami!  Re- 
member Trojans  have  a  conquering  way  with  them.  When 
^neas  landed  at  Carthage,  I  dare  say  he  spoke  Carthaginian 
with  a  ridiculous  Trojan  accent ;  but,  for  all  that,  poor  Dido 
fell  desperately  in  love  with  him.  Take  example  by  the  son  of 
Anchises,  my  hoy.  Never  mind  the  grammar  or  the  pronunci- 
ation, but  tackle  the  lad}',  and  speak  your  mind  to  her  as  best 
you  can. 

This  is  the  plan  which  the  Vicomte  de  Loisj'  used  to  adopt. 
He  w^as  following  a  coiirs  of  English  according  to  the  celebrated 
methode  Juhson.  The  cours  assembled  twice  a  week :  and  the 
Vicomte,  with  laudable  assiduity,  went  to  all  English  parties  to 
which  he  could  gain  an  introduction,  for  the  purpose  of  acquir- 
ing the  English  language,  and  marrying  une  Ang/aise.  This 
industrious  young  man  even  went  an  Temple  on  Sundays  for  the 
purpose  of  familiarizing  himself  with  the  English  language  ;  and 
as  he  sat  under  Dr.  Murrogh  Macmanus  of  T.  C.  D.,  a  very  elo- 
quent preacher  at  Paris  in  those  days,  the  Vicomte  acquired  a 
very  fine  pronunciation.  Attached  to  the  cause  of.unfortunate 
monarchy  all  over  the  world,  the  Vicomte  had  fought  in  the 
Spanish  "Carlist  armies.  He  waltzed  well :  and  madame  thought 
his  cross  looked  nice  at  her  parties.  Will  it  be  believed  that 
Mrs.  General  Baynes  took  this  gentleman  into  special  favor ; 
talked  with  him  at  soiree  after  soiree  :  never  laughed  at  his  Eng- 
lish ;  encouraged  her  girl  to  waltz  with  him  (which  he  did  to  per- 
fection, whereas  poor  Philip  was  but  a  hulking  and  clumsy 
performer)  ;  and  showed  him  the  veiy  greatest  favor,  until  one 
day,  on  going  into  Mr.  Bonus's,  the  house-agent  (wiio  lets  lodg- 
ings, and  sells  British  pickles,  tea,  sheny,  and  the  like),  she 
found  the  Vicomte  occupying  a  stool  as  clerk  in  JNIr.  Bonus's 
establishment,  where  for  twelve  hundred  francs  a  year  he  gave 
his  invaluable  services  during  the  day  !    Mrs.  Baynes  took  poor 


350  THE   ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

madame  severely  to  task  for  admitting  such  a  man  to  her 
assemblies.  Madame  was  astonished.  Monsieur  was  a  gentle- 
man of  ancient  family  who  had  met  with  misfortunes.  He  was 
earning  his  maintenance.  To  sit  in  a  bureau  was  not  a  dishonor. 
Knowing  that  boutique  meant  shop  and  gargon  meant  bo}',  Mrs. 
Ba3mes  made  nsje  of  the  words  boutujne  gargon  the  next  time 
she  saw  the  Vicomte.  The  little  man  wept  tears  of  rage  and 
mortification.  There  was  a  ver}'  painful  scene,  at  which,  thank 
mercy,  poor  Charlotte  thought,  Philip  was  not  present.  AVere 
it  not  for  the  General's  cheveux  hlancs  (by  which  phrase  the 
Vicomte  very  kindly  designated  General  Baynes's  chestnut  top- 
knot), the  Vicomte  would  have  had  reason  from  him.  "  Charm- 
ing miss,"  he  said  to  Charlotte,  "  3'our  respectable  papa  is  safe 
from  ni}'  sword  !  Madame  your  mamma  has  addressed  me  words 
which  I  qualify  not.  But  3'ou  —  you  are  too  'andsome,  too  good, 
to  despise  a  poor  soldier,  a  poor  gentleman  ! "  I  have  heard 
the  Vicomte  still  dances  at  boai-ding-houses  and  is  still  in  pur- 
suit of  an  Anglaise.  He  must  be  a  wooer  now  almost  as  elderly 
as  the  good  General  whose  scalp  he  respected. 

Mrs.  Bajmes  was,  to  be  sure,  a  heav^'  weight  to  bear  for 
poor  madame,  but  her  lean  shoulders  were  accustomed  to  many 
a  burden ;  and  if  the  General's  wife  was  quarrelsome  and 
odious,  he,  as  madame  said,  was  as  soft  as  a  mutton  ;  and 
Charlotte's  prett}"  face  and  manners  were  the  admiration  of  all. 
The  3'ellow  Miss  Bolderos,  those  hapless  elderly  orphans  left  in 
pawn,  might  bite  their  lips  with  envj',  but  they  never  could 
make  them  as  red  as  Miss  Charlotte's  smiling  mouth.  To  the 
honor  of  Madame  Smolensk  be  it  said  that,  never  by  word  or 
hint,  did  she  cause  those  unhappy  3'oung  ladies  any  needless 
pain.  She  never  stinted  them  of  an^^  meal.  No  full-2:)riced 
pensioner  of  madame's  could  have  breakfast,  luncheon,  din- 
ners served  more  regularly.  The  day  after  their  mother's 
flight,  that  good  Madame  Smolensk  took  early  cups  of  tea  to 
the  girls'  rooms,  with  her  own  hands  ;  and  I  believe  helped  to 
do  the  hair  of  one  of  them,  and  otherwise  to  soothe  them  in 
their  misfortune.  The}'  could  not  keep  their  secret.  It  must 
be  owned  that  Mrs.  Baj-nes  never  lost  an  opportunit}'  of  de- 
ploring their  situation  and  acquainting  all  new-comers  with 
their  mother's  flight  and  transgression.  But  she  was  good- 
natured  to  the  captives  in  her  grim  wa}' :  and  admired  ma- 
dame's forbearance  regarding  them.  The  two  old  officers  were 
now  especially  polite  to  the  poor  things  :  and  the  General  rapped 
one  of  his  boys  over  the  knuckles  for  sa3'ing  to  Miss  Bren- 
da,   "If  3-our  uncle  is  a  lord,  why  doesn't   he  give   3'ou  an3' 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  351 

money?"  "And  these  girls  used  to  hold  their  heads  above 
mine,  and  their  mother  used  to  give  herself  such  airs ! " 
cried  Mrs.  Bajnes.  "And  Eliza  Ba3nes  used  to  flatter 
those  poor  girls  and  their  mother,  and  fancy  they  were  going 
to  make  a  woman  of  fashion  of  her ! "  said  Mrs.  Bunch. 
"  We  all  have  our  weaknesses.  Lords  are  not  3'ours,  my  dear. 
Faith,  I  don't  think  you  know  one,"  says  stout  little  Colonel 
Bunch.  "  I  wouldn't  pay  a  dnchess  such  court  as  Eliza  paid 
that  woman  !  "  cried  Sarah  ;  and  she  made  sarcastic  inquiries 
of  the  General,  whether  Eliza  had  heard  from  her  friend  the 
Honorable  Mrs.  Boldero?  But  for  all  this  Mrs.  Bunch  pitied 
the  3"oung  ladies,  and  I  believe  gave  them  a  little  supply  of 
coin  from  her  private  purse.  A  word  as  to  their  private  his- 
tory. Their  mamma  became  the  terror  of  boarding-house 
keepers :  and  the  poor  girls  practised  their  duets  all  over 
Europe.  Mrs.  Boldero's  noble  nephew,  the  present  Strong- 
itliarm  (as  a  friend  who  knows  the  fashionable  world  informs 
me)  was  victimized  b}'  his  own  uncle,  and  a  most  painful  affair 
occurred  between  them  at  a  game  at  "  blind  hooke}'."  The 
Honorable  Mrs.  Boldero  is  living  in  the  precincts  of  Holy  rood  ; 
one  of  her  daughters  is  happil}'  married  to  a  minister ;  and  the 
other  to  an  apothecary  who  was  called  in  to  attend  her  in 
quins}'.  So  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  phrase  about  "  select" 
boarding-houses  is  a  mere  complimentary  term  ;  and  as  for 
the  strictest  references  being  given  and  required,  1  certainly 
should  not  lay  out  extra  monc}'  for  printing  that  expression  in 
my  advertisement,  were  I  going  to  set  up  an  establishment 
myself.  ^  « 

Old  college  friends  of  Philip's  visited  Paris  from  time  to 
time;  and  rejoiced  in  carrying  him  off"  to  "Borel's"  or  the 
"  Trois  Freres,"  and  hospitabl}'  treating  him  who  had  been 
so  hospitable  in  his  time.  Yes,  thanks  be  to  heaven,  there 
are  good  Samaritans  in  pretty  large  numbers  in  this  world, 
and  hands  ready  enough  to  succor  a  man. in  misfortune.  I 
could  name  two  or  three  gentlemen  who  drive  about  in  char- 
iots and  look  at  people's  tongues  and  write  queer  figures  and 
queer  Latin  on  note-paper,  who  occultly'  made  a  purse  con- 
taining some  seven  or  ten  score  fees,  and  sent  them  out  to 
Dr.  Firmin  in  his  l->anishment.  Tlie  poor  wretch  had  behaved 
as  ill  as  might  be,  but  he  was  without  a  penn}-  or  a  friend. 
I  dare  say  Dr.  Goodenough,  amongst  other  philanthropists, 
put  his  hands  into  his  pocket.  Having  heartily  dishked 
and  mistrusted  Firmin  in  prosperity,  in  adversitj'  he  melted 
towards  the  poor  fugitive  wretch :  he  even  could  believe  that 


352  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

Firmiii  had  some  skill  in  his  profession,  and  in  his  practice 
was  not  quite  a  quack. 

Philip's  old  college  and  school  cronies  laughed  at  hearing 
that,  now  his  ruin  was  complete,  he  was  thinking  about  mar- 
riage. Such  a  plan  was  of  a  piece  with  Mr.  Firmin's  known 
prudence  and  foresight.  But  the}'  made  an  objection'  to  his 
proposed  union,  which  had  struck  us  at  home  previously. 
Papa-ia-law  was  well  enough,  or  at  least  inotlensive :  but 
ah,  ye  powers  !  what  a  mother-in-law  was  poor  Phil  laying  up 
for  his  future  days  !  Two  or  three  of  our  mutual  compan- 
ions made  this  remark  on  returning  to  work  and  chambers 
after  their  autumn  holiday.  We  never  had  too  much  char- 
it}'  for  Mrs.  Baynes ;  and  what  Philip  told  us  about  her  did 
not  serve  to  increase  our  regard. 

About  Christmas  Mr.  Firmin's  own  affairs  brought  him  on 
a  brief  visit  to  London.  We  were  not  jealous  that  he  took 
up  his  quarters  with  his  little  friend,  of  Thornhaugh  Street, 
who  was  contented  that  he  should  dine  with  us,  provided  she 
could  have  the  pleasure  of  housing  him  under  her  kind  shelter. 
High  and  mighty  people  as  we  were  —  for  under  what  humble 
roofs  does  not  Vanity  hold  her  sway?  —  we,  who  knew 
Mrs.  Brandon's  virtues,  and  were  aware  of  her  earlj'  story, 
would  have  condescended  to  receive  her  into  our  societj' ;  but 
it  was  the  little  lad}'  herself  who  had  her  pride,  and  held  aloof. 
"My  parents  did  not  give  me  the  education  you  have  had, 
ma'am,"  Caroline  said  to  ray  wife.  "  M}'  place  is  not  here, 
I  know  ver}'  well ;  unless  you  should  be  took  ill,  and  then, 
ma'aip,  3'ou'll  see  that  I  will  be  glad  enough  to  come.  Philip 
can  come  and  see  me ;  and  a  blessing  it  is  to  me  to  set  eyes  on 
him.  But  I  shouldn't  be  happy  in  your  drawing-room,  nor 
3'ou  in  having  me.  The  dear  children  look  surprised  at  my 
way  of  talking  ;  and  no  wonder :  and  they  laugh  sometimes  to 
one  anotlier,  God  bless  'em  !  I  don't  mind.  My  education  was 
not  cared  for.  I  scarce  had  any  schooling  but  what  I  taught 
myself.  My  pa  hadn't  the  means  of  learning  me  much  :  and 
it  is  too  late  to  go  to  school  at  fort}'  odd.  I've  got  all  his 
stockings  and  things  darned;  and  his  linen,  poor  fellow!  — 
beautiful :  I  wish  they  kep'  it  as  nice  in  France,  where  he  is  ! 
You'll  give  my  love  to  the  young  lady,  won't  you,  ma'am? 
and  oh  !  it's  a  "blessing  to  me  to  hear  how  good  and  gentle  she 
is  !  He  has  a  high  temper,  Philip  have  :  but  them  he  likes  can 
easy  manage  him.  You  have  been  his  best  kind  friends  ;  and 
so  will  she  be,  1  trust ;  and  they  may  be  happy  though  they'i'e 
poor.     But  they've  time  to  get  rich,  haven't  they?     And  it's 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  353 

not  the  richest  that's  the  happiest,  that  I  can  see  in  man}^  a 
fine  house  where  Nurse  Brandon  goes  and  has  her  eyes  open, 
though  she  don't  say  much,  you  know."  In  this  way  Nurse 
Brandon  would  prattle  on  to  us  when  she  came  to  see  us. 
She  would  share  our  meal,  alwaj's  thanking  by  name  the  ser- 
vant who  helped  her.  She  insisted  on  calling  our  children 
"'Miss"  and  "Master,"  and  I  think  those  3'oung  satirists  did 
not  laugh  often  or  unkindly  at  her  peculiarities.  I  know  they 
were  told  that  Nurse  Brandon  was  vei-y  good  ;  and  that  she 
took  care  of  her  father  in  his  old  age ;  and  that  she  had 
passed  through  very  great  griefs  and  trials  ;  and  that  slie  had 
nursed  Uncle  Philip  when  he  had  been  ver}'  ill  indeed,  and 
wiien  many  people  would  have  been  afraid  to  come  near  liim  ; 
and  that  her  life  was  spent  in  tending  the  sick,  and  in  doing 
good  to  her  neighbor. 

One  day  during  Philip's  staj'  with  us  we  happen  to  read  in 
the  paper  Lord  Ringwood's  arrival  in  London.     My  lord  had  a 
grand  town-house  of  his  own  which  he  did  not  always  inhabit. 
He  liked  the  cheerfulness  of  a  hotel  better.     Ringwood  House 
was  too  large  and  too  dismal.     He  did  not  care  to  eat  a  solitary 
mutton-chop  in  a  great  dining-room  surrounded  b^'  ghostly  im- 
ages of  dead  Ringwoods  —  his  dead  son,  a  boy  who  had  died 
in  his  boyhood  ;  his  dead  brother  attired  in  the  uniform  of  his 
da}'  (in  which  picture  there  was  no  little  resemblance  to  Philip 
Firmin,  the  Colonel's  grandson)  ;  Lord  Ringwood's  dead  self, 
finally-,   as  he  appeared  still  a  young   man,   when    Lawrence 
painted  him,  and  when  he  was  the  companion  of  the  Regent 
and  his  friends.     "Ah!  that's  the  fellow  I  least  like  to  look 
at,"  the  old  man  would   say,   scowling   at   the   picture,    and 
breaking  out  into  the  old-fashioned  oaths  which  garnished  many 
conversations  in  his  young  days.     "  That  fellow  could  ride  all 
day  ;  and  sleep  all  night,  or  go  without  sleep  as  he  chose  ;  and 
drink  his  four  bottles,  and  never  have  a  headache  ;  and  break 
his  collar-bone,  and  see  the  fox  killed  three  hours  after.     That 
was  once  a  man,  as  old  Marlborough  said,  looking  at  his  own 
picture.     Now  m^-  doctor's  my  master ;    my  doctor  and  the 
infernal  gout  over  him.     I  live  upon  pap  and  puddens,  like  a 
baby  ;  only  I've  shed  all  my  teeth,  hang  'em.     If  I  drink  three 
glasses  of  sherry,  my  butler  threatens  me.     You  young  fellow, 
who  haven't  twopence  in  your  pocket,  by  George,  I  would  like 
to   change   with   you.      Only   you    wouldn't,    hang   you,    you 
wouldn't.     Why,  I  don't  believe  Todhunter  would  change  with 
me:  would  you,  Todhunter?  —  and  you're  about  as  fond  of  a 
great  man  as  an}-  fellow  I  ever  knew.     Don't  tell  me.     You 

23 


354  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

are^  sir.  Wh}',  when  I  walked  with  you  on  R3de  sands  one 
day,  I  said  to  that  fellow,  '  Todhunter,  don't  3'ou  think  I  could 
order  the  sea  to  stand  still?'  I  did.  And  you  had  never  heard 
of  King  Canute,  hanged  if  you  had,  and  never  read  au}^  book 
except  the  Stud-book  and  Mrs.  Glasse's  Cooker}',  hanged  if 
3'OU  did."  Such  remarks  and  conversations  of  his  relative  has 
Philip  reported  to  me.  Two  or  three  men  about  town  had  \QYy 
good  imitations  of  this  toothless,  growling,  blasphemous  old 
c^'nic.  He  was  splendid  and  penurious  ;  violent  and  easily 
led  ;  surrounded  b}-  flatterers  and  utterh'  lonely.  He  had  old- 
world  notions,  which  1  believe  have  passed  out  of  the  manners 
of  great  folks  now.  He  thought  it  beneath  him  to  travel  by 
railway,  and  his  post-chaise  was  one  of  the  last  on  the  road. 
The  tide  rolled  on  in  spite  of  this  old  Canute,  and  has  long 
since  rolled  over  him  and  his  post-chaise.  Wh}',  almost  all  his 
imitators  are  actually  dead  ;  and  only  this  year,  when  old  Jack 
Mummers  gave  an  imitation  of  him  at  "Bays's"  (where  Jack's 
mimicry  used  to  be  received  with  shouts  of  laughter  but  a  few 
\'ears  since),  there  was  a  dismal  silence  in  the  coft'ee-room,  ex- 
cept from  two  or  three  young  men  at  a  near  table,  who  said, 
"What  is  the  old  fool  mumbling  and  swearing  at  now?  An 
imitation  of  Lord  Riugwood,  and  who  was  he?  "  80  our  names 
pass  awa}',  and  are  forgotten  :  and  the  tallest  statues,  do  not 
the  sands  of  time  accumulate  and  overwhelm  them  ?  /  have 
not  forgotten  my  lord ;  an}'  more  than  I  have  forgotten  the 
cock  of  my  school,  about  whom,  perhaps,  you  don't  care  to 
hear.  I  see  my  lord's  bald  head,  and  hooked  beak,  and  bush}' 
eyebrows,  and  tall  velvet  collar,  and  brass  buttons,  and  great 
black  mouth,  and  trembling  hand,  and  trembling  parasites 
around  him,  and  I  can  hear  his  voice,  and  great  oaths,  and 
laughter.  You  parasites  of  to-day  are  bowing  to  other  great 
peoi)le  ;  and  this  great  one,  who  was  alive  only  yesterday,  is 
as  dead  as  George  IV.  or  Nebuchadnezzar. 

Well,  we  happen  to  read  that  Philip's  noble  relative  Lord 

Ringwood  has  arrived  at Hotel,  whilst  Philip  is  staying 

with  us  ;  and  I  own  that  I  counsel  my  friend  to  go  and  wait 
upon  his  lordship.  He  had  been  very  kind  at  Paris  :  he  had 
evidently  taken  a  liking  to  Philip.  Firmin  ought  to  go  and 
see  him.  Who  knows?  Lord  Ringwood  might  be  inclined  to 
do  something  for  his  brother's  grandson. 

This  was  just  the  point  which  any  one  who  knew  Philip 
should  have  hesitated  to  urge  upon  him.  To  try  and  make 
him  bow  and  smile  on  a  great  man  with  a  view  to  future  favors, 
was  to  demand  the  impossible  from  Firmin.     The  king's  men 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  355 

may  lead  the  king's  horses  to  the  water,  but  the  king  himself 
can't  make  them  drink.  I  own  that  I  came  back  to  the  sub- 
ject, and  urged  it  repeatedly  on  my  friend.  "I  have  been," 
said  PhiUp,  sulkily.  "I  have  left  a  card  upon  him.  If  he 
wants  me,  he  can  send  to  No.  120,  Queen  Square,  Westminster, 
my  present  hotel.  But  if  you  think  he  will  give  me  anything 
bej'ond  a  dinner,  I  tell  you  you  are  mistaken." 

We  dined  that  day  with  Pliilip's  employer,  worth}^  Mr. 
Mugford,  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette^  who  was  profuse  in  his 
hospitalities,  and  especially  gracious  to  Philip.  Mugford  was 
pleased  with  Firmin's  letters  ;  and  3'ou  may  be  sure  that  severer 
critics  did  not  contradict  their  friend's  good-natured  patron. 
We  drove  to  the  suburban  villa  at  Ilampstead,  and  steaming 
odors  of  soup,  mutton,  onions,  rushed  out  into  the  hall  to  give 
us  welcome,  and  to  warn  us  of  the  good  cheer  in  store  for  the 
part}'.  This  was  not  one  of  Mugford's  days  for  countermand- 
ing side-dishes,  I  promise  you.  Men  in  black  with  noble  white 
cotton  gloves  were  in  waiting  to  receive  us  ;  and  Mrs.  Mugford, 
in  a  rich  blue  satin  and  feathers,  a  profusion  of  flounces,  laces, 
marabouts,  jewels,  and  eau-de-Cologne,  rose  to  welcome  us 
from  a  stately  sofa,  where  she  sat  surrounded  by  her  children. 
These,  too,  were  in  brilliant  dresses,  with  shining  new-combed 
hair.  The  ladies,  of  course,  instantly  began  to  talk  about  their 
children,  and  my  wife's  unfeigned  admiration  for  Mrs.  Mug- 
ford's  last  bab}'  I  think  won  that  worth}^  lady's  good-will  at 
once.  I  made  some  remark  regarding  one  of  the  boys  as  being 
the  picture  of  his  father,  whicli  was  not  luck}'.  I  don't  know 
why,  but  I  have  it  from  her  husband's  own  admission,  that 
Mrs.  Mugford  alwa3's  thinks  I  am  "  chaffing"  her.  One  of  the 
bo3's  frankly  informed  me  there  was  goose  for  dinner  ;  and  when 
a  cheerful  cloop  was  heard  from  a  neighboring  room,  told  me 
that  was  pa  drawing  the  corks.  Wh}-  should  Mrs.  Mugford 
reprove  the  outspoken  child  and  say,  "James,  hold  3'our 
tongue,  do  now?"  Better  wine  than  was  poured  forth,  when 
those  corks  were  drawn,  never  flowed  from  bottle.  —  I  say,  I 
never  saw  better  wine  nor  more  bottles.  If  ever  a  table  ma}' 
be  said  to  have  groaned,  that  expression  might  with  justice  be 
applied  to  Mugford's  mahogany.  Talbot  Twysden  would  have 
feasted  forty  people  with  the  meal  here  provided  for  eight  by 
our  most  hospitable  entertainer.  Though  Mugford's  editor 
was  present,  who  thinks  himself  a  very  fine  fellow,  I  assure 
you,  but  whose  name  I  am  not  at  liliert}'  to  divulge,  all  the 
honors  of  the  entertainment  were  for  the  Paris  Correspondent, 
who  was  specially  requested  to  take  Mrs.  M.  to  dinner.     As 


356  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

an  eaii's  grand-nephew,  and  a  lord's  great-grandson,  of  course 
we  felt  that  this  place  of  honor  was  Firmin's  right.  How  Mrs. 
Mugford  pressed  him  to  eat !  She  carved  —  I  am  very  glad 
she  would  not  let  Philip  carve  for  her,  for  he  might  have  sent 
the  goose  into  her  lap  —  she  carved,  I  say,  and  I  reall}'  think 
she  gave  him  more  stuffing  than  to  any  of  us,  but  that  may 
have  been  mere  envy  on  my  part.  Allusions  to  Lord  Ring- 
wood  were  repeatedly  made  during  dinner.  "Lord  R.  has 
come  to  town,  Mr.  F.,  I  perceive,"  says  Mugford,  winking. 
"You've  been  to  see  him,  of  course?"  Mr.  Firmin  glared  at 
me  very  fiercely,  he  had  to  own  he  had  been  to  call  on  Lord 
Rinsfwood.  Mugford  led  the  conversation  to  the  noble  lord  so 
frequently  that  Philip  madly  kicked  my  shins  under  the  table. 
I  don't  know  how  many  times  I  had  to  suffer  from  that  foot 
which  in  its  time  has  trampled  on  so  many  persons :  a  kick  for 
each  time  Lord  Ringwood's  name,  houses,  parks,  properties, 
were  mentioned,  was  a  frightful  allowance.  Mrs.  Mugford 
would  say,  "  May  I  assist  you  to  a  little  pheasant,  Mr.  Firmin? 
I  dare  say  the}^  are  not  as  good  as  Lord  Ringwood's  "  (a  kick 
from  Philip);  or  Mugford  would  exclaim,  "Mr.  F.,  try  that 
'ock  !  Lord  Ringwood  hasn't  better  wine  than  that."  (Dread- 
ful punishment  upon  my  tibia  under  the  table.)  "  John  !  Two 
'ocks,  me  and  Mr.  Firmin.  Join  us,  Mr.  P.,"  and  so  forth. 
And  after  dinner,  to  the  ladies  —  as  my  wife,  who  betrayed 
their  mysteries,  informed  me  —  Mrs.  Mugford's  conversation 
was  incessant  regarding  the  Ringwood  family  and  Firmin's  re- 
lationship to  that  noble  house.  The  meeting  of  the  old  lord 
and  Firmin  in  Paris  was  discussed  with  immense  interest. 
"His  lordship  called  him  Philip  most  affable!  he  was  very 
fond  of  Mr.  Firmin."  A  little  bird  had  told  Mrs.  Mugford 
that  somebod}'  else  was  ver^'  fond  of  Mr.  Firmin.  She  hoped 
it  would  be  a  match,  and  that  his  lordship  would  do  the  hand- 
some thing  b}^  his  nephew.  What?  My  wife  wondered  that 
Mrs.  Mugford  should  know  about  Philip's  affairs?  (and  wonder 
indeed  she  did).  A  little  bird  had  told  Mrs.  M. —  a  friend 
of  both  ladies,  that  dear,  good  little  nurse  Brandon,  who  was 
engaged  —  and  here  the  conversation  went  off'  into  m_vsterics 
which  I  certainl}^  shall  not  reveal.  Suffice  it  that  Mrs.  Mugford 
was  one  of  Mrs.  Brandon's  best,  kindest,  and  most  constant 
patrons  —  or  might  I  be  permitted  to  saj'  matrons  ?  —  and  had 
received  a  most  favorable  report  of  us  from  the  little  nurse. 
And  here  Mrs.  Pendennis  gave  a  verbatim  report  not  only  of 
our  hostess's  speech,  but  of  her  manner  and  accent.  "Yes, 
ma'am,"  says  Mrs.  Mugford  to  Mrs.  Pendennis,  "our  friend 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  357 

Mrs.  B.  has  told  me  of  a  certain  geyitleman  whose  name  shall 
be  nameless.  His  manner  is  cold,  not  to  say  'aughty.  He 
seems  to  be  laughing  at  people  sometimes  —  don't  say  No  ;  I 
saw  him  once  or  twice  at  dinner,  both  him  and  Mr.  Firmin. 
But  he  is  a  true  friend,  Mrs.  Brandon  sa3's  he  is.  And  wlien 
you  know  him,  his  heart  is  good."  Is  it?  Amen.  A  distin- 
guished writer  has  composed,  in  not  very  late  days,  a  comedy 
of  which  the  cheerful  moral  is,  that  we  are  "  not  so  bad  as  we 
seem."  Aren't  we?  Amen,  again.  Give  u^  thy  hearty  hand, 
lago  !  Tartuffe,  how  the  world  has  been  mistaken  in  3-ou  ! 
Macbeth  !  put  that  little  affair  of  the  murder  out  of  your  mind. 
It  was  a  momentar}'  weakness  ;  and  who  is  not  weak  at  times  ? 
Blifil,  a  more  maligned  man  than  you  does  not  exist !  O  hu- 
manity !  how  we  have  been  mistaken  in  you  I  Let  us  expunge 
the  vulgar  expression  "miserable  sinners"  out  of  all  prayer- 
books  ;  open  the  portholes  of  all  hulks  ;  break  the  chains  of  all 
convicts  ;  and  unlock  the  boxes  of  all  spoons. 

As  we  discussed  Mr.  Mugford's  entertainment  on  our  return 
home,  I  improved  the  occasion  with  Phihp  ;  I  pointed  out  the 
reasonableness  of  the  hopes  which  he  might  entertain  of  help 
from  his  wealthy  kinsman,  and  actually  forced  him  to  promise 
to  wait  upon  ray  lord  the  next  da^'.  Now,  when  Philip  Firmin 
did  a  thing  against  his  will,  he  did  it  with  a  bad  grace.  When 
he  is  not  pleased,  he  does  not  pretend  to  be  happy  ;  and  when 
he  is  sulky,  Mr.  Firmin  is  a  very  disagreeable  companion. 
Though  he  never  once  reproached  me  afterwards  with  what 
happened,  I  own  that  I  have  had  cruel  twinges  of  conscience 
since.  If  I  had  not  sent  him  on  that  dutiful  visit  to  his  grand- 
uncle,  what  occurred  might  never,  perhaps,  have  occurred  at  all. 
I  acted  for  the  best,  and  that  I  aver ;  however  I  may  grieve  for 
tlie  consequences  which  ensued  when  the  poor  fellow  followed 
my  advice. 

If  Philip  held  aloof  from  Lord  Ringwood  in  London,  you 
may  be  sure  Philip's  dear  cousins  were  in  waiting  on  his  lord- 
ship, and  never  lost  an  opportunity  of  showing  their  respectful 
sympathy.  Was  Lord  Ringwood  ailing?  Mr.  Twysden,  or 
Mrs.  Twysden,  or  the  dear  girls,  or  Ringwood  their  brother, 
were  daily  in  his  lordship's  antechamber,  asking  for  news  of 
his  health.  They  bent  down  respectfully  before  Lord  Ring- 
wood's  major-domo.  The}'  would  have  given  him  money,  as 
the}^  always  averred,  onl}'  what  sum  could  thej^  give  to  such  a 
man  as  Rudge  ?  They  actually  oflei'cd  to  bribe  Mr.  Rudge  with 
\  their  wine,  over  which  he  made  horrible  faces.  They  fawned 
and  smiled  before  him  always.     I  should  like  to  have  seen  that 


358  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP- 

calm  Mrs.  Twysden,  that  serene,  high-bred  woman,  who  would 
cut  her  dearest  friend  if  misfortune  befell  her,  or  the  world 
turned  its  back  ;  —  I  should  like  to  have  seen,  and  can  see  her 
in  my  mind's  e^'e,  simpering  and  coaxing,  and  wheedling  this 
footman.  She  made  cheap  presents  to  Mr.  Rudge  :  she  smiled 
on  him  and  asked  after  his  health.  And  of  course  Talbot  Twys- 
den flattered  him  too  in  Talbot's  jolly  way.  It  was-a  wink, 
and  nod,  and  a  hearty  "  How  do  you  do?"  —  and  (after  due 
inquiries  made  and  answered  about  his  lordship)  it  would  be, 
' '  Rudge  !  I  think  my  housekeeper  has  a  good  glass  of  port 
wine  in  her  room,  if  you  happen  to  be  passing  that  wa}',  and 
my  lord  don't  want  you  !  "  And  with  a  grave  courtesy' ,  I 
can  fancy  Mr.  Rudge  bowing  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Twysden,  and 
thanking  them,  and  descending  to  Mrs.  Blenkinsop's  skinny 
room  where  the  port  wine  is  ready  —  and  if  Mr.  Rudge  and 
Mrs.  Blenkinsop  are  confidential,  I  can  fancy  their  talking 
over  the  characters  and  peculiarities  of  the  folks  up  stairs. 
Servants  sometimes  actually  do ;  and  if  master  and  mis- 
tress are  humbugs,  these  wretched  menials  sometimes  find 
them  out. 

Now,  no  duke  could  be  more  lordl}-  and  condescending  in 
his  bearing  than  Mr.  Philip  Firmin  towards  the  menial  throng. 
In  those  da^'-s,  when  he  had  money  in  his  pockets,  he  gave  Mr. 
Rudge  out  of  his  plent}- ;  and  the  man  remembered  his  gener- 
osity when  he  was  poor;  and  declared  —  in  a  select  society, 
and  in  the  company'  of  the  relative  of  a  person  from  whom  I 
have  the  information  —  declared  in  the  presence  of  Captain 
Gann  at  the  "  Admiral  B — ng  Club"  in  fact,  that  Mr.  Heff  was 
always  a  swell ;  but  since  he  was  done,  he,  Rudge,  "  was  blest 
if  that  3'oung  chap  warn't  a  greater  swell  than  hever."  And 
Rudge  actually  liked  this  poor  young  fellow  better  than  the 
family  in  Beaunash  Street,  whom  Mr.  R.  pronounced  to  be  "a 
shabb}-  lot."  And  in  fact  it  was  Rudge  as  well  as  myself,  who 
advised  that  Philip  should  see  his  lordsMp. 

When  at  length  Philip  paid  his  second  visit,  Mr.  Rudge  said, 
"  My  lord  will  see  you,  sir,  I  think.  He  has  been  speaking  of 
you.  He's  ver}^  unwell.  He's  going  to  have  a  fit  of  the  gout, 
I  think.  I'll  tell  him  you  are  here."  And  coming  back  to 
Philip,  after  a  brief  disappearance,  and  with  rather  a  scared 
face,  he  repeated  the  permission  to  enter,  and  again  cautioned 
him,  saj'ing,  that  "  my  lord  was  yery  queer." 

In  fact,  as  we  learned  afterwards,  through  the  channel  pre- 
viously indicated,  my  lord,  when  he  heard  Philip  had  called, 
cried,  "He  has.^  has  he?     Han^  him,  send  him  in;"  using,  I 


A  Quarrel. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  359 

am  constrained  to  say,  in  place  of  the  monosyllable  "  hang,"  a 
much  stronger  expression. 

"  Oh,  it's  yon,  is  it?"  says  mj'  lord.  ^'  You  have  been  in 
London  ever  so  long.     T\v3"sdeA  told  me  of  3'ou  yesterday." 

"  I  have  called  before,  sir,"  said  Philip,  ver^-  qnietl}'. 

"  I  wonder  you  have  the  face  to  call  at  all,  sir !  "  cries  the 
old  man,  glaring  at  Philip.  His  lordship's  countenance  was 
of  a  gamboge  color :  his  noble  CA'es  were  bloodshot  and  start- 
ing ;  his  voice,  always  very  harsh  and  strident,  was  now  spe- 
cially unpleasant ;  and  from  the  crater  of  his  mouth,  shot  loud 
exploding  oaths. 

"  Face,  m}'  lord?"  says  Philip,  still  ver}'  meek. 

"  Yes,  if  3'ou  call  that  a  face  which  is  covered  over  with  hair 
like  a  baboon  !  "  growled  my  lord,  showing  his  tusks.  "  Twys- 
den  was  here  last  night,  and  tells  me  some  pretty  news  about 
you." 

Philip  blushed ;  he  knew  what  the  news  most  likely  would 
be. 

"  Twysden  says  that  now  you  are  a  pauper,  b}'  George,  and 
living  by  breaking  stones  in  the  street,  —  you  have  been  such 
an  infernal,  drivelling,  hanged  fool,  as  to  engage  yourself  to 
another  pauper ! " 

Poor  Philip  turned  white  from  red;  and  spoke  slowly:  "I 
beg  your  pardon,  my  lord,  you  said  —  " 

"  I  said  you  were  a  hanged  fool,  sir  !  "  roared  the  old  man  ; 
"  can't  you  hear?" 

"I  believe  I  am  a  member  of  your  family,  my  lord,"  says 
Philip,  rising  up.  In  a  quarrel,  he  would  sometimes  lose  his 
temper,  and  speak  out  his  mind ;  or  sometimes,  and  then  he 
was  most  dangerous,  he  would  be  especially  calm  and  Grandi- 
sonian. 

"  Some  hanged  adventurer,  thinking  you  were  to  get  money 
from  me,  has  hooked  you  for  his  daughter,  has  he?" 

"I  have  engaged  myself  to  a  young  lady,  and  I  am  the 
poorer  of  the  two,"  says  Philip. 

"  She  thinks  you  will  get  money  from  me,"  continues  his 
lordship. 

"  Does  she?     I  never  did  !  "  rephed  Philip. 

"By  heaven,  you  shan't,  unless  you  give  up  this  rubbish." 

"  I  shan't  give  her  up,  sir,  and  I  shall  do  without  the  money," 
said  Mr.  Plrmin  very  boldly. 

"Go  to  Tartarus  !  "  screamed  the  old  man. 

On  which  Philip  told  us,  "I  said,  '  Seniores  priores,  my 
lord,'  and  turned  on  my  heel.     So  you  see  if  he  was  going  to 


360  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

leave  me  something,  and  he  nearly  said  he  was,  that  chance  is 
past  now,  and  I  have  made  a  prett}'  morning's  work."  And  a 
pretty  morning's  work  it  was :  and  it  was  I  who  had  set  him 
upon  it !  My  brave  Philip  not  only  did  not  rebuke  me  for  hav- 
ing sent  him  on  this  errand,  but  took  the  blame  of  the  business 
on  himself.  "Since  I  have  been  engaged,"  he  said,  "I  am 
growing  dreadfully  avaricious,  and  am  almost  as  sordid  about 
money  as  those  Tw3'sdens.  I  cringed  to  that  old  man  :  I 
crawled  before  his  gouty  feet.  Well,  I  could  crawl  from  here 
to  Saint  James's  Palace  to  get  some  monej'  for  my  little  Char- 
lotte." Philip  cringe  and  crawl !  If  there  were  no  posture- 
masters  more  supple  than  Philip  Firmin,  kotowing  would  be  a 
lost  art,  like  tlie  Menuet  de  la  Cour.  But  fear  not,  3'e  great ! 
Men's  backs  were  made  to  bend,  and  the  race  of  parasites  is 
still  in  good  repute. 

When  our  friend  told  us  how  his  brief  interview  with  Lord 
Ringwood  had  begun  and  ended,  I  think  those  who  counselled 
Philip  to  wait  upon  his  grand-uncle  felt  rather  ashamed  of  their 
worldly  wisdom  and  the  advice  which  they  had  given.  We 
ought  to  have  known  our  Huron  sufficiently  to  be  aware  that  it 
was  a  dangerous  experiment  to  set  him  bowing  in  lords'  ante- 
chambers. Were  not  his  elbows  sure  to  break  some  courtly 
china,  his  feet  to  trample  and  tear  some  lace  train?  So  all  the 
good  we  had  done  was  to  occasion  a  quarrel  between  him  and 
his  patron.  Lord  Ringwood  avowed  that  he  had  intended  to 
leave  Philip  money  ;  and  by  thrusting  the  poor  fellow  into  the 
old  nobleman's  sick-chamber,  we  had  occasioned  a  quarrel  be- 
tween the  relatives,  who  parted  with  mutual  threats  and  anger. 
"  Oh,  dear  me  !  "  I  groaned  in  connubial  colloquies.  "  Let  us 
get  him  away.  He  will  be  boxing  Mugford's  ears  next,  and 
telling  Mrs.  Mugford  that  she  is  vulgar,  and  a  bore."  He  was 
eager  to  get  back  to  his  work,  or  rather  to  his  lady-love  at  Paris. 
We  did  not  try  to  detain  him.  For  fear  of  further  accidents 
we  were  rather  anxious  that  he  should  be  gone.  Crestfallen 
and  sad,  I  accompanied  him  to  the  Boulogne  boat.  He  paid 
for  his  place  in  the  second  cabin,  and  stoutly  bade  us  adieu. 
A  rough  night :  a  wet,  slippery  deck  :  a  crowd  of  frowzy  fellow- 
passengers  :  and  poor  Philip  in  the  midst  of  them  in  a  thin 
cloak,  his  yellow  hair  and  beard  blowing  about :  I  see  the 
steamer  now,  and  left  her  with  I  know  not  what  feelings  of 
contrition  and  shame.  Why  had  I  sent  Philip  to  call  upon 
that  savage,  overbearing  old  patron  of  his  ?  Why  compelled  him 
to  that  bootless  act  of  submission  ?  Lord  Ringwood's  brutali- 
ties were  matters  of  common  notoriety.     A  wicked,  dissolute, 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  361 

C3' nical  old  man :  and  .we  must  try  to  make  friends  with  this 
mammon  of  unrighteousness,  and  set  poor  Philip  to  bow  before 
him  and  flatter  him!  Ah,  mea  culpa^  mea  culpa!  The  wind 
blew  hard  that  winter  night,  and  man}-  tiles  and  chinmej-pots 
blew  down :  and  as  I  thought  of  poor  Philip  tossing  in  the 
frowz}^  second  cabin,  I  rolled  about  m3'own  bed  ver}- uneasily. 

I  looked  into  "  Bays's  Club"  the  day  after,  and  there  fell 
on  both  the  Tw^-sdens.  The  parasite  of  a  father  was  clinging 
to  the  button  of  a  great  man  when  I  entered  :  the  little  reptile 
of  a  son  came  to  the  club  in  Captain  Woolcomb's  brougham, 
and  in  that  distinguished  mulatto  officer's  companj-.  The}' 
looked  at  me  in  a  peculiar  way.  I  was  sure  they  did.  Talbot 
Twysden,  pouring  his  loud,  braggart  talk  in  the  ear  of  poor 
Lord  Lepel,  e3'ed  me  with  a  glance  of  triinnph,  and  talked  and 
swaggered  so  that  I  should  hear.  Ringwood  Twj'sden  and 
Woolcomb,  drinking  absinthe  to  whet  their  noble  appetites, 
exchanged  glances  and  gi-ins.  Woolcomb's  eyes  were  of  the 
color  of  the  absinthe  he  swallowed.  I  did  not  see  that  Twysden 
tore  off  one  of  Lord  Lepel's  buttons,  but  that  nobleman,  with  a 
scared  countenance,  moved  away  rapidly  from  his  little  perse- 
cutor. "Hang  him,  throw  him  over,  and  come  to  me!"  I 
heard  the  generous  Twysden  say.  "I  expect  Ringwood  and 
one  or  two  more."  At  this  proposition,  Lord  Lepel,  in  a 
tremulous  way,  muttered  that  he  could  not  break  his  engage- 
ment, and  fled  out  of  the  clul). 

Twysden's  dinners,  the  polite  reader  has  been  previously 
informed,  were  notorious  ;  and  he  constantly  bragged  of  hav- 
ing the  company  of  Lord  Ringwood.  Now  it  so  happened  that 
on  this  ver}"  evening.  Lord  Ringwood,  with  three  of  his  follow- 
ers, henchmen,  or  led  captains,  dined  at  Bays's  Club,  being 
determined  to  see  a  pantomime  in  which  a  very  pretty  3'oung 
Columbine  figured :  and  some  one  in  the  house  joked  with  his 
lordship,  and  said,  "  Why,  you  are  going  to  dine  with  Talbot 
Twysden.     He  said,  just  now,  that  he  expected  you." 

"Did  he?"   said  his   lordship.     "Then   Talbot   Tvvj'sden 
told  a  hanged  lie  !  "     And  little  Tom  Eaves,  my  informant, 
remembered  these  remarkable  words,  because  of  a  circumstance 
J,  which  now  almost  immediately  followed. 

II  A  very  few  days  after  Philip's  departure,  our  friend,  the 
IlLittle  Sister,  came  to  us  at  our  breakfast- table,  wearing  an 
expression  of  much  trouble  and  sadness  on  her  kind  little  face  ; 
the  causes  of  which  soiTOw  she  explained  to  us,  as  soon  as  our 
children  had  gone  away  to  their  schoolroom.  Amongst  Mrs. 
Brandon's  friends,  and  one  of  her  father's  constant  compan- 


pi 


362  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

ions,  was  the  worthy  Mr.  Ridle}^  father  of  the  celebrated 
painter  of  that  name,  who  was  himself  of  much  too  honorable 
and  noble  a  nature  to  be  ashamed  of  his  humble  paternal  ori- 
gin. Companionship  between  father  and  son  could  not  be  ver}'^ 
close  or  intimate  ;  especially  as  in  the  3'ounger  Ridley's  boy- 
hood, his  father,  who  knew  notliing  of  the  fine  arts,  had  looked 
upon  the  child  as  a  sickl3',  half-witted  creature,  who  would 
be  to  his  parents  but  a  grief  and  a  burden.  But  when  J.  J. 
Ridley,  Esq.,  began  to  attain  eminence  in  his  profession,  his 
father's  eyes  were  opened;  in  place  of  neglect  and  contempt, 
he  looked  up  to  his  boy  with  a  sincere,  naive  admiration,  and 
often,  with  tears,  has  narrated  the  pride  and  pleasure  which  he 
felt  on  the  da}^  when  he  waited  on  John  James  at  his  master 
Lord  Todmorden's  table.  Ridley  senior  now  felt  that  he  had 
been  unkind  and  unjust  to  his  boy  in  the  latter's  early  daj's, 
and  with  a  very  touching  humility  the  old  man  acknowledged 
his  previous  injustice,  and  tried  to  atone  for  it  by  present  re- 
spect and  affection. 

Though  fondness  for  his  son,  and  delight  in  the  company  of 
Captain  Gann,  often  drew  Mr.  Ridley  to  Thornhaugh  Street, 
and  to  the  "  Admiral  Bjng  "  Club,  of  which  both  were  leading 
members,  Ridley  senior  belonged  to  other  clubs  at  the  West 
End,  where  Lord  Todmorden's  butler  consorted  with  the  confi- 
dential butlers  of  others  of  the  nobility :  and  I  am  informed 
that  in  those  clubs  Ridley  continued  to  be  called  "  Todmorden  " 
long  iifter  his  connection  with  that  venerable  nobleman  had 
ceased.  He  continued  to  be  called  Lord  Todmorden,  in  fact, 
just  as  Lord  Popinjo}'  is  still  called  by  his  old  friends  Popinjoy, 
though  his  father  is  dead,  and  Popinjoy,  as  everybody  knows, 
is  at  present  Earl  of  Pintado. 

At  one  of  these  clubs  of  their  order,  Lord  Todmorden's  man 
was  in  the  constant  habit  of  meeting  Lord  Ringwood's  man, 
when  their  lordships  (master  and  man)  were  in  town.  These 
gentlemen  had  a  regard  for  each  other ;  and,  when  they  met, 
communicated  to  each  other  their  views  of  society,  and  their 
opinions  of  the  characters  of  the  various  noble  lords  and  influ- 
ential commoners  whom  the}'  served.  Mr.  Rudge  knew  ever}- 
thing  about  Philip  Firmin's  affairs,  about  the  Doctor's  flight, 
about  Philip's  generous  behavior.  "Generous!  /call  it  ad- 
miral !  "  old  Ridley  remarked,  while  narrating  this  trait  of  our 
friend's  —  and  his  present  position.  And  Rudge  contrasted 
Philip's  manly  behavior  with  the  conduct  of  ^ome  sneaks  which 
he  would  not  name  them,  but  which  thej'  were  always  speaking 
ill  of  the  poor  young  fellow  behind  his  back,  and  sneaking  up 


i 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  363 

to  m}'  lord,  and  greater  skinflints  and  meaner  humbugs  never 
were  :  and  there  was  no  accounting  for  tastes,  but  he,  Rudge, 
would  not  marry  his  daughter  to  a  black  man. 

Now :  that  day  when  Mr.  Firinin  went  to  see  my  Lord 
Ringwood  was  one  of  m}'  lord's  ver}'  worst  da3-s,  when  it  was 
almost  as  dangerous  to  go  near  him  as  to  approach  a  Bengal 
tiger.  "  When  he  is  going  to  have  a  fit  of  gout,  his  lordship 
(Mr.  Rudge  remarked)  is  hawful.  He  curse  and  swear,  he 
do,  at  everj-bod}' ;  even  the  clergy  or  the  ladies  —  all's  one. 
On  that  ver}'  day  when  Mr.  Firmin  called  he  had  said  to  Mr. 
Tw3'sden,  '  G-et  out,  and  don't  come  slandering,  and  back- 
biting, and  bullying  that  poor  devil  of  a  boy  any  more. 
It's  blackguardly,  by  George,  sir — it's  blackguardly.'  And 
Tw^'sdeu  came  out  with  his  tail  between  his  legs,  and  he 
says  to  me  — '  Rudge,'  says  he,  '  my  lord's  uncommon  bad 
to-da3\'  Well,  he  hadn't  been  gone  an  hour  when  pore 
Phihp  comes,  bad  luck  to  him,  and  mj'  lord,  who  had  just 
heard  from  Twysden  all  about  that  young  woman  —  that 
party  at  Paris,  Mr.  Ridley  —  and  it  is  about  as  gi'eat  a  piece 
of  folly  as  ever  I  heard  tell  of — my  lord  turns  upon  the 
pore  young  fellar  and  call  him  names  worse  than  Twysden. 
But  Mr.  Firmin  ain't  that  sort  of  man,  he  isn't.  He  won't 
suffer  any  man  to  call  him  names ;  and  I  suppose  he  gave  my 
lord  his  own  back  again,  for  I  heard  my  lord  swear  at  him 
tremendous,  I  did,  with  my  own  ears.  When  my  lord  has  the 
gout  flying  about  I  told  you  he  is  awful.  When  he  takes  his 
colchicum  he's  worse.  Now,  we  have  got  a  party  at  Whipham 
at  Christmas,  and  at  Whipham  we  must  be.  And  he  took  his 
colchicum  night  before  last,  and  to-da^^  he  was  in  such  a  tre- 
mendous rage  of  swearing,  cursing,  and  blowing  up  ever^'bod}', 
that  it  was  as  if  he  was  red  hot.  And  when  Twvsden  and  Mrs. 
Twysden  called  that  da}' — (if  ^'ou  kick  that  fellar  out  at  the 
hall  door,  I'm  blest  if  he  won't  come  smirking  down  the  chim- 
ney) —  he  wouldn't  see  anj'  of  them.  And  he  bawled  out  after 
me,  'If  Firmin  comes,  kick  him  down  stairs  —  do  you  hear?' 
with  ever  so  man}-  oaths  and  curses  against  the  poor  fellow", 
■while  he  vowed  he  would  never  see  his  hanged  impudent  face 
again.  But  this  wasn't  all,  Ridle}-.  He  sent  for  Bradgate,  his 
lawyer,  that  very  day.  He  had  back  his  will,  which  I  signed 
m3self  as  one  of  the  witnesses  —  me  and  Wilcox,  the  master  of 
the  hotel  —  and  I  know  he  had  left  Firmin  something  in  it. 
Take  my  word  for  it.  To  that  poor  3'oung  fellow  he  means 
mischief."  A  full  report  of  this  conversation  Mr.  Ridle3'  gave 
to  his  little  friend  Mrs.  Brandon,  knowing  the  interest  which 


364  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

Mrs.  Brandon*  took  in  the  j'oung  gentleman  ;  and  with  these 
unpleasant  news  Mrs.  Brandon  came  off  to  advise  with  those 
who  —  the  good  nurse  was  pleased  to  sa3'  —  were  Philip's  best 
friends  in  the  world.  We  wished  we  could  give  the  Little  Sis- 
ter comfort :  but  all  the  world  knew  what  a  man  Lord  Ring- 
wood  was — how  arbitrary,  how  revengeful,  how  cruel! 

I  knew  Mr.  Bradgate  the  lawj'er,  with  whom  I  had  business, 
and  called  upon  him,  more  anxious  to  speak  about  Philip's  af- 
fairs than  my  own.  I  suppose  I  was  too  eager  in  coming  to  my 
point,  for  Bradgate  saw  the  meaning  of  my  questions,  and  de- 
clined to  answer  them.  "  M3'  client  and  I  are  not  the  dearest 
friends  in  the  world,"  Bradgate  said,  "  but  I  must  keep  his 
counsel,  and  must  not  tell  you  whether  Mr.  Firmin's  name  is 
down  in  his  lordship's. will  or  not.  How  should  I  know?  He 
may  have  altered  his  will.  He  may  have  left  Firmin  money ; 
he  may  have  left  him  none.  I  hope  3'oung  Firmin  does  not 
count  on  a  legacy.  That's  all.  He  may  be  disappointed  if  he 
does.  Wh}',  you  maj'  hope  for  a  legac}'  from  Lord  Ringwood, 
and  you  may  be  disappointed.  I  know  scores  of  people  who 
do  hope  for  something,  and  who  won't  get  a  penny."  And  this 
was  all  the  reply  I  could  get  at  that  time  from  the  oracular 
little  lawyer. 

I  told  my  wife,  as  of  course  every  dutiful  man  tells  every- 
thing to  every  dutiful  wife  :  —  but,  though  Bradgate  discour- 
aged us,  there  was  somehow  a  lurking  hope  still  that  the  old 
nobleman  would  provide  for  our  friend.  Then  Philip  would 
marry  Charlotte.  Then  he  would  earn  ever  so  much  more 
money  b}'  his  newspaper.  Then  he  would  be  happ}'  ever  after. 
My  wife  counts  eggs  not  only  before  the^?-  are  hatched,  but  be- 
fore they  are  laid.  Never  was  such  an  obstinate  hopefulness 
of  character.  I,  on  the  other  hand,  take  a  rational  and  de- 
spondent view  of  things  ;  and  if  they  turn  out  better  than  I 
expect,  as  sometimes  they  will,  I  affablj'  own  that  I  have  been 
mistaken. 

But  an  earlj'  day  came  when  Mr.  Bradgate  was  no  longer 
heedful,  or  when  he  thought  himself  released  from  the  obliga- 
tions of  silence  with  regard  to  his  noble  client.  It  was  two 
days  before  Christmas,  and  I  took  m}'  accustomed  afternoon 
saunter  to  "  Bays's,"  where  other  habitues  of  the  club  were  as- 
sembled. There  was  no  little  buzzing  and  excitement  among 
the  frequenters  of  the  place.  Talbot  Tw3"sden  always  arrived 
at  ' '  Ba3's's "  at  ten  minutes  past  four,  and  scuffled  for  the 
evening  paper,  as  if  its  contents  were  matter  of  great  impor- 
tance to  Talbot.     He  would  hold  men's  buttons,  and  discourse 


ON   HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  365 

to  them  the  leading  article  out  of  that  paper  with  an  astound- 
ing emphasis  and  gravit}'.  On  this  da}',  some  ten  minutes 
after  his  accustomed  hour,  he  reached  the  club.  Other  gentle- 
men were  engaged  in  perusing  the  evening  journal.  The  lamps 
on  the  tables  lighted  up  the  bald  heads,  the  gray  heads,  dN-ed 
heads,  and  the  wigs  of  man}'  assembled  fogies  —  murmurs  went 
about  the  room  :  "Very  sudden,"  "Gout  in  the  stomach." 
' '  Dined  here  only  four  days  ago."  ' '  Looked  very  well."  ' '  Very 
well  ?  No  !  Never  saw  a  fellow  look  worse  in  my  life."  "  Yellow 
as  a  guinea."  "  Couldn't  eat."  "  Swore  dreadfully  at  the  wait- 
ers, and  at  Tom  Eaves  who  dined  with  him."  "  Seventy-six,  I 
see.  —  Born  in  the  same  year  with  the  Duke  of  York."  "  Forty 
thousand  a  year. "  "  Forty  ?  fifty-eight  thousand  three  hundred, 
I  tell  you.  Always  been  a  saving  man."  "  Estate  goes  to  his 
cousin,  Sir  John  Ringwood  ;  not  a  member  here  —  member  of 
'  Boodle's.'  "  "  Hated  each  other  furiously.  Very  violent  tem- 
per, the  old  fellow  was.  Never  got  over  the  Reform  Bill,  they 
used  to  say."  "  Wonder  whether  he'll  leave  anything  to  old 
bow-wow  Twys —  "  Here  enters  Talbot  Twsyden,  Esq.  —  "  Ha, 
Colonel!  How  are  you?  What's  the  news  to-night?  Kept 
late  at  my  office,  making  up  accounts.  Going  down  to  Whip- 
ham  to-morrow  to  pass  Christmas  with  my  wife's  uncle  —  Ring- 
wood,  you  know.  Always  go  down  to  Whipham  at  Christmas. 
Keeps  the  pheasants  for  us.  No  longer  a  hunting  man  myself. 
Lost  my  nerve,  by  George." 

Whilst  the  braggart  little  creature  indulged  in  this  pompous 
talk,  he  did  not  see  the  significant  looks  which  were  fixed  upon 
him,  or  if  he  remai'ked  them,  was  perhaps  pleased  by  the  atten- 
tion which  he  excited.  "  Bays's  "  had  long  echoed  with  Twys- 
den's  account  of  Ringwood,  the  pheasants,  his  own  loss  of  nerve 
in  hunting,  and  the  sum  which  their  family  would  inherit  at  the 
death  of  tlieir  noble  relative. 

"  I  think  I  have  heard  you  say  Sir  John  Ringwood  inherits 
after  your  relative?"  asked  Mr.  Hookham. 

"Yes;  the  estate,  not  the  title.  The  earldom  goes  to  m}' 
lord  and  his  heirs  —  Hookham.  AVhy  shouldn't  he  marry  again  ? 
I  often  say  to  him,  '  Ringwood,  why  don't  you  marry,  if  it's 
onl}'  to  disappoint  that  Whig  fellow,  Sir  John  ?  You  are  fresh 
and  hale,  Ringwood.  You  may  live  twenty  years,  five-and- 
twent}'  years.  If  you  leave  your  niece  and  my  children  any- 
thing we're  not  in  a  hurry  to  inherit,'  I  say  ;  '  why  don't  you 
marry?'" 

"  Ah  !  Twysden,  he's  past  marrying,"  groans  Mr.  Hookham. 

"Not  at  all.    Sober  man,  now.    Stout  man.    Immense  pow- 


366  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

erful  man.  Health}^  man,  but  for  gout.  I  often  saj'  to  him, 
'  Ringwood  !  I  saj'  — '" 

"  Oh,  for  mercy's  sake,  stop  this  !  "  groans  old  Mr.  Tremlett, 
who  alwaj's  begins  to  shudder  at  the  sound  of  poor  Twysden's 
voice.     "  Tall  him,  somebody." 

"  Haven't  you  heard,  Twysden  ?  Haven't  you  seen?  Don't 
3'ou  know?"  asks  Mr.  Hookham,  solemnly. 

"  Heard,  seen,  known  —  what?"  cries  the  other. 

"  An  accident  has  happened  to  Lord  Ringwood.  Look  at 
the  paper.  Here  it  is."  And  Twysden  pulls  out  his  great  gold 
e3'eglasses,  holds  the  paper  as  far  as  his  little  arm  will  reach, 

and and  merciful   Powers  !  —  but   I  will   not   venture  to 

depict  the  agony  on  that  noble  face.  Like  Timanthes  the 
painter,  I  hide  this  Agamemnon  with  a  veil.  I  cast  the  Globe 
newspaper  over  him.  lUabatur  orbis :  and  let  imagination  depict 
our  Twysden  under  the  ruins. 

What  Tw3'sden  read  in  the  Globe  was  a  mere  curt  para- 
graph ;  but  in  next  morning's  Times  there  was  one  of  those 
obituary  notices  to  which  noblemen  of  eminence  must  submit 
from  the  mj'sterious  necrographer  engaged  by  that  paper. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

PULVIS   ET  UMBRA    SUMUS. 

' '  The  first  and  onl}^  Earl  of  Ringwood  has  submitted  to  the 
fate  which  peers  and  commoners  are  alike  destined  to  undergo. 
Hastening  to  his  magnificent  seat  of  Whipham  Market,  where 
he  proposed  to  entertain  an  illustrious  Christmas  party,  his 
lordship  left  London  scarcely  recovered  from  an  attack  of  gout 
to  which  he  has  been  for  many  years  a  martyr.  The  disease 
must  .have  flown  to  his  stomach,  and  suddenl}'  mastered  him. 
At  Turreys  Regum,  thirty  miles  from  his  own  princely  habita- 
tion, where  he  had  been  accustomed  to  dine  on  his  almost  ro,yal 
progresses  to  his  home,  he  was  already  in  a  state  of  dreadful 
suffering,  to  which  his  attendants  did  not  pay  the  attention  which 
his  condition  ought  to  have  excited  ;  for  when  laboring  under 
this  most  painful  malady  his  outcries  were  loud,  and  his  lan- 
guage and  demeanor  exceedinglj'  violent.  He  angrily  refused 
to  send  for  medical  aid  at  Turreys,  and  insisted  on  continuing 


ON  HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  367 

bis  journey  liomewards.  He  was  one  of  the  old  school,  who  never 
would  enter  a  railway  (though  his  fortune  was  greatly  increased 
by  the  passage  of  the  railway  through  his  property)  ;  and  his 
own  horses  always  met  him  at  "  Popper's  Tavern,'  an  obscure 
hamlet,  seventeen  miles  from  his  princely  seat.  He  made  no 
sign  on  arriving  at  '  Popper's,'  and  spoke  no  word,  to  the  now 
serious  alarm  of  his  servants.  When  they  came  to  light  his 
carriage-lamps,  aud  look  into  his  post-chaise,  the  lord  of  many 
thousand  acres,  and,  according  to  report,  of  immense  wealth, 
was  dead.  The  journey  from  Turreys  had  been  the  last  stage 
of  a  long,  a  prosperous,  and,  if  not  a  famous,  at  least  a  noto- 
rious and  magnificent  career. 

"  The  late  John  George,  Earl  and  Baron  Ringwood  and  Vis- 
count Cinqbars,  entered  into  public  life  at  the  dangerous  period 
before  the  French  Revolution  ;  and  commenced  his  career  as 
the  friend  and  companion  of  the  Prince  of  Wales.  When  his 
Royal  Highness  seceded  from  the  Whig  party.  Lord  Ringwood 
also  joined  the  Tory  side  of  politicians,  and  an  earldom  was 
the  price  of  his  fidelity.  But  on  the  elevation  of  Lord  Steyne 
to  a  marquisate.  Lord  Ringwood  quarrelled  for  a  while  with  his 
royal  patron  and  friend,  deeming  his  own  services  unjustly 
slighted,  as  a  like  dignity  was  not  conferred  on  himself.  On 
several  occasions  he  gave  his  vote  against  Government,  and 
caused  his  nominees  in  the  House  of  Commons  to  vote  with  the 
Whigs.  He  never  was  reconciled  to  his  late  Majesty  George  IV., 
of  whom  he  was  in  the  habit  of  speaking  with  characteristic  blunt- 
ness.  The  approach  of  the  Reform  Bill,  however,  threw  this 
nobleman  definitively  on  the  Tory  side,  of  which  he  lias  ever 
since  remained,  if  not  an  eloquent,  at  least  a  violent  supporter. 
He  was  said  to  be  a  liberal  landlord,  so  long  as  his  tenants  did 
not  thwart  him  in  his  views.  His  only  son  died  earl}' :  and  his 
lordship,  according  to  report,  has  long  been  on  ill  terms  with 
his  kinsman  and  successor,  Sir  John  Ringwood,  of  Appleshaw, 
Baronet.  The  Barony  has  been  in  this  ancient  family  since  the 
reign  of  George  I.,  when  Sir  John  Ringwood  was  ennobled, 
and  Sir  Francis,  his  brother,  a  Baron  of  the  Exchequer,  was 
advanced  to  the  dignity-  of  Baronet  by  the  first  of  our  Hano- 
verian sovereigns." 

This  was  the  article  which  my  wife  and  I  read  on  the  morn- 
ing of  Christmas  eve,  as  our  children  were  decking  lamps  and 
looking-glasses  with  holly  and  red  berries  for  the  approaching 
festival.  I  had  despatched  a  hurried  note,  containing  the  news, 
to  Philip  on  the  night  previous.  We  were  painfull}'  anxious 
about  his  fate  now,  when  a  few  days  would  decide  it.     Again 


368  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

toy  business  or  cariosity  took  me  to  see  Mr.  Bradgate,  the  law- 
yer. He  was  in  possession  of  the  news  of  course.  lie  was  not 
averse  to  talk  about  it.  The  death  of  his  client  unsealed  the 
lawyer's  lips  partiall}- :  and  I  must  say  Bradgate  spoke  in  a  man- 
ner not  flattering  to  his  noble  deceased  client.  The  brutalities 
of  the  late  nobleman  had  been  very  hard  to  bear.  On  occa- 
sion of  their  last  meeting  his  oaths  and  disrespectful  behavior 
had  been  specially  odious.  He  had  abused  almost  every  one 
of  his  relatives.  His  heir,  he  said,  was  a  prating,  republican 
humbug.  He  had  a  i-elative  (whom  Bradgate  said  he  would 
not  name)  who  was  a  scheming,  swaggering,  swindling  lick- 
spittle parasite,  always  cringing  at  his  heels  and  longing  for 
his  death.  And  he  had  another  relative,  the  impudent  son  of 
a  swindling  doctor,  who  had  insulted  him  two  hours  before  in 
his  own  room  ;  —  a  fellow  who  was  a  pauper,  and  going  to 
propagate  a  breed  for  the  workhouse  ;  for,  after  his  behavior 
of  that  day,  he  would  be  condemned  to  the  lowest  pit  of  Ache- 
ron, before  he.  Lord  Ringwood,  would  give  that  scoundrel  a 
penn}' of  his  money.  "And  his  lordship  desired  me  to  send 
him  back  his  will,"  said  Mr.  Bradgate.  And  he  destro3'ed  that 
will  before  he  went  away :  it  was  not  the  first  he  had  burned. 
"And  I  may  tell  3'ou,  now  all  is  over,  that  he  had  left  his 
brother's  grandson  a  handsome  legacy  in  that  will,  which  your 
poor  friend  might  have  had,  but  that  he  went  to  see  my  lord  in 
his  unlucky  fit  of  gout."  Ah,  mea  culpa!  mea  culpa!  And 
who  sent  Philip  to  see  his  relative  in  that  unlucky  fit  of  gout? 
Who  was  so  worldly-wise  —  so  Twysden-like,  as  to  counsel 
Philip  to  flattery  and  submission  ?  But  for  that  advice  he  might 
be  wealthy  now ;  he  might  be  happy ;  he  might  be  ready  to 
many  his  .young  sweetheart.  Our  Christmas  turkey  choked  me 
as  I  ate  of  it.  The  lights  burned  dimly,  and  the  kisses  and 
laughter  under  the  mistletoe  were  but  melancholy  sport.  But 
for  my  advice,  how  happj-  might  m}^  friend  have  been  !  I  looked 
askance  at  the  honest  faces  of  my  children.  What  would  they 
say  if  they  knew  their  father  had  advised  a  friend  to  cringe, 
and  bow,  and  humble  himself  before  a  rich,  wicked  old  man? 
I  sat  as  mute  at  the  pantomime  as  at  a  burial :  the  laughter  of 
the  little  ones  smote  me  as  with  a  reproof.  A  burial?  With 
plumes  and  lights,  and  upholsterers'  pageantry,  and  mourning 
by  the  yard  measure,  they  were  burying  my  Lord  Ring  wood, 
who  might  have  made  Philip  Firmin  rich  but  for  me. 

All  lingering  hopes  regarding  our  friend  were  quickly  put  to 
an  end.  A  will  was  found  at  Whipham,  dated  a  year  back,  in 
which  no  mention  was  made  of  poor  Philip  Firmin.     Small 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  369 

legades  —  disgracefully  shabby  and  small,  Twj^sden  said  —  were 
left  to  the  Twysden  family,  with  the  full-length  portrait  of  the 
late  earl  in  his  coronation  robes,  which,  I  should  think,  must 
have  given  but  small  satisfaction  to  his  surviving  relatives  ;  for 
his  lordship  was  but  an  ill-favored  nobleman,  and  the  price  of 
the  carriage  of  the  large  picture  from  Whipham  was  a  tax  which 
poor  Talbot  made  very  wry  faces  at  paying.  Had  the  picture 
been  accompanied  by  thirt}'  or  fort.y  thousand  pounds,  or  fifty 
thousand  —  why  should  he  not  have  left  them  fifty  thousand?  — 
how  different  Talbot's  grief  would  have  been  I  Whereas  when 
Talbot  counted  up  the  dinners  he  had  given  to  Lord  Ringwood, 
all  of  which  he  could  easily  calculate  by  his  cunning  ledgers 
and  journals  in  which  was  noted  down  every  feast  at  which  his 
lordship  attended,  every  guest  assembled,  and  every  bottle  of 
wine  drunk,  Twysden  found  that  he  had  absolutely-  spent  more 
money  upon  my  lord  than  the  old  man  had  paid  back  in  his  will. 
But  all  the  family  went  into  mourning,  and  the  Twysden  coach- 
man and  footman  turned  out  in  black  worsted  epaulettes  in 
honor  of  the  illustrious  deceased.  It  is  no't  every  day  that  a 
man  gets  a  chance  of  publicly  bewailing  the  loss  of  an  earl  his 
relative.  I  suppose  Twysden  took  many  hundred  people  into 
his  confidence  on  this  matter,  and  bewailed  his  uncle's  death 
and  his  own  wrongs  whilst  clinging  to  many  scores  of  button- 
holes. 

And  how  did  poor  Philip  bear  the  disappointment?  He 
must  have  felt  it,  for  I  fear  we  ourselves  had  encouraged  him 
in  the  hope  that  his  grand-uncle  would  do  something  to  relieve 
his  necessit}-.  Philip  put  a  bit  of  crape  round  his  hat,  wrapped 
himself  in  his  shabby  old  mantle,  and  declined  an}'  outward 
show  of  grief  at  all.  If  the  old  man  had  left  him  money,  it  had 
been  well.  As  he  did  not,  a  puff  of  cigar,  perhaps,  ends  the 
sentence,  and  our  philosopher  gives  no  further  thought  to  his 
disappointment.  Was  not  Philip  the  poor  as  lordly  and  inde- 
pendent as  Philip  the  rich  ?  A  struggle  with  povert}"  is  a  whole- 
some wrestling-match  at  three  or  five  and  twenty-.  The  sinews 
are  young,  and  are  braced  by  the  contest.  It  is  upon  the  aged 
that  the  battle  falls  hardly,  who  are  weakened  by  failing  health, 
and  perhaps  enervated  b}-  long  years  of  prosperit}'. 

Firmin's  broad  back  could  carry  a  heavy  burden,  and  he  was 
glad  to  take  all  the  work  which  fell  in  his  way.  Phipps,  of  the 
Daily  Intelligencer^  wanting  an  assistant,  Philip  gladly  sold  four 
hours  of  his  day  to  Mr.  Phipps  :  translated  page  after  page  of 
newspapers,  French  and  German  ;  took  an  occasional  turn  at 
the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  and  gave  an  account  of  a  sitting  of 

24 


370  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

importance,  and  made  himself  quite  an  active  lieutenant.  He 
began  positivelj^  to  save  money.  He  wore  dreadfully  shabby 
clothes,  to  be  sure :  for  Charlotte  could  not  go  to  his  chamber 
and  mend  his  rags  as  the  Little  Sister  had  done :  but  when 
Mrs.  Ba3'nes  abused  him  for  his  shabby  appearance  —  and 
indeed  it  must  have  been  mortifying  sometimes  to  see  the  fellow 
in  his  old  clothes  swaggering  about  in  Madame  Smolensk's 
apartments,  talking  loud,  contradicting,  and  laj'ing  down  the  law 
—  Charlotte  defended  her  maligned  Philip.  "Do  ^-ou  know 
wh}'  Monsieur  Philip  has  those  shabby  clothes  ? "  she  asked  of 
Madame  de  Smolensk.  "  Because  he  has  been  sending  money 
to  his  father  in  America."  And  Smolensk  said  that  Monsieur 
Philip  was  a  brave  3'oung  man,  and  that  he  might  cbme  dressed 
like  an  Iroquois  to  her  soiree,  and  he  should  be  welcome.  And 
Mrs.  Barnes  was  rude  to  Philip  when  he  was  present,  and  scorn- 
ful in  her  remarks  when  he  was  absent.  And  Philip  trembled 
before  Mrs.  Baynes  ;  and  he  took  her  boxes  on  the  ear  with 
much  meekness  ;  for  was  not  his  Charlotte  a  hostage  in  her 
mother's  hands,  and  might  not  Mrs.  General  B.  make  that  poor 
little  creature  suffer? 

One  or  two  Indian  ladies  of  Mrs.  Ba^'nes's  acquaintance  hap- 
pened to  pass  this  winter  in  Paris,  and  these  persons,  who  had 
furnished  lodgings  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Honore,  or  the  Champs 
Elysees,  and  rode  in  their  carriages  with,  very  likely,  a  footman 
on  the  box,  rather  looked  down  upon  Mrs.  Baynes  for  living  in 
a  boarding-house,  and  keeping  no  equipage.  No  woman  likes 
to  be  looked  down  upon  by  any  other  woman,  especially  by 
such  a  creature  as  Mrs.  Batters,  the  law3'er's  wife,  from  Cal- 
cutta, who  was  not  in  societ}-,  and  did  not  go  to  Government 
House,  and  here  was  driving  about  in  the  Champs  Elysees,  and 
giving  herself  such  airs,  indeed  !  So  was  Mrs.  Doctor  Macoon, 
with  her  lady's-maid^  and  her  man-cook^  and  her  open  carriage^ 
and  her  close  carriage.  (Pray  read  these  words  with  the  most 
withering  emphasis  which  you  can  la3'  upon  them.)  And  who 
was  Mrs.  Macoon,  pra}-?  Madame  Beret,  the  French  milliner's 
daughter,  neither  more  nor  less.  And  this  creature  must  scat- 
ter her  mud  over  her  betters  who  went  on  foot.  "  I  am  telling 
m_y  poor  girls,  Madame,"  she  would  sa}^  to  Madame  Smolensk, 
"  that  if  I  had  been  a  milliner's  girl,  or  their  father  had  been  a 
pettifogging  attorne}',  and  not  a  soldier,  who  has  served  his 
sovereign  in  ever}^  quarter  of  the  world,  the}'  would  be  better 
dressed  than  they  are  now,  poor  chicks  !  —  we  might  have  a  fine 
apartment  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Honore  —  we  need  not  live  at  a 
boarding-house." 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  371 

"  And  if  /had  been  a  milliner,  Madame  la  Generale,"  cried 
Smolensk,  with  spirit,  "  perhaps  I  should  not  have  had  need  to 
keep  a  boarding-house.  M3'  father  was  a  general  officer,  and 
served  his  emperor  too.  But  what  will  you  ?  We  have  all  to 
do  disagreeable  things,  and  to  live  with  disagreeable  people, 
Madame !  "  And  with  this  Smolensk  makes  Mrs.  General 
Baynes  a  fine  curtsy,  and  goes  off  to  other  affairs  or  guests. 
She  was  of  the  opinion  of  many  of  Philip's  friends.  "Ah, 
Monsieur  Philip,"  she  said  to  him,  "  when  you  are  married, 
you  will  live  far  from  that  woman  ;  is  it  not  ?  " 

Hearing  that  Mrs.  Batters  was  going  to  the  Tuileries,  I  am 
sorr}'  to  sa}'  a  violent  emulation  inspired  Mrs.  Baynes,  and  she 
never  was  easj'  until  she  persuaded  her  General  to  take  her  to 
the  ambassador's,  and  to  the  entertainments  of  the  citizen  king 
who  governed  France  in  those  days.  It  would  cost  little  or 
nothing.  Charlotte  must  be  brought  out.  Her  aunt,  Mac- 
Whirter,  from  Tours,  had  sent  Charlotte  a  present  of  money 
for  a  dress.  To  do  Mrs.  Baynes  justice,  she  spent  very  little 
mone}'  upon  her  own  raiment,  and  extracted  from  one  of  her 
trunks  a  costume  which  had  done  duty  at  Barrackpore  and 
Calcutta.  "After  hearing  that  Mrs.  Batters  went,  I  knew  she 
never  would  be  easy,"  General  Baynes  said,  with  a  sigh.  His 
wife  denied  the  accusation  as  an  outrage  ;  said  that  men  always 
imputed  the  worst  motives  to  women,  whereas  her  wish,  heaven 
knows,  was  only  to  see  her  darling  child  properly  presented, 
and  her  husband  in  his  proper  rank  in  the  world.  And  Char- 
lotte looked  lovely,  upon  the  evening  of  the  ball ;  and  Madame 
Smolensk  dressed  Charlotte's  hair  very  prettily,  and  offered  to 
lend  Auguste  to  accompany  the  General's  carriage  ;  but  Ogoost 
revolted,  and  said,  "  Non,  merci !  he  would  do  anything  for 
the  General  and  Miss  Charlotte  —  but  for  the  Generale,  no,  no, 
no  !  "  and  he  made  signs  of  violent  abnegation.  And  though 
Charlotte  looked  as  sweet  as  a  rosebud,  she  had  little  pleasure 
in  her  ball,  Philip  not  being  present.  And  how  could  he  be 
present,  who  had  but  one  old  coat,  and  holes  in  his  boots? 

So  you  see,  after  a  sunny  autumn,  a  cold  winter  comes, 
when  the  wind  is  bad  for  delicate  chests,  and  muddy  for  little 
shoes.  How  could  Charlotte  come  out  at  eight  o'clock  through 
mud  or  snow  of  a  winter's  morning,  if  she  had  been  out  at  an 
evening  party  late  over-night?  Mrs.  General  Baynes  began  to 
go  out  a  good  deal  to  the  Paris  evening  parties  —  I  mean  to 
the  parties  of  us  Trojans  —  parties  where  there  are  forty  Eng- 
lish people,  three  Frenchmen,  and  a  German  who  plays  the 
piano.     Charlotte  was  very  much  admired.     The  fame  of  her 


372  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

good  looks  spread  abroad.  I  pi'omise  you  that  there  wei'e  per- 
sons of  much  more  importance  than  the  poor  Vicomte  de  Gar- 
^■on-boutique,  who  were  charmed  by  her  bright  eyes,  her  bright 
smiles,  her  artless,  rosy  beauty.  Why,  little  Hel}^  of  the 
Embassy,  actually  invited  himself  to  Mrs.  Dr.  Macoon's,  in 
order  to  see  this  young  beauty,  and  danced  with  her  without 
ceasing :  Mr.  Hel}',  who  was  the  pink  of  fashion,  3'ou  know  ; 
who  danced  with  the  ro3al  princesses  ;  and  was  at  all  the_grand 
parties  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain.  He  saw  her  to  her  car- 
riage (a  very  shabby  fly,  it  must  be  confessed  ;  but  Mrs.  Baynes 
told  him  they  had  been  accustomed  to  a  very  different  kind  of 
equipage  in  India) .  He  actually  called  at  the  boarding-house, 
and  left  his  card,  M.  Walsingham  Hely,  attache  a  V Ambassade  de 
S.  M.  Britannique,  for  General  Baynes  and  his  lad3\  To  what 
balls  would  Mrs.  Baynes  like  to  go?  to  the  Tuileries?  to  the 
Embassy?  to  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain?  to  the  Faubourg  St. 
Honore  ?  I  could  name  many  more  persons  of  distinction  who 
were  fascinated  by  pretty'  Miss  Charlotte.  Her  mother  felt 
more  and  more  ashamed  of  the  shabby'  fly,  in  which  our  young 
lady  was  conveyed  to  and  from  her  parties  ;  —  of  the  shabby 
fly,  and  of  that  shabby  cavalier  who  was  in  waiting  sometimes 
to  put  Miss  Charlotte  into  her  carriage.  Charlotte's  mother's 
ears  were  only  too  acute  when  disparaging  remarks  were  made 
about  that  cavalier.  What?  engaged  to  that  queer  red-bearded 
fellow,  with  the  ragged  shirt-collars,  who  trod  upon  everybody 
in  the  polka  ?  A  newspaper  writer,  was  he  ?  The  son  of  that 
doctor  who  ran  away  after  cheating  everybody  ?  What  a  very 
odd  thing  of  General  Baynes  to  think  of  engaging  his  daughter 
to  such  a  person  ! 

So  Mr.  Firmin  was  not  asked  to  man}^  distinguished  houses, 
where  his  Charlotte  was  made  welcome  ;  where  there  was  dan- 
cing in  the  saloon,  very  mild  negus  and  cakes  in  the  salle-a- 
manger,  and  cards  in  the  lady's  bedroom.  And  he  did  not 
care  to  be  asked  ;  and  he  made  himself  very  arrogant  and  dis- 
agreeable when  he  was  asked  ;  and  he  would  upset  tea-traj'S, 
and  burst  out  into  roars  of  laughter  at  all  times,  and  swagger 
about  the  drawing-room  as  if  he  were  a  man  of  importance  — 
he  indeed  —  giving  himself  such  airs,  because  his  grandfather's 
brother  was  an  earl !  And  what  had  the  earl  done  for  him, 
pray?  And  what  right  had  he  to  burst  out  laughing  when 
Miss  Cracklej'  sang  a  little  out  of  tune  ?  What  could  General 
Baynes  mean  by  selecting  such  a  husband  for  that  nice,  modest 
3-ounggirl? 

The  old  General  sitting  in  the  best  bedroom,  placidly  play- 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  373 

ing  at  whist  with  the  other  British  fogies,  does  not  hear  these 
remarks,  perhaps,  but  little  Mrs.  Baynes  with  her  eager  ej-es 
and  ears  sees  and  knows  everything.  Many  people  have  told 
her  that  Philip  is  a  bad  match  for  her  daughter.  She  has  heard 
him  contradict  calmly  quite  wealthy  people.  Mr.  Hobday,  who 
has  a  house  in  Carlton  Terrace,  London,  and  goes  to  the  first 
houses  in  Paris,  Philip  has  contradicted  him  point  blank,  until 
Mr.  Hobday  turned  quite  red,  and  Mrs.  Hobdaj-  didn't  know 
where  to  look.  Mr.  Peplow,  a  clergyman  and  a  baronet's  eld- 
est son,  who  will  be  one  day  the  Rev.  Sir  Charles  Peplow  of 
Peplow  Manor,  was  praising  Tomlinson's  poems,  and  offered 
to  read  them  out  at  Mr.  Badger's  —  he  reads  very  finely,  though 
a  little  perhaps  through  his  nose  —  and  when  he  was  going  to 
begin,  Mr.  Firmin  said,  "My  dear  Peplow,  for  heaven's  sake 
don't  give  us  an}'  of  that  rot.  I  would  as  soon  hear  one  of 
your  own  prize  poems."  Rot,  indeed  !  What  an  expression  ! 
Of  course  Mr.  Peplow  was  very  much  anno^-ed.  And  this  from 
a  mere  newspaper  writer.  Never  heard  of  such  rudeness  !  Mrs. 
Tuffin  said  she  took  her  line  at  once  after  seeing  this  Mr.  Firmin. 
"  He  maybe  an  earl's  grand-nephew,  for  what  I  care.  He  ma}'^ 
have  been  at  college,  he  has  not  learned  good  manners  there. 
He  may  be  clever,  I  don't  profess  to  be  a  judge.  But  he  is 
most  overbearing,  clums} ,  and  disagreeable.  I  shall  not  ask 
him  to  my  Tuesdays  ;  and  Emma,  if  he  asks  you  to  dance,  I 
beg  you  will  do  no  such  thing!"  A  bull,  you  understand,  in 
a  meadow,  or  on  a  prairie  with  a  herd  of  other  buffaloes,  is  a 
noble  animal :  but  a  bull  in  a  china-shop  is  out  of  place  ;  and 
even  so  was  Philip  amongst  the  crocker}'  of  those  little  simple 
tea-parties,  where  his  mane,  and  hoofs,  and  roar,  caused  end- 
less disturbance. 

These  remarks  concerning  the  accepted  son-in-law  Mrs. 
Ba3nes  heard  and,  at  proper  moments,  repeated.  She  ruled 
Baynes ;  but  was  ver}-  cautious,  and  secretl}'  afraid  of  him. 
Once  or  twice  she  had  gone  too  far  in  her  dealings  with  the 
quiet  old  man,  and  he  had  revolted,  put  her  down  and  never 
forgiven  her.  Beyond  a  certain  point,  she  dared  not  provoke 
her  husband.  She  would  say,  "Well,  Baynes,  marriage  is  a 
lottery :  and  I  am  afraid  our  poor  Charlotte  has  not  pulled 
a  prize  :  "  on  which  the  General  would  reply,  "  No  more  have 
others,  my  dear !  "  and  so  drop  the  subject  for  the  time  being. 
On  another  occasion  it  would  be,  "  You  heard  how  rude  Philip 
Firmin  was  to  Mr.  Hobday  ?  "  and  the  General  would  answer, 
"I  was  at  cards,  my  dear."  Again  she  might  say,  "Mrs. 
Tufiin   says  she  will  not  have  Philip  Firmin  to  her  Tuesdays, 


374  THE  ADVENTURES  OF   PHILIP 

m}^  dear:"  and  the  General's  rejoinder  would  be,  "Begad,  so 
much  the  better  for  him!"  "Ah,"  she  groans,  "he's  always 
offending  some  one  ! "  "I  don't  think  he  seems  to  please  you 
much,  Eliza!"  responds  the  General:  and  she  answers,  "No, 
he  don't,  and  that  I  confess  ;  and  I  don't  like  to  think,  Baynes, 
of  m}'  sweet  child  given  up  to  certain  poverty,  and  such  a 
man  ! "  At  which  the  General  with  some  of  his  garrison 
phrases  would  break  out  with  a  "  Hang  it,  "Eliza,  do  30U  sup- 
pose I  think  it  is  a  very  good  match?"  and  turn  to  the  wall, 
and,  I  hope,  to  sleep. 

As  for  poor  little  Charlotte,  her  mother  is  not  afraid  of  little 
Charlotte  :  and  when  the  two  are  alone  the  poor  child  knows 
she  is  to  be  made  wretched  by  her  mother's  assaults  upon 
Philip.  Was  there  ever  anything  so  bad  as  his  behavior,  to 
burst  out  laughing  when  Miss  Crackley  was  singing?  Was  he 
called  upon  to  contradict  Sir  Charles  Peplow  in  that  abrupt 
way,  and  as  good  as  tell  him  he  was  a  fool?  It  was  verj-  wrong 
certainl}-,  and  poor  Charlotte  thinks,  with  a  blush  perhaps,  how 
she  was  just  at  the  point  of  admiring  Sir  Charles  Peplow's 
reading  veiy  much,  and  had  been  prepared  to  think  Tomlinson's 
poems  delightful,  until  Philip  ordered  her  to  adopt  a  contempt- 
uous opinion  of  the  poet.  "And  did  3'ou  see  how  he  was 
dressed?  a  button  wanting  on  his  waistcoat,  and  a  hole  in  his 
boot?" 

"  Mamma,"  cries  Charlotte,  turning  ver}'  red.  "  He  might 
have  been  better  dressed  —  if — if — " 

"That  is,  3'ou  would  like  3'our  own  father  to  be  in  prison, 
your  mother  to  beg  her  bread,  your  sisters  to  go  in  rags,  and 
your  brothers  to  starve,  Charlotte,  in  order  that  we  should  pay 
Philip  Firmin  back  the  pioney  of  which  his  father  robbed  him  ! 
Yes.  That's  your  meaning.  You  needn't  explain  yourself. 
I  can  understand  quite  well,  thank  you.  Good-night.  I  hope 
you'll  sleep  well ;  /shan't  after  this  conversation.  Good-night, 
Charlotte  !  "  Ah,  me.  O  course  of  true  love,  didst  thou  ever 
run  smooth  ?  As  we  peep  into  that  boarding-house  ;  whereof 
I  have  already  described  the  mistress  as  wakeful  with  racking 
care  regarding  the  morrow  ;  wherein  lie  the  Miss  Bolderos, 
who  must  naturally  be  \^vy  uncomfortable,  being  on  sufferance 
and  as  it  were  in  pain,  as  the}'  lie  on  their  beds  ;  —  what  sor- 
rows do  we  not  perceive  brooding  over  the  nightcaps  ?  There 
is  poor  Charlotte  who  has  said  her  prayer  for  her  Philip ;  and 
as  she  laj's  her  3'oung  eyes  on  the  pillow,  the3'  wet  it  with  their 
tears.  Wh3'  does  her  mother  for  ever  and  for  ever  speak  against 
him  ?     Wh}^  is  her  father  so  cold  when  Philip's  name  is  men- 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  375 

tioned?  Could  Charlotte  ever  think  of  an}^  but  him?  Oh, 
never,  never !  And  so  the  wet  eyes  are  veiled  at  last ;  and 
close  in  doubt  and  fear  and  care.  And  in  the  next  room  to 
Charlotte's,  a  little  yellow  old  woman  lies  stark  awake  ;  and  in 
the  bed  by  her  side  an  old  gentleman  can't  close  his  eyes  for 
thinking  —  my  poor  girl  is  promised  to  a  beggar.  All  the  fine 
hopes  which  we  had  of  his  getting  a  legacy  from  that  lord  are 
over.     Poor  child,  poor  child,  what  will  become  of  her? 

Now,  Two  Sticks,  let  us  fl}'  over  the  river  Seine  to  Mr. 
Philip  Firmin's  quarters  :  to  Philip's  house,  who  has  not  got 
a  penn}- ;  to  Philip's  bed,  who  has  made  himself  so  rude  and 
disagreeable  at  that  tea-party.  He  has  no  idea  that  he  has 
offended  anybody.  He  has  gone  home  perfectly  well  pleased. 
He  has  kicked  off  the  tattered  boot.  He  has  found  a  little  fire 
lingering  in  his  stove  by  which  he  has  smoked  the  pipe  of  thought. 
Ere  he  has  jumped  into  his  bed  he  has  knelt  a  moment  beside 
it ;  and  with  all  his  heart  —  oh  !  with  all  his  heart  and  soul  — 
has  committed  the  dearest  one  to  heaven's  loving  protection ! 
And  now  he  sleeps  like  a  child. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

IN  WHICH   WE   STILL   HOVER   ABOUT   THE   ELTSIAN   FIELDS. 

The  describer  and  biographer  of  my  friend  Mr.  Philip  Firmin 
has  tried  to  extenuate  nothing ;  and,  I  hope,  has  set  down 
naught  in  malice.  If  Philip's  boots  had  holes  in  them,  I  have 
written  that  he  had  holes  in  his  boots.  If  he  had  a  red  beard, 
there  it  is  red  in  this  stor3\  I  might  have  oiled  it  with  a  tinge 
of  brown,  and  painted  it  a  rich  auburn.  Towards  modest 
people  he  was  ver}'  gentle  and  tender  ;  but  I  must  own  that  in 
general  society  he  was  not  alwaj^s  an  agreeable  companion. 
He  was  often  haught}^  and  arrogant :  he  was  impatient  of  old 
stories  :  he  was  intolerant  of  commonplaces.  Mrs.  Baj'nes's 
anecdotes  of  her  garrison  experiences  in  India  and  Europe  got 
a  ver}'  impatient  hearing  from  Mr.  Philip  ;  and  though  little 
Charlotte  gently  remonstrated  with  him,  saying,  "Do,  do  let 
mamma  tell  her  story  out ;  and  don't  turn  away  and  talk  about 
something  else  in  the  midst  of  it ;  and  don't  tell  her  you  have 
heard  the  story  before,  yen  rude  man  !  If  she  is  not  pleased 
Tfith  you,  she  is  angry  with  me,  and  I  have  to  suffer  when  you 


376  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

are  gone  away."  Miss  Charlotte  did  not  say  how  much  she 
had  to  suffer  when  Philip  was  absent ;  how  constantly  her 
mother  found  fault  with  him ;  what  a  sad  life,  in  consequence 
of  her  attachment  to  him,  the  young  maiden  had  to  lead  ;  and 
I  fear  that  clumsy  Philip,  in  his  selfish  thoughtlessness,  did  not 
take  enough  count  of  the  sufferings  which  his  behavior  brought 
on  the  girl.  You  see  I  am  acknowledging  that  there  were 
many  faults  on  his  side,  which,  perhaps,  ma}-  in  some  degree 
excuse  or  account  for  those  which  Mrs.  General  Baynes 
certainly  committed  towards  him.  She  did  not  love  Philip 
naturally  ;  and  do  you  suppose  she  loved  him  because  she  was 
under  great  obligations  to  him?  Do  3'ou  love  3'our  creditor 
because  you  owe  him  more  than  j-ou  can  ever  pay  ?  If  I  never 
paid  my  tailor,  should  I  be  on  good  terms  with  him  ?  I  might 
go  on  ordering  suits  of  clothes  from  now  to  the  j'car  nineteen 
hundred  ;  but  I  should  hate  him  worse  year  after  year,  I 
should  find  fault  with  his  cut  and  his  cloth  :  I  dare  say  I  should 
end  by  thinking  his  bills  extortionate,  though  I  never  paid 
them.  Kindness  is  very  indigestible.  It  disagrees  with  very 
proud  stomachs.  I  wonder  was  that  traveller  who  fell  among 
the  thieves  grateful  afterwards  to  the  Samaritan  who  rescued 
him  ?  He  gave  monc}'  certainly  ;  but  he  didn't  miss  it.  The 
religious    opinions   of  Samaritans   are   lamentably  heterodox. 

0  brother  !  may  we  help  the  fallen  still  though  the}'  never  pay 
us,  and  may  we  lend  without  exacting  the  usury  of  gratitude  ! 

Of  this  I  am  determined,  that  whenever  I  go  courting  again, 

1  will  not  pay  my  addresses  to  my  dear  creature  —  day  after  day, 
and  from  year's  end  to  year's  end,  very  likely,  with  the  dear 
girl's  mother,  father,  and  half  a  dozen  young  brothers  and 
sisters  in  the  room.  I  shall  begin  by  being  civil  to  the  old 
lady,  of  course.  She  is  flattered  at  first  by  having  a  young 
fellow  coming  courting  to  her  daughter.  She  calls  me  ' '  dear 
Edward ; "  works  me  a  pair  of  braces  ;  writes  to  mamma  and 
sisters,  and  so  forth.  Old  gentleman  says,  "Brown  my  boy" 
(I  am  here  fondly  imagining  myself  to  be  a  young  fellow  named 
Edward  Brown,  attached,  let  us  say,  to  Miss  Kate  Thompson) 
—  Thompson,  I  say,  says,  "Brown  my  boy,  come  to  dinner 
at  seven.  Cover  laid  for  you  always."  And  of  course,  de- 
licious thought !  that  cover  is  by  dearest  Kate's  side.  But  the 
dinner  is  bad  sometimes.  Sometimes  I  come  late.  Sometimes 
things  are  going  badly  in  the  City.  Sometimes  Mrs.  Thompson 
is  out  of  humor  ;  —  she  always  thought  Kate  might  have  done 
better.  And  in  the  midst  of  these  doubts  and  delays,  suppose 
Jones  appears,  who  is  older,  but  of  a  better  temper,  a  better 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  377 

family,  and  —  plague  on  him  !  —  twice  as  rich  ?  What  are 
engagements  ?  What  are  promises  ?  It  is  sometimes  an  affec- 
tionate mother's  duty  to  break  her  promise,  and  that  duty  the 
resolute  matron  will  do. 

Tlien  Edward  is  Edward  no  more,  but  Mr.  Brown ;  or, 
worse  still,  nameless  in  the  house.  Then  the  knife  and  fork 
are  removed  from  poor  Kate's  side,  and  she  swallows  her  own 
sad  meal  in  tears.  Then  if  one  of  the  little  Thompsons  says, 
artlessly,  "Papa,  I  met  Teddy  Brown  in  Regent  Street;  he 
looked  so  —  "  "  Hold  3'our  tongue,  unfeeUng  wretch  !  "  cries 
mamma.  "Look  at  that  dear  child!"  Kate  is  swooning. 
She  has  sal-volatile.  The  medical  man  is  sent  for.  And 
presently  —  Charles  Jones  is  taking  Kate  Thompson  to  dinner. 
Long  A^oyages  are  dangerous  ;  so  are  long  courtships.  In  long 
voyages  passengers  perpetually  quarrel  (for  that  Mrs.  General 
could  vouch)  ;  in  long  courtships  the  same  danger  exists  ;  and 
how  much  the  more  when  in  that  latter  ship  you  have  a  mother 
who  is  for  ever  putting  in  her  oar !  And  then  to  think  of  the 
annoyance  of  that  love  voyage  when  j'ou  and  the  beloved  and 
beloved's  papa,  mamma,  half  a  dozen  brothers  and  sisters,  are 
all  in  one  cabin !  For  economy's  sake  the  Ba3'neses  had  no 
sitting-room  at  Madame's  —  for  you  could  not  call  that  room 
on  the  second  floor  a  sitting-room  which  had  two  beds  in  it, 
and  in  which  the  3'oung  ones  practised  the  piano,  with  poor 
Charlotte  as  their  mistress.  Philip's  courting  had  to  take  place 
for  the  most  part  before  the  whole  family  ;  and  to  make  love 
under  such  difficulties  would  have  been  horrilile  and  maddening 
and  impossible  almost,  only  we  have  admitted  that  our  young 
friends  had  little  walks  in  the  Champs  Elysees  ;  and  then  you 
must  own  that  it  must  have  been  delightful  for  them  to  write 
each  other  perpetual  little  notes,  which  were  delivered  occultly 
under  the  ver}'  nose  of  papa  and  mamma,  and  in  the  actual 
presence  of  the  other  boarders  at  Madame's,  who,  of  course, 
never  saw  anything  that  was  going  on.  Yes,  those  sly  monkey's 
actually  made  little  post-offices  about  the  room.  There  was, 
for  instance,  the  clock  on  the  mantel-piece  in  the  salon  on  which 
was  carved  the  old  French  allegory',  "  Ze  temps  fait  passer 
Vamour."  One  of  those  artful  young  people  would  pop  a  note 
into  Time's  boat,  where  you  may  be  sure  no  one  saw  it.  The 
trictrac  board  was  another  post-office.  So  was  the  drawer  of 
the  music-stand.  So  was  the  Sevres  china  flower-pot,  &c., 
&c.  ;  to  each  of  which  repositories  in  its  turn  the  lovers  con- 
fided the  delicious  secrets  of  their  wooing. 

Have  you  ever  looked  at  3'our  love-letters  to  Darb}',  when 


378  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

you  were  courting,  dear  Joan?  They  are  sacred  pages  to  read. 
You  have  his  tied  up  somewhere  in  a  faded  ribbon.  You  scarce 
need  spectacles  as  3'ou  look  at  them.  The  hair  grows  black ; 
the  eyes  moisten  and  brighten  ;  the  clieeks  fill  and  blush  again. 
I  protest  there  is  nothing  so  beautiful  as  Darby  and  Joan  in  the 
world.  I  hope  Philip  and  his  wife  will  be  Darb}'  and  Joan  to 
the  end.  I  tell  you  tliey  are  married  ;  and  don't  want  to  make 
any  mysteries  about  the  business.  I  disdain  that  sort  of  arti- 
fice. In  the  days  of  the  old  three-volume  novels,  didn't  you 
always  look  at  the  end,  to  see  that  Louisa  and  the  earl  (or 
young  clergyman,  as  the  case  might  be)  wore  happ}' ?  If  they 
died,  or  met  with  other  grief,  for  my  part  I  put  the  book  awa}-. 
Tliis  pair,  then,  are  well;  are  married;  are,  I  trust,  happy: 
but  before  they  married,  and  afterwards,  they  had  great  griefs 
and  troubles  ;  as  no  doubt  you  have  had,  dear  sir  or  madam, 
since  3'OU  underwent  that  ceremony.  Married?  Of  course 
they  are.  Do  you  suppose  I  would  have  allowed  little  Char- 
lotte to  meet  Philip  in  the  Champs  Elysees  with  onh'  a  giddy 
little  boy  of  a  brother  for  a  companion,  who  would  turn  away 
to  see  Punch,  Guignol,  the  soldiers  marching  b}',  the  old 
woman's  gingerbread  and  toffy  stall  and  so  forth?  Do  you, 
I  say,  suppose  I  would  have  allowed  those  two  to  go  out  to- 
gether, unless  the}'  were  to  be  married  afterwards  ?  Out  walk- 
ing together  they  did  go  ;  and,  once,  as  the}'  were  arm-in-arm 
in  the  Champs  Elysees,  whom  should  they  see  in  a  fine  open 
carriage  but  young  Twysden  and  Captain  and  Mrs.  Woolcomb, 
to  whom,  as  they  passed,  Philip  doffed  his  hat  with  a  profound 
bow,  and  whom  he  further  saluted  with  a  roar  of  immense 
laughter.  Woolcomb  must  have  heard  the  peal.  I  dare  say 
it  brought  a  little  blush  to  Mrs.  Woolcomb's  cheek;  and  — 
and  so,  no  doubt,  added  to  the  many  attractions  of  that  ele- 
gant lady.  I  have  no  secrets  about  my  characters,  and  speak 
my  mind  about  them  quite  freely.  They  said  that  Woolcomb 
was  the  most  jealous,  sting}',  ostentatious,  cruel  little  brute ; 
that  he  led  his  wife  a  dismal  life.  Well?  If  he  did?  Pm  sure 
I  don't  care.  "There  is  that  swaggering  bankrupt  beggar 
Firmin  !  "  cries  the  tawny  bridegroom,  biting  his  moustache. 
"  Impudent  ragged  blackguard,"  says  Twysden  minor.  "  I 
saw  him." 

' '  Hadn't  you  better  stop  the  carriage,  and  abuse  him  to 
himself,  and  not  to  me?"  says  Mrs.  Woolcomb,  languidly, 
flinging  herself  back  on  her  cushions. 

"  Go  on,  hang  you  !  Ally  !  Vite  !  "  cry  the  gentlemen  in 
the  carriage  to  the  laquais  de  place  on  the  box. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  379 

"  I  can  fancy  3-011  don't  care  about  seeing  him,"  resumes 
Mrs.  Wooleomb.  "  He  has  a  violent  temper,  and  I  would  not 
have  3^ou  quarrel  for  the  world."  So  I  suppose  Wooleomb 
again  swears  at  the  laquais  de  place :  and  the  happy  couple,  as 
the  saying  is,  roll  away  to  the  Bois  de  Boulogne. 

"  What  makes  you  laugh  so?"  says  little  Charlotte,  fondly, 
as  she  trips  along  by  her  lover's  side. 

"Because  I  am  so  happy,  my  dearest!"  says  the  other, 
squeezing  to  his  heart  the  little  hand  that  lies  on  his  arm.  As 
he  thinks  on  yonder  woman,  and  then  looks  into  the  pure  eager 
face  of  the  sweet  girl  beside  him,  the  scornful  laughter  occa- 
sioned by  the  sudden  meeting  which  is  just  over  hushes  :  and 
an  immense  feeling  of  thankfulness  fills  the  breast  of  the  young 
man  :  —  thankfulness  for  the  danger  from  which  he  has  escaped, 
and  for  the  blessed  prize  which  has  fallen  to  him. 

But  Mr.  Philip's  walks  were  not  to  be  all  as  pleasant  as  this 
walk  ;  and  we  are  now  coming  to  a  history  of  wet,  slippery 
roads,  bad   times,   and   winter  weather.     All  I   can   promise 
about  this  gloomy  part  is,  that  it  shall  not  be  a  long  story. 
You  will  acknowledge  we  made  very  short  work  with  the  love- 
making,  which  I  give  you  my  word  I  consider  to  be  the  very 
easiest  part  of  the  novel-writer's  business.     As  those  rapturous 
scenes   between  the  captain  and  the  heroine   are  going  on,   a 
writer  who  knows  his  business  may  be  thinking  about  anything 
else  —  about  the  ensuing  chapter,  or  about  what  he  is  going  to 
have  for  dinner,  or  what  you  will ;  therefore,  as  we  passed  over 
the  raptures  and  joys  of  the  courting  so  very  curtly,  you  must 
please  to  gratify  me  by  taking  the  grief  in  a  very  short"  measure. 
If  our  young  people  are  going  to  suffer,  let  the  pain  be  soon 
over.     "  Sit  down  in  the  chair,  Miss  Baynes,  if  you  please, 
and  you,  Mr.  Firmin,  in  this.     Allow  me  to  examine  you  ;  just 
open  j-our  mouth,  if  you  please  ;  and  —  oh,  oh,  my  dear  miss  — 
there  it  is  out !     A  little  eau-de-Cologne  and  water,  my  dear. 
And  now,  Mr.  Firmin,  if  you  please,  we  will  —  what  fangs  ! 
what  a  big  one  !     Two  guineas.     Thank  you.     Good  morning. 
Come  to  me  once  a  year.     John,    show  in  the  next  part3\" 
About  the  ensuing  painful  business,   then,  I  protest  I  don't 
intend  to  be  much  longer  occupied  than  the  humane  and  dex- 
terous operator  to  whom  I  have  made  so  bold  as  to  liken  my- 
self.    If  my  pretty  Charlotte  is  to  have  a  tooth  out,  it  shall  be 
removed  as  gently  as  possible,  poor  dear.     As  for  Philip,  and 
his  great  red-bearded  jaw,  I  don't  care  so  much  if  the  tug  makes 
him  roar   a  little.     And  3-et   they  remain,   they   remain   and 
throb  in  after  hfe,  those  wounds  of  early  days.     Have  I  not 


380  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

said  how,  as  I  chanced  to  walk  with  Mr.  Firmin  in  Paris,  many 
years  after  the  domestic  circumstances  here  recorded,  he  paused 
before  the  window  of  that  house  near  the  Champs  Elysees  where 
Madame  Smolensk  once  held  her  pension,  shook  his  fist  at  a 
jalousie  of  the  now  dingy  and  dilapidated  mansion,  and  inti- 
mated to  me  that  he  had  undergone  severe  sufferings  in  the 
chamber  lighted  hy  yonder  window  ?  So  have  we  all  suffered  ; 
so,  very  likely,  my  dear  3'oung  miss  or  master  who  peruses  this 
modest  page,  will  you  have  to  suffer  in  your  time.  You  will 
not  die  of  the  operation,  most  probably' :  but  it  is  painful :  it 
makes  a  gap  in  the  mouth,  voyez-vous  ?  and  3'ears  and  3'ears, 
maybe,  after,  as  you  think  of  it,  the  smart  is  renewed,  and  the 
dismal  tragedy  enacts  itself  over  again. 

Philip  liked  his  little  maiden  to  go  out,  to  dance,  to  laugh, 
to  be  admired,  to  be  happy.  In  her  artless  way  she  told  him 
of  her  balls,  her  tea-parties,  her  pleasures,  her  partners.  In  a 
girl's  first  little  season  nothing  escapes  her.  Have  you  not 
wondered  to  hear  them  tell  about  the  events  of  the  evening, 
about  the  dresses  of  the  dowagers,  about  the  compliments 
of  the  young  men,  about  the  behavior  of  the  girls,  and  what 
not? 

Little  Charlotte  used  to  enact  the  over-night's  comedy  for 
Philip,  pouring  out  her  young  heart  in  her  prattle  as  her  little 
feet  skipped  by  his  side.  And  to  hear  Philip  roar  with  laughter  ! 
It  would  have  done  you  good.  You  might  have  heard  him 
from  the  Obelisk  to  the  Etoile.  People  turned  round  to  look 
at  him,  and  shrugged  their  shoulders  wonderingly,  as  good- 
natured  French  folks  will  do.  How  could  a  man  who  had  been 
lately  ruined,  a  man  who  had  just  been  disappointed  of  a  great 
legacy  from  the  Earl  his  great-uncle,  a  man  whose  boots  were 
in  that  lamentable  condition,  laugh  so,  and  have  such  high 
spirits?  To  think  of  such  an  impudent  ragged  blackguard,  as 
Kingwood  Twysden  called  his  cousin,  daring  to  be  happy ! 
The  fact  is,  that  clap  of  laughter  smote  those  three  Tw3'sden 
people  like  three  boxes  on  the  ear,  and  made  all  their  cheeks 
tingle  and  blush  at  once.  At  Philip's  merriment  clouds  which 
had  come  over  Charlotte's  sweet  face  would  be  chased  awa}'. 
As  she  clung  to  him  doubts  which  throbbed  at  the  girl's  heart 
would  vanish.  When  she  was  acting  those  scenes  of  the  past 
night's  entertainment,  she  was  not  always  happy.  As  she 
talked  and  prattled,  her  own  spirits  would  rise  ;  and  hope  and 
natural  joy  would  spring  in  her  heart  again,  and  come  flushing 
up  to  her  cheek.  Charlotte  was  being  a  h3'pocrite,  as,  thank 
heaven,  all  good  women  sometimes  are.     She  had  griefs  :  she 


ON  HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  381 

hid  them  from  him.  She  had  doubts  and  fears  :  they  fled  when 
he  came  in  view,  and  she  clung  to  his  strong  arm,  and  looked 
in  his  honest  blue  e3'es.  She  did  not  tell  him  of  those  painful 
nights  when  her  eyQs  were  wakeful  and  tearful.  A  yellow  old 
woman  in  a  white  jacket,  with  a  nightcap  and  a  night-light, 
would  come,  night  after  night,  to  the  side  of  her  little  l)ed  ;  and- 
there  stand,  and  with  her  grim  voice  bark  against  Philip.  That 
old  woman's  lean  finger  would  point  to  all  tlie  rents  in  poor 
Philip's  threadbare  paletot  of  a  character  —  point  to  the  holes 
and  tear  them  wider  open.  She  would  stamp  on  those  muddy 
boots.  She  would  throw  up  her  peaked  nose  at  the  idea  of  the 
poor  fellow's  pipe  —  his  pipe,  his  great  companion  and  com- 
forter when  his  dear  little  mistress  was  away.  She  would  dis- 
course on  the  partners  of  the  night;  the  evident  attentions  of 
this  gentleman,  the  politeness  and  high  breeding  of  that. 

And  when  that  dreary  nightl}'  torture  was  over,  and  Char- 
lotte's mother  had  left  the  poor  child  to  herself,  sometimes 
Madame  Smolensk,  sitting  up  over  her  ledgers  and  bills,  and 
wakeful  with  her  own  cares,  would  steal  up  and  console  poor 
Charlotte  ;  and  bring  her  some  tisane,  excellent  fur  the  nerves  ; 
and  talk  to  her  about — about  the  subject  of  which  Charlotte 
best  liked  to  hear.  And  though  Smolensk  was  civil  to  Mrs. 
Baj'nes  in  the  morning,  as  her  professional  duty  obliged  her 
to  be,  she  has  owned  that  she  often  felt  a  desire  to  strangle 
Madame  la  Generale  for  her  conduct  to  her  little  angel  of  a 
daughter ;  and  all  because  Monsieur  Philippe  smells  the  pipe, 
parbleu  !  ' '  What  ?  a  family  that  owes  3'ou  the  bread  which 
they  eat ;  and  they  draw  back  for  a  pipe  !  The  cowards,  the 
cowards  !  A  soldier's  daughter  is  not  afraid  of  it.  Merci ! 
Tenez,  M.  Philippe,"  she  said  to  our  friend  when  matters  came 
to  an  extremit}'.  "Do  3'ou  know  what  in  3'our  place  I  would 
do  ?  To  a  Frenchman  I  would  not  say  so  ;  that  understands 
itself.  But  these  things  make  themselves  otherwise  in  Eng- 
land. I  have  no  money,  but  I  have  a  cachemire.  Take  him  ; 
and  if  I  were  you,  I  would  make  a  little  voyage  to  Gretna 
Grin." 

And  now,  if  you  please,  we  will  quit  the  Champs  El3'sees. 
We  will  cross  the  road  from  Madame's  boarding-house.  We 
will  make  our  wa3'  into  the  Faubourg  St.  Honore,  and  actually 
enter  a  gate  over  which  the  L-on,  the  Un-c-rn,  and  the  R-3'-l 
Cr-wn  and  A-ms  of  the  Three  K-ngd-ms  are  sculptured,  and 
going  under  the  porte-cochere,  and  turning  to  the  right,  a,scend 
a  little  stair,  and  ask  of  the  attendant  on  the  landing,  who  is 
in  the  chancellerie  ?     The  attendant  says,  that  several  of  those 


382  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

messieurs  y  sont.  In  fixct,  on  entering  the  room,  you  find  Mr. 
Motcomb, — let  us  say — Mr.  Lowndes,  Mr.  Halkin,  and  our 
young  friend  Mr.  Walsingham  Llely,  seated  at  their  respective 
tables  in  the  midst  of  considerable  smoke.  Smoking  in  the 
midst  of  these  gentlemen,  and  bestriding  his  chair,  as  though 
it  were  his  horse,  sits  that  gallant  young  Irish  chieftain.  The 
O'Rourke.  Some  of  the  gentlemen  are  copying,  in  a  large 
handwriting,  despatches  on  foolscap  paper.  I  would  rather  be 
torn  to  pieces  b}-  O'Rourke's  wildest  horses,  than  be  understood 
to  hint  at  what  those  despatches,  at  what  those  despatch-boxes 
contain.  Perhaps  they  contain  some  news  from  the  Court  of 
Spain,  where  some  intrigues  are  carried  on,  a  knowledge  of 
which  would  make  your  hair  start  off  your  head ;  perhaps  that 
box,  for  which  a  messenger  is  waiting  in  a  neighboring  apart- 
ment, has  locked  up  twentj^-four  yards  of  Chantillj-  lace  for 
Lady  Belweather,  and  six  new  French  farces  for  Tom  Tiddler 
of  the  Foreign  Office,  who  is  mad  about  the  theatre.  It  is 
3-ears  and  j-ears  ago  ;  how  should  I  know  what  there  is  in  those 
despatch-boxes  ? 

But  the  work,  whatever  it  may  be,  is  not  very  pressing  — 
for  there  is  only  Mr.  Chesham  —  did  I  say  Chesham  before, 
by  the  way?  You  ma}'  call  him  Mr.  Sloanestreet  if  you  like. 
There  is  only  Chesham  (and  he  always  takes  things  to  the 
grand  serious)  who  seems  to  be  much  engaged  in  writing ;  and 
the  conversation  goes  on. 

"  Who  gave  it?"  asks  Motcomb. 

"  The  black  man,  of  course,  gave  it.  We  would  "not  pre- 
tend to  compete  with  such  a  long  purse  as  his.  You  should 
have  seen  what  faces  he  made  at  the  bill !  Thirty  francs  a 
bottle  for  Rhine  wine.  He  grinned  with  the  most  horrible 
agony  when  he  read  the  addition.  He  almost  turned  yelloAv. 
He  sent  away  his  wife  early.  How  long  that  girl  was  hanging 
about  London  ;  and  think  of  her  hooking  a  millionnaire  at  last ! 
Othello  is  a  frightful  screw,  and  diabolically  jealous  of  his 
wife." 

"What  is  the  name  of  the  little  man  who  got  so  dismally 
drunk,  and  began  to  crj-  about  old  Ringwood?" 

"  Tvvysden  —  the  woman's  brother.  Don't  you  know  Hum- 
bug Twysden,  the  father?  The  youth  is  more  offensive  than 
the  parent." 

"  A  most  disgusting  little  beast.  Would  come  to  the  Varie- 
tes,  because  we  said  we  were  going  :  would  go  to  Lamoignon's, 
where  the  Russians  gave  a  dance  and  a  lansquenet.  Why 
didn't  you  come,  Hely?" 


ON  HIS  WAY   THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  383 

Mr.  Hely.  — I  tell  3'ou  I  hate  the  whole  thing.  Those  painted 
old  actresses  give  me  the  horrors.  What  do  I  want  with  win- 
ning Motcomb's  money  who  hasn't  got  any  ?  Do  3-011  think  it 
gives  me  any  pleasure  to  dance  with  old  Caradol  ?  She  puts 
me  in  mind  of  my  grandmother  —  only  she  is  older.  Do  you 
think  I  want  to  go  and  see  that  insane  old  Boiitzoff  leering  at 
Corinne  and  Palmy rine,  and  making  a  group  of  three  old  wo- 
men together !  I  wonder  how  3'ou  fellows  can  go  on.  Aren't 
you  tired  of  truffles  and  ecrevisses  a  la  Bordelaise  ;  and  those 
old  opera  people,  whose  withered  old  carcasses  are  stufled  with 
them  ? 

Tlie  O'R.  —  There  was  Cerisette,  I  give  ye  me  honor.  Ye 
never  saw.     She  fell  asleep  in  her  cheer  — 

Mr.  Lowndes.  — In  her  Invhat,  O'R.  ? 

The  O'M.  —  Well,  in  her  chair  then  !  And  Figaroff  sma3Ted 
her  feece  all  over  with  the  craym  out  of  a  Charlotte  Roose. 
She's  a  regular  bird  and  moustache,  you  know,  Cerisette  has. 

Mr.  Hely.  —  Charlotte,  Charlotte  !  Oh  !  (//e  clutches  his  hair 
madly.     His  elbows  are  on  the  table.) 

Mr.  Lowndes. — It's  that  girl  he  meets  at  the  tea-parties, 
where  he  goes  to  be  admired. 

Mr.  Hely.  —  It  is  better  to  drink  tea  than,  like  you  fellows, 
to  muddle  what  brains  you  have  with  bad  champagne.  It  is 
better  to  look,  and  to  hear,  and  to  see,  and  to  dance  with  a 
modest  girl,  than,  like  3'Ou  fellows,  to  be  capering  about  in 
taverns  with  painted  old  hags  like  that  old  Cerisette,  who  has 
got  a  face  like  a  pomme  cuite.,  and  who  danced  before  Lord 
Malmesbur3'  at  the  Peace  of  Amiens.  She  did,  I  tell  3^ou ; 
and  before  Napoleon. 

Mr.  Chesham.  —  {Looks  up  from  his  writing.) — There  was 
no  Napoleon  then.     It  is  of  no  consequence,  but  — 

Lowndes.  —  Thank  3'ou,  I  owe  3'ou  one.  You're  a  most 
valuable  man,  Chesham,  and  a  credit  to  3'our  father  and 
mother. 

Mr.  Chesham.  — Well,  the  First  Consul  was  Bonaparte.. 

Lowndes.  —  I  am  obliged  to  3'Ou.  I  sa3'  I  am  obliged  to  3-ou, 
Chesham,  and  if  3-ou  would  like  any  refreshment  order  it  meis 
sumptibus.,  old  bo3^  —  at  m3'  expense. 

Chesham.  —  These  fellows  will  never  be  serious.  {He  resumes 
his  writing.) 

Hely. —  (Ifernm,  but  very  loiv.)  —  Oh  Charlotte,  Char — 

Mr.  Lowndes.  —  Hely  is  raving  about  that  girl  —  that  girl 
with  the  horrible  old  mother  in  3'ellow,  don't  3'ou  remem- 
ber?  and  old  father  —  good  old  military  part3',  in  a  shabby- 


384  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

old  coat  —  who  was  at  the  last  ball.     What  was  the  name  ? 
O'Rourke,  what  is  the  rhyme  for  Baynes? 

TheO'R. —  Pcti/s^  and  be  hanged  to  3'ou.  You're  always 
makin'  fun  on  me,  30U  little  cockney! 

Mr.  Motcomh. — Hely  was  just  as  bad  about  the  Danish 
girl.  You  know,  Walse,  3'Ou  composed  ever  so  many  verses 
to  her,  and  wrote  home  to  3'our  mother  to  ask  leave  to  marry 
her ! 

The  OR.  —  I'd  think  him  big  enough  to  marry  without 
anybody's  leave  —  only  they  wouldn't  have  him  because  he's  so 
ugly. 

Mr.  Hely. — Very  good,  O'Rourke.  Very  neat  and  good. 
You  were  diverting  the  company  with  an  anecdote.  Will  3'ou 
proceed  ? 

Tlie  (JR.  —  Well,  then,  the  Cerisette  had  been  dancing  both 
on  and  off  the  stage  till  she  was  dead  tired,  I  suppose,  and  so 
she  fell  dead  asleep,  and  Figaroff',  taking  the  what-d'ye-call'-em 
out  of  the  Charlotte  Roose,  smayred  her  face  all  — 

Voice  without.  —  Deet  Mosho  Ringwood  Twysden,  sivoplay, 
poor  I'honorable  Moshoo  Lownds  ! 

Servant.  —  Monsieur  Twysden  ! 

Mr.  Twysden.  —  Mr.  LovA'ndes,  how  are  ,you? 

Mr.  Lowndes.  —  Very  well,  thank  you  ;  how  are  you  ? 

Mr.  Hely.  —  Lowndes  is  uncommonl3'  brilliant  to-da}'. 

Mr.  Twysden.  — Not  the  worse  for  last  night?  Some  of  us 
were  a  little  elevated,  I  think  ! 

Mr.  Lowndes.  —  Some  of  us  quite  the  reverse.  (Little  cad, 
what  does  he  want?  Elevated!  he  couldn't  keep  his  little 
legs  !) 

Mr.  Twysden. — Eh!  Smoking,  I  see.  Thank  3-ou.  I  ver3' 
seldom  do  —  but  as  you  are  so  kind  —  puff.  Eh  —  uncommonl3' 
handsome  person  that,  eh  —  Madame  Cerisette. 

The  O'R.  —Thank  ve  for  teUing  us. 

I/O  

Mr.  Lowndes  —  If  she  meets  witii  your  applause,  Mr.  Tw3'S- 
den,  I  should  think  Mademoiselle  Cerisette  is  all  right. 

The  0'  R.  — Maybe  they'd  raise  her  salary  if  ye  told  her. 

Mr.  Twysden.  —  Heh  —  I  see  30u're  chaffing  me.  We  have 
a  good  deal  of  that  kind  of  thing  in  Somerset  —  in  our  —  in  — 
hem !  This  tobacco  is  a  little  strong.  I  am  a  little  shak3'  this 
morning.  Who,  by  the  way,  is  that  Prince  Boutzoff  who  pla3^ed 
lansquenet  with  us?  Is  he  one  of  the  Livonian  Boutzoffs,  or 
one  of  the  Hessian  Boutzoffs  ?  I  remember  at  m3-  poor  uncle's, 
Lord  Ringwood,  meeting  a  Prince  Blucher  de  Boutzoff,  some- 
thing like  this  man,  by  the  wa3'.     You  knew  my  poor  uncle? 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  385 

Mr.  Loiondes.  —  Dined  with  liim  here  three  months  ago  at 
the  "Trois  P^reres." 

Mr.  Twysden.  — Been  at  Whipham,  I  dare  say?  I  was  bred 
up  there.  It  was  said  once  that  I  was  to  have  been  his  heir. 
He  was  very  fond  of  me.     He  was  \ny  godfather. 

The  O'R.  —  Then  he  gave  you  a  mug,  and  it  wasn't  a  beauty 
{sotto  voce), 

Mr.  Twysden.  —  You  said  somethin'?  I  was  speaking  of 
Whipham,  Mr.  Lowndes  —  one  of  the  finest  places  in  England, 
I  should  say,  except  Chats  worth,  3'ou  know,  and  tliat  sort  of 
thing.  My  grandfather  built  it  —  I  mean  m}'  great  grandfather, 
for  I'm  of  the  llingwood  family. 

Mr.  Lowndes.  — Then  was  Lord  Ringwood  your  grandfather, 
or  your  grand  godfather? 

Mr.  Twysden. — He!  he!  My  mother  was  his  own  niece. 
My  grandfather  was  his  own  brother,  and  I  am  — 

Mr.  Lowndes.  — Thank  you.     I  see  now. 

Mr.  Halkin.  —  Das  ist  sehr  interessant.  Ich  versichere  ihnen 
das  ist  SEHR  interessant. 

Mr.  Twysden.  —  Said  somethin'?  (This  cigar  is  really — I'll 
throw  it  away,  please.)  I  was  saying  that  at  Whipham,  where 
I  was  bred  up,  we  would  be  forty  at  dinner,  and  as  many  more 
in  the  upper  servants'  hall. 

Mr.  Lowndes. — And  jou  dined  in  the  —  you  had  pretty 
good  dinners. 

Mr.  Twysden. — A  French  chef.  Two  aids,  besides  turtle 
from  town.  Two  or  three  regular  cooks  on  the  establish- 
ment, besides  kitchen-maids,  roasters,  and  that  kind  of 
thing,  you  understand.  How  many  have  you  here  now? 
In  Lord  Estridge's  kitchen  you  can't  do,  I  should  sa}^,  at 
least  without  —  let  me  see  —  wh}-,  in  our  small  way  —  and  if 
you  come  to  Loudon  my  father  wiU  be  dev'lish  glad  to  see 
you  —  we  — 

Mr.  Lowndes.  — How  is  Mrs.  Woolcomb  this  morning?  That 
was  a  fair  dinner  Woolcomb  gave  us  yesterday. 

Mr.  Twysden.  —  He  has  plenty  of  mone}",  plent}'  of  money. 
I  hope,  Lowndes,  when  you  come  to  town  —  the  first  time  3'ou 
come,  mind  —  to  give  you  a  hearty  welcome  and  some  of  my 
father's  old  por — 

Mr.  Hely.  —  Will  nobody  kick  this  little  beast  out? 

Strvant.  — Monsieur  Chesham  peul-il  voir  M.  Firmin? 

Mr.  Chesham. — Certainly.     Come  in,  Firmin  ! 

Mr.  Twysden.  —  Mr.  FeaVmang  —  Mr.  Fir —  Mr.  ivho  ?  You 
don't  mean  to  say  you  receive  that  fellow,  Mr.  Chesham? 

25 


386  THE  ADVENTURES.  OF   PHILIP 

Mr.  Ohesham. — What  fellow?  and  what  do  you  mean,  Mr. 
What-d'ye-call-'im  ? 

Mr.  Twysdeii.  —  That  blackg —  oh  —  that  is,  I  —  I  beg 
your  — 

Mr.  Fir  mi  n  (entering  and  going  up  to  Mr.  Chesham).  — I  say, 
give  me  a  bit  of  news  of  to-day.  What  were  you  saying  about 
that  —  hum  and  hum  and  haw  —  mayn't  I  have  it?  {He  is  talk- 
ing conjidentiallg  loith  Mr.  Chesham^  token  lie  sees  Mr.  Twysden.) 
What !  you  have  got  that  little  cad  here  ? 

3fr.  Lowndes. — You  know  Mr.  Twysden,  Mr.  Firmin.  He 
was  just  speaking  about  3'ou. 

Mr.  Firmin.  —  Was  he?     So  much  the  worse  for  me. 

Mr.  Twysden.  —  Sir  !  We  don't  speak.  You've  no  right  to 
speak  to  me  in  this  manner  !  Don't  speak  to  me  :  and  I  won't 
speak  to  you,  sir  —  there!  Good  morning,  Mr.  Lowndes! 
Remember  3^our  promise  to  come  and  dine  with  us  when  you 
come  to  town.  And  —  one  word — {he  holds  Mr.  Lowndes  by 
the  button.  By  the  way.,  he  has  very  curious  resemblances  to  Twys- 
den senior)  —  we  shall  be  here  for  ten  days  certainly.  I  think 
Lady  Estridge  has  something  next  week.  I  have  left  our  cards, 
and  — 

Mr.  Lowndes. — Take  care.  He  will  be  there  {-pointing  to 
Mr.  Firmin). 

Mr.  Twysden. — What?  T^a?  beggar?  You  don't  mean  to 
say  Lord  Estridge  will  receive  such  a  fellow  as  —  Good-by, 
good-by  !      {Exit  Mr.  JTwysden.) 

Mr.  Firmin.  —  I  caught  that  little  fellow's  eye.  He's  my 
cousin,  you  know.  We  have  had  a  quarrel.  I  am  sure  he  was 
speaking  about  me. 

Mr.  Lowndes.  —  Well,  now  you  mention  it,  he  was  speaking 
about  you. 

Mr.  Firmin.  — Was  he?  Then  donH  believe  him,  Mr.  Lowndes. 
That  is  my  advice. 

Mr.  Hely  {at  his  desk  composing).  —  "  Maiden  of  the  blushing 
cheek,  maiden  of  the  —  oh,  Charlotte,  Char — "  he  bites  his  pen 
'and  dashes  off' rapid  rhj'raes  on  Government  paper. 

Mr.  Firmin.  — What  does  he  say?     He  said  Charlotte. 

Mr.  Lowndes.  — He  is  always  in  love  and  breaking  his  heart, 
and  he  puts  it  into  poems  ;  be  wraps  it  up  in  paper,  and  falls 
in  love  with  somebody  else.  Sit  down  and  smoke  a  cigar,  won't 
you  ? 

Mr.  Firmin.  — Can't  stay.  Must  make  up  my  letter.  We 
print  to-morrow. 

Mr.  Lowndes.  —  Who  wrote  that  article  pitching  into  Peel? 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  387 

Mr.  Firmin.  —  Family  secret  —  can't  say  —  good-by.  •  (  Exit 
Mr.  Firmin.)  ' 

Mr.  Cheskam.  —  In  my  opinion  a  most  ill-advised  and  in- 
temperate article.  That  journal,  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette^  indulges 
in  a  very  needless  acrimou}',  I  think. 

3fr.  Lowndes.  —  Chesham  does  not  like  to  call  a  spade  a 
spade.  He  calls  it  a  horticultural  utensil.  You  have  a  great 
career  before  you,  Chesham.  You  have  a  wisdom  and  gravity 
be^'ond  ^our  3'ears.  You  bore  us  slightly,  but  we  all  respect 
you  —  we  do  indeed.  What  was  the  text  at  church  last  Sun- 
day? Oh,  by  the  way,  Hely,  you  little  miscreant,  you  were  at 
church  ! 

Mr.  Chesham. — You  need  not  blush,  Hel}'.  I  am  not  a 
joking  man  ;  but  this  kind  of  jesting  does  not  strike  me  as 
being  particularly  amusing",  Lowndes. 

Mr.  Lowndes. — You  go  to  church  because  you  are  good, 
because  your  aunt  was  a  bishop  or  something.  But  Hely  goes 
because  he  is  a  little  miscreant.  You  hypocritical  little  beggar, 
you  got  yourself  up  as  if  you  were  going  to  a  dejeune.,  and  3'ou 
had  3'our  hair  curled,  and  you  were  seen  singing  out  of  the 
same  hymn-book  with  that  pretty  Miss  Baynes,  you  little  wheed- 
ling sinner  ;  and  you  walked  home  with  the  family  —  my  sisters 
saw  you  —  to  a  boarding-house  where  they  live  —  by  Jove  !  you 
did.     And  I'll  telf  your  mother  ! 

Mr.  Chesham.  —  I  wish  3'ou  would  not  make  such  a  noise, 
and  let  me  do  my  work,  Lowndes.     You  — 

Here  Asmodeus  whisks  us  out  of  the  room,  and  we  lose  the 
rest  of  the  young  men's  conversation.  But  enough  has  been 
overheard,  I  think,  to  show  what  direction  young  Mr.  Hely's 
thoughts  had  taken.  Since  he  was  seventeen  3'ears  of  age  (at 
the  time  when  we  behold  him  he  may  be  twenty -three) ,  this 
romantic  youth  has  been  repeatedl3'  in  love  :  with  his  elderly 
tutor's  daughter,  of  course  ;  with  a  3'onng  haberdasher  at  the 
universit3' ;  with  his  sister's  confidential  friend  ;  with  the  bloom- 
ing 3'oung  Danish  beauty'  last  year  ;  and  now,  I  very  much  fear, 
a  3'oung  acquaintance  of  ours  has  attracted  the  attention  of  this 
imaginative  Don  Juan.  Whenever  Hely  is  in  love,  he  fancies 
his  passion  will  last  for  ever,  makes  a  confidant  of  the  first 
person  at  hand,  weeps  plenteously,  and  writes  reams  of  verses. 
Do  you  remember  how  in  a  previous  chapter  we  told  you  that 
Mrs.  Tuffin  was  determined  she  would  not  ask  Philip  to  her 
soirees,  and  declared  him  to  be  a  forward  and  disagreeable 
young  man?  She  was  glad  enough  to  receive  young  Walsing- 
ham  Hely,  with  his  languid  air,  his  di'ooping  head,  his  fair 


388  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

curls,  and  his  flower  in  his  button-hole  ;  and  Hely,  being  then 
in  hot  pursuit  of  one  of  the  tall  Miss  Blacklocks,  went  to  Mrs, 
Tutiin's,  was  welcomed  there  with  all  the  honors  ;  and  there, 
fluttering  awa}^  from  Miss  Blacklock,  our  butterfly  lighted  on 
Miss  Baynes.  Now  Miss  Baynes  would  have  danced  with  a 
mopstick,  she  was  so  fond  of  dancing :  and  Hely,  who  had 
practised  in  a  thousand  Cliauniieres,  Mabilles  (or  whatever  was 
the  public  dance-room  then  in  vogue),  was  a  most  amiable, 
agile,  and  excellent  partner.  And  she  told  Philip  next  da}- 
what  a  nice  little  partner  she  had  found  —  poor  Philip,  who  was 
not  asked  to  that  paradise  of  a  party.  And  Philip  said  that 
he  knew  the  little  man  ;  that  he  believed  he  was  rich  ;  that  he 
wrote  pretty  little  verses: — in  a  word,  Phihp,  in  his  leonine 
ways,  regarded  little  Helj'  as  a  lion  regards  a  lapdog. 

Now  this  little  Slyboots  had  a  thousand  artful  little  ways. 
He  had  a  ver}'  keen  sensibility  and  a  fine  taste,  which  was  most 
readily  touched  b3^  innocence  and  beauty.  He  had  tears,  1 
won't  sa3'  at  command  ;  for  they  were  under  no  command,  and 
gushed  from  his  fine  e^'es  in  spite  of  himself.  Charlotte's  in- 
nocence and  freshness  smote  him  with  a  keen  pleasure.  Bon 
Dieu  !  What  was  that  great,  tall  Miss  Blacklock  who  had 
tramped  through  a  thousand  ball-rooms,  compared  to  this  art- 
less, happ}-  creature?  He  danced  awa^"  from  Miss  Blacklock 
and  after  Charlotte  the  moment  he  saw  om*  3'ouug  friend  ;  and 
the  Blacklocks,  who  knew  all  about  him,  and  his  monej',  and 
his  motlier,  and  his  expectations  —  who  had  his  verses  in  their 
poor  album,  by  whose  carriage  he  had  capered  day  after  day 
in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  — stood  scowling  and  deserted,  as  this 
young  fellow  danced  off  with  that  Miss  Ba3-nes,  who  lived  in  a 
boarding-house,  and  came  to  parties  in  a  cab  with  her  horrid 
old  mother!  The  Blacklocks  were  as  though  they  were  not 
henceforth  for  Mr.  Hely.  They  asked  him  to  dinner.  Bless 
my  soul,  he  utterly  forgot  all  about  it !  He  never  came  to  then- 
box  on  their  night  at  the  opera.  Not  one  twinge  of  remorse 
had  he.  Not  one  pang  of  remembrance.  If  he  did  remember 
them,  it  was  when  they  bored  him,  like  those  tall  tragic  women 
in  black  who  are  always  coming  in  their  great  long  trains  to 
sing  sermons  to  Don  Juan.  Ladies,  your  name  is  down  in  his 
lordship's  catalogue  ;  his  servant  has  it ;  and  you.  Miss  Anna, 
are  number  one  thousand  and  three. 

But  as  for  Miss  Charlotte,  that  is  a  different  affair.  What 
innocence  !  AVhat  a  frmclieur  !  What  a  merry  good-humor  ! 
Don  Slyboots  is  touched,  he  is  tenderly  interested  :  her  artless 
voice  thrills  through  his  frame  ;  he  trembles  as  he  waltzes  with 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  389 

her ;  as  his  fine  eyes  look  at  her,  psha  !  what  is  that  film  coming 
over  them?  O  Slyboots,  Slyboots!  And  as  she  has  nothing 
to  conceal,  she  has  told  him  all  he  wants  to  know  before  long. 
This  is  her  first  winter  in  Paris  :  her  first  season  of  coming  out. 
She  has  only  been  to  two  balls  before,  and  two  plays  and  an 
opera.  And  her  father  met  Mr.  Hely  at  Lord  Trim's.  That 
was  her  father  playing  at  whist.  And  they  lived  at  Madame 
Smolensk's  boarding-house  in  the  Champs  Elysees.  And  they 
had  been  to  Mr.  Dash's,  and  to  Mrs.  Blank's,  and  she  believed 
they  were  going  to  Mrs.  Star's  on  Friday.  And  did  they  go  to 
church?  Of  course  they  went  to  church,  to  the  Rue  d'Agues- 
seau,  or  wherever  it  might  be.  And  Slyboots  went  to  church 
next  Sunday.  You  may  perhaps  guess  to  what  church.  And 
he  went  the  Sunday  after.  And  he  sang  his  own  songs,  accom- 
panying himself  on  the  guitar,  at  his  lodgings.  And  he  sang 
elsewhere.  And  he  had  a  very  pretty  little  voice,  Slyboots  had. 
I  believe  those  poems  under  the  common  title  of  "Gretchen" 
in  our  Walsingham's  charming  volume  were  all  inspired  by  Miss 
Baynes.  He  began  to  write  about  her  and  himself  the  very 
first  night  after  seeing  her.  He  smoked  cigarettes  and  drank 
green  tea.  He  looked  so  pale  —  so  pale  and  sad  that  he  quite 
pitied  himself  in  the  looking-glass  in  his  apartments  in  the  Rue 
Miromt'mil.  And  he  compared  himself  to  a  wrecked  mariner, 
and  to  a  grave,'  and  to  a  man  entranced  and  brought  to  life. 
And  he  cried  quite  freelj'  and  satisfactorily  by  himself.  And 
he  went  to  see  his  mother  and  sister  next  day  at  the  "  Hotel  de 
la  Terrasse,"  and  cried  to  them  and  said  he  was  in  love  this 
time  for  ever  and  ever.  And  his  sister  called  him  a  goose. 
And  after  crying  he  ate  an  uncommonly  good  dinner.  And  he 
took  every  one  into  his  confidence,  as  he  alwaj's  did  whenever  he 
was  in  love :  always  telling,  always  making  verses,  and  always 
crying.  As  for  Miss  Blacklock,  he  buried  the  dead  bod}'  of 
that  love  deep  in  the  ocean  of  his  soul.  The  waves  engulfed 
Miss  B.  The  ship  rolled  on.  The  storm  went  down.  And 
the  stars  rose,  and  the  dawn  was  in  his  soul,  &c.  Well,  well ! 
The  mother  was  a  vulgar  woman,  and  I  am  glad  3'ou  are  out  of  it. 
And  what  sort  of  people  are  General  Baynes  and  Mrs.  Baynes  ? 

"Oh,  delightful  people!  Most  distinguished  oflftcer,  the 
father;  modest  —  doesn't  say  a  word.  The  mother,  a  most 
lively,  brisk,  agreeable  woman.  You  must  go  and  see  her, 
ma'am.     1  desire  3'ou'll  go  immediately'." 

"  And  leave  cards  with  P.  P!  C  for  the  Miss  Blacklocks !  " 
says  Miss  Hel}',  who  was  a  plain  lively  person.  And  both 
mother  and  sister  spoiled  this  young  Hely  ;  as  women  ought 


390  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

alwa3's  to  spoil  a  son,  a  brother,  a  father,  husband,  grandfather 
—  any  male  relative,  in  a  word. 

To  see  this  spoiled  son  married  was  the  good-natured 
mother's  fond  praj'er.  An  eldest  son  had  died  a  rake  ;  a  victim 
to  too  much  money,  pleasure,  idleness.  The  widowed  mother 
would  give  anything  to  save  this  one  from  the  career  through 
which  the  elder  had  passed.  The  young  man  would  be  one  day 
eo  wealthy,  that  she  knew  many  and  many  a  schemer  would  try 
and  entrap  him.  Perhaps,  she  had  been  made  to  marry  his 
father  because  he  was  rich  ;  and  she  remembered  the  gloom  and 
wretchedness  of  her  own  union.  Oh,  that  she  could  see  her  son 
out  of  temptation,  and  the  husband  of  an  honest  girl !  It  was 
the  3'oung  lady's  first  season?  So  much  the  more  likely  that 
she  should  be  unworldl3^  "  The  General  —  don't  you  remem- 
ber a  nice  old  gentleman  —  in  a  —  well,  in  a  wig  —  that  day  we 
dined  at  Lord  Trim's,  when  that  horrible  old  Lord  Ringvvood 
was  there?  That  was  General  Ba3'nes ;  and  he  broke  out  so 
enthusiastically  in  defence  of  a  poor  young  man — -Dr.  Firmin's 
son  —  who  was  a  bad  man,  I  believe;  but  I  shall  never  have 
confidence  in  another  doctor  again,  that  I  shan't.  And  we'll 
call  on  these  people,  Fanny.  Yes,  in  a  brown  wig —  the  Gen- 
eral, I  perfectly  well  remember  him,  and  Lord  Trim  said  he  was 
a  most  distinguished  officer.  And  I  have  no  doubt  his  wife  will 
be  a  most  agreeable  person.  Those  generals'  •  wives  who  have 
travelled  over  the  world  must  have  acquired  a  quantity  of  de- 
lightful information.  At  a  boarding-house,  are  they?  I  dare 
say  very  pleasant  and  amusing.  And  we'll  drive  there  and  call 
on  them  immediately." 

On  that  day  as  Macgrigor  and  Moira  Ba3'nes  were  disport- 
ing in  the  little  front  garden  of  Madame  Smolensk's,  I  think 
Moira  was  just  about  to  lick  Macgrigor,  when  his  fratricidal 
hand  was  stopped  by  the  sight  of  a  large  yellow  carriage  —  a 
large  London  dowager  family  carriage  —  from  which  descended 
a  large  London  family'  footman,  with  side-locks  begrimed  with 
powder,  with  calves  such  as  onl}^  belong  to  large  London  famil^^ 
footmen,  and  with  cards  in  his  hand.  "  Ceci  Madame  Smo- 
lensk?" sa3'S  the  large  menial.  "  Oui,"  sa3's  the  bo3^,  nodding 
his  head;  on  which  the  footman  was  puzzled,  for  he  thought 
from  his  readiness  in  the  use  of  the  French  language  that  the 
boy  was  a  Frenchman. 

"  Ici  demure  General  Bang?  "  continued  the  man. 

"  Hand  us  over  the  cards,  John.     Not  at  home,"  said  Moira. 

"  Who  ain't  at  'ome?  "  inquired  the  menial. 

"  General  Baynes,  my  father,  ain't  at  home.     He  shall  have 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  39 X 

the  pasteboard  when  he  comes  in.  'Mrs.  Hely?'  Oh,  Mac, 
it's  the  same  name  as  that  3'oung  swell  who  called  the  other  day  ! 
Ain't  at  home,  John.  Gone  out  to  pay  some  visits.  Had  a  fly 
on  purpose.  Gone  out  with  m^-  sister.  'Pon  my  word,  they 
have,  John."  And  from  this  accurate  report  of  the  boy's 
behavior,  I  fear  that  the  young  Ba3'nes  must  have  been  brought 
up  at  a  classical  and  commercial  academy,  where  economy  was 
more  studied  than  politeness. 

Philip  comes  trudging  up  to  dinner,  and  as  this  is  not  his 
post  day,  arrives  early ;  he  hopes,  perhaps,  for  a  walit  with 
Miss  Charlotte,  or  a  coze  in  Madame  Smolensk's  little  private 
room.  He  finds  the  two  boys  in  the  forecourt ;  and  they  have 
Mrs.  Hely's  cards  in  their  hands ;  and  the^'  narrate  to  him  the 
advent  and  departure  of  the  lady  in  the  swell  carriage,  the 
mother  of  the  young  swell  with  the  flower  in  his  button-hole, 
who  came  the  other  da}'  on  such  a  jolly  horse.  "Yes.  And 
he  was  at  church  last  Sunday,  Philip,  and  he  gave  Charlotte  a 
hymn-book.  And  he  sang  :  he  sang  like  the  piper  who  played 
before  Moses,  Pa  said.  And  Ma  said  it  was  wicked,  but  it 
wasn't :  only  Pa's  fun,  you  know.  And  Ma  said  you  never 
came  to  church.     Why  don't  you?" 

Philip  had  no  taint  of  jealous}'  in  his  magnanimous  compo- 
sition, and  would  as  soon  have  accused  Charlotte  of  flirting  with 
other  men  as  of  stealing  Madame's  silver  spoons.  "  So  you 
have  had  some  fine  visitors,"  he  sa3's,  as  the  fly  drives  up.  "  I 
remember  that  rich  Mrs.  Hel}^  a  patient  of  my  father's.  M}'' 
poor  mother  used  to  drive  to  her  house." 

"  Oh,  we  have  seen  a  great  deal  of  Mr.  Hely,  Philip  !  "  cries 
Miss  Charlotte,  not  heeding  the  scowls  of  her  mother,  who  is 
nodding  and  betkoning  angril}^  to  the  girl. 

"  You  never  once  mentioned  him.  He  is  one  of  the  greatest 
dandies  about  Paris  :  quite  a  hon,"  remarks  PhiUp. 

' '  Is  he  ?  What  a  funn}'  little  lion  !  I  never  thought  about 
him,"  says  Miss  Charlotte,  quite  simply.  O  ingratitude  !  in- 
gratitude !  And  we  have  told  how  Mr.  Walsingham  was  crying 
his  eyes  out  for  her. 

"  She  never  thought  about  him?"  cries  Mrs.  Baynes,  quite 
eagerl3^ 

"Tire  piper,  is  it,  3'ou're  talking  about?"  asks  papa.  "  I 
called  him  piper,  3'ou  see,  because  he  piped  so  sweetly  at  ch — 
Well,  my  love?" 

Mrs.  Baynes  was  nudging  her  General  at  this  moment.  She 
did  not  wish  that  the  piper  should  form  the  subject  of  conversa- 
tion, I  suppose. 


392  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 

"  The  piper's  mother  is  very  rich,  and  the  piper  will  inherit 
after  her.  She  has  a  fine  house  in  London.  She  gives  very 
fine  parties.  She  drives  in  a  great  carriage,  and  she  has  come 
to  call  upon  3'ou,  and  ask  you  to  her  balls,  I  suppose." 

Mrs.  Baynes  was  delighted  at  this  call.  And  when  she  said, 
"  I'm  sure  /don't  value  fine  people,  or  their  fine  parties,  or  their 
fine  carriages,  but  I  wish  that  my  dear  child  should  see  the 
world,"  —  I  don't  believe  a  word  which  Mrs.  Baynes  said.  She 
was  much  more  pleased  than  Charlotte  at  the  idea  of  visit- 
ing this  fine  lady ;  or  else,  why  should  she  have  coaxed,  and 
wheedled,  and  been  so  particularly  gracious  to  the  General  all 
the  evening?  She  wanted  a  new  gown.  The  truth  is,  her  yellow 
was  very  shabby ;  whereas  Charlotte,  in  plain  white  muslin, 
looked  pretty  enough  to  be  able  to  dispense  with  the  aid  of  any 
French  milliner.  I  fanc^^  a  consultation  with  Madame  and  Mrs. 
Bunch.  I  fancy  a  fly  ordered,  and  a  visit  to  the  milliner's  the 
next  day.  And  when  the  pattern  of  the  gown  is  settled  with 
the  milliner,  I  fanc}^  the  terror  on  Mrs.  Baynes's  wizened  face 
when  she  ascertains  the  amount  of  the  bill.  To  do  her  justice, 
the  General's  wife  had  spent  little  upon  her  own  homely  person. 
She  chose  her  gowns  uglj^,  but  cheap.  There  were  so  many 
backs  to  clothe  in  that  family  that  the  thrifty  mother  did  not 
heed  the  decoration  of  her  own. 


THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP. 


CATHERINE. 


\i 


I 


I 


THE  ABVENTUEES  OF  PHILIP. 


CHAPTER   I. 

NEC   BULGES   AMORES    SPERNE,    PUER,    NEQUE   TU   CHOREAS. 

"Mr  dear,"  Mrs.  Baynes  said  to  her  daughter,  "you  are 
going  out  a  great  deal  in  the  world  now.  You  will  go  to  a 
great  number  of  places  where  poor  I'hilip  cannot  hope  to  be  ad- 
mitted." 

"  Not  admit  Philip,  mamma  !  then  I'm  sure  I  don't  want  to 
go,"  cries  the  girl. 

"Time  enough  to  leave  off  going  to  parties  when  you  can't 
afford  it  and  marr}-  him.  When  I  was  a  lieutenant's  wife,  I 
didn't  go  to  any  parties  out  of  the  regiment,  my  dear  !  " 

"  Oh,  then,  I  am  sure  I  shall  never  want  to  go  out !  "  Char- 
lotte declares. 

"  You  fancy  3'ou  will  always  stop  at  home,  I  dare  sa}'.  Men 
are  not  all  so  domestic  as  your  papa.  Very  few  love  to  stop  at 
liome  like  him.  Indeed,  I  may  sa^'  that  I  have  made  his  home 
comfortable.  But  one  thing  is  clear,  my  child.  Philip  can't 
always  expect  to  go  where  we  go.  He  is  not  in  the  position  in 
life.  Recollect,  your  father  is  a  general  officer,  C.B.,  and  may 
jbe  K.C.B.  soon,  and  your  mother  is  a  general  officer's  lady. 
\  We  may  go  anywhere.  I  might  have  gone  to  the  drawing-room 
at  home  if  I  chose.  Lady  Biggs  would  have  been  delighted  to 
present  me.  Your  aunt  has  been  to  the  drawing-room,  and  she 
Hs  only  Mrs.  Major  MacWhirter ;  and  most  absurd  it  was  of 
iJMac  to  let  her  go.  But  she  rules  him  in  everything,  and  they 
jluivc  no  childi-en.  I  have,  goodness  knows  !  I  sacrifice  myself 
for  my  children.  You  little  know  what  I  deny  myself  for  my 
Children.  I  said  to  Lndy  Biggs,  '  Xo,  Lady  Biggs  ;  my  husband 
may  go.  He  should  go.  He  has  his  uniform,  and  it  will  cost 
him  nothing  except  a  fly  and  a  bouquet  for  the  uiau  who  drives  ; 

26 


2  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

but  /will  not  spend  money  on  nij'self  for  the  hire  of  diamonds 
and  feathers,  and,  though  I  yield  in  loyalt}' to  no  person,  I  dare 
say  m}'  Sovereign  ivoiit  miss  me.'  And  I  don't  think  her  Majes- 
ty did.  She  lias  other  tilings  to  think  of  besides  Mrs.  General 
Baynes,  I  suppose.  She  is  a  mother,  and  can  appreciate  a 
mother's  sacrifices  for  her  children." 

If  I  have  not  hitherto  given  you  detailed  reports  of  Mrs.  Gen- 
eral Baynes's  conversation,  1  don't  think,  my  esteemed  reader, 
you  will  be  very  angiy. 

"  Now,  child,"  tlie  General's  lady  continued,  "let  me  warn 
^•ou  not  to  talk  much  to  Philip  about  those  places  to  which  you 
go  without  him,  and  to  which  his  position  in  life  does  not  allow 
of  his  coming.  Hide  anything  from  him?  Oh,  dear,  no  !  Only 
for  his  own  good,  you  understand.  I  don't  tell  everything  to  your 
papa.  I  should  only  worrit  him  and  vex  him.  When  anything 
will  please  him  and  make  him  happ}',  tlien  I  tell  him.  And 
about  Philip?  Philip,  I  must  say  it,  my  dear — I  must  as  a 
mother  say  it  —  has  his  faults.  He  is  an  envious  man.  Don't 
look  shocked.  He  thinks  veiy  well  of  himself;  and  having 
been  a  great  deal  spoiled,  and  made  too  much  of  in  his  unhappy 
father's  time,  he  is  so  proud  and  haughty  that  he  forgets  his  po- 
sition, and  thinks  he  ought  to  live  with  the  highest  society. 
Had  Lord  Ringwood  left  him  a  fortune,  as  Philip  led  us  to  expect 
when  we  gave  our  consent  to  this  most  unluck}-  match  —  for 
that  my  dear  child  should  marry  a  beggar  is  most  unlucky  and 
most  deplorable ;  I  can't  help  saying  so,  Charlotte,  — if  I  were 
on  my  death-bed  I  couldn't  help  saying  so ;  and  I  wish  with  all 
my  heart  we  hrd  never  seen  or  heard  of  him. —  There  !  Don't 
go  off  in  one  of  your  tantrums  !  What  was  I  saying,  pray  ?  I 
say  that  Philip  is  in  no  position,  or  rather  in  a  ver}'  humble 
one,  which  —  a  mere  newspaper-writer  and  a  subaltern  too  — 
eveiybod}'  acknowledges  it  to  be.  And  if  he  hears  us  talking 
about  our  parties  to  wiiich  we  have  a  right  to  go  —  to  which  3'ou 
haA'^e  a  riglit  to  go  with  ^our  mother,  a  general  officer's  lad}'  — 
wdiy,  he'll  be  offended.  He  won't  like  to  hear  about  them  and 
think  he  can't  be  invited  ;  and  you  had  better  not  tallv  about 
them  at  all,  or  about  the  people  you  meet  and  dance  with.  At 
Mrs.  Hely's  you  ma^'  dance  with  Lord  Headbuiy,  tlie  ambassa- 
dor's son.  And  if  30U  tell  Philip  he  will  be  offended.  He  will 
say  that  you  boast  about  it.  When  I  was  onl^'  a  lieutenant's 
wife  at  Barrackpore,  Mrs.  Captain  Capers  used  to  go  to  Cal- 
cutta to  the  Government  House  balls.  I  didn't  go.  But  I  was 
offended,  and  I  used  to  sa}'  that  Flora  Capers  gave  herself 
airs,  and  was  always  boasting  of  her  intimacy  with  the  Mar- 


ON  HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  3 

chioiK^ss  of  Hastings.  We  don't  like  our  equals  to  be  better  off 
Uian  ourselves.  Mark  my  words.  And  if  30U  talk  to  Philip 
about  tlie  people  whom  3'ou  meet  in  society,  and  whom  he  can't 
from  his  unfortunate  station  expect  to  know,  3'ou  will  offend 
him.  That  was  why  I  nudged  you  to-day  when  you  were  going 
on  about  Mr.  Hel}'.  Anything  so  absurd  !  I  saw  Philip  get- 
ting angry  at  once,  and  biting  his  moustaches,  as  he  always 
does  when  he  is  angry  —  and  swears  quite  out  loud  —  so  vulgar  ! 
There  !  you  are  going  to  ])e  angry  again,  my  love  ;  I  never  saw 
anything  like  3'ou  !  Is  this  my  Charly  who  never  was  angry? 
I  know  the  world,  dear,  and  you  don't.  Look  at  me,  how  I 
manage  your  papa,  and  I  tell  you  don't  talk  to  Philip  about 
things  which  offend  him  !  Now,  dearest,  kiss  your  poor  old 
mother  who  loves  you.  Go  up  stairs  and  bathe  jour  eyes,  and 
come  down  happy  to  dinner."  And  at  dinner  Mrs.  General 
Baynes  was  uncommonly  gracious  to  Philip  :  and  when  gracious 
she  was  especially  odious  to  Philip,  whose  magnanimous  nature 
accommodated  itself  ill  to  the  wheedling  artifices  of  an  ill-bred 
old  woman. 

Following  this  wretched  mother's  advice,  my  poor  Charlotte 
spoke  scarcely  at  all  to  Philip  of  the  parties  to  wliich  she  went, 
and  the  amusements  which  she  enjoyed  without  him.  I  dare 
sa}'  Mrs.  Baynes  was  quite  happy  in  thinking  that  she  was  "guid- 
ing" her  child  rightly.  As  if  a  coarse  woman,  because  she  is 
mean,  and  greedy,  and  hjpocritical,  and  fifty  years  old,  h»s  a 
right  to  lead  a  guileless  nature  into  wrong  !  Ah  !  if  some  of  us 
old  folks  were  to  go  to  school  to  our  children,  I  am  sure,  mad- 
am, it  would  do  us  a  great  deal  of  good.  There  is  a  fund  of 
good  sense  and  honorable  feeling  about  mj^  great-grandson 
Tomni}-,  which  is  more  valuable  than  all  his  grandpapa's  ex- 
perience and  knowledge  of  the  world.  Knowledge  of  the  world 
forsooth!  Compromise,  selfishness  modified,  and  double  deal- 
ing. Tom  disdains  a  lie  :  when  he  wants  a  peach,  he  roars  for 
it.  If  his  mother  wishes  to  go  to  a  party,  she  coaxes,  and 
wheedles,  and  manages,  and  smirks,  and  curtsies  for  months,  in 
order  to  get  her  end  ;  takes  twenty  rebuffs,  and  comes  up  to  the 
scratch  again  smiling  ;  —  and  this  woman  is  for  ever  lecturing 
lier  daughters,  and  preaching  to  her  sons  upon  virtue,  honesty, 
and  moral  behavior ! 

Mrs.  Hely's  little  party  at  the  "  Hotel  cle  la  Terrasse  "  was 
ver}^  pleasant  and  bright ;  and  Miss  Charlotte  enjoyed  it, 
although  her  swain  was  not  present.  But  Philip  was  pleased 
that  his  little' Charlotte  should  be  happy.  She  beheld  with 
wonderment  Parisian  duchesses,  American  millionnaires,  dan- 


k 


4  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

dies  from  the  embassies,  deputies  and  peers  of  France  with 
large  stars  and  wigs  like  papa.  She  ga3'ly  described  her  part}' 
to  Philip  ;  described,  that  is  to  say,  everything  but  her  own 
success,  which  was  undoubted.  There  were  many  beauties  at 
Mrs.  Hely's,  but  nobody  fresher  or  prettier.  The  Miss  Black- 
locks  retired  verj'  early  and  in  the  worst  possible  temper. 
Prince  Slyboots  did  not  in  the  least  heed  their  going  away. 
His  thoughts  were  all  fixed  upon  little  Charlotte.  Charlotte's 
mamma  saw  the  impression  which  the  girl  made,  and  was  filled 
with  a  hungry  joy.  Good-natured  Mrs.  Hely  complimented 
her  on  her  daughter.  "Thank  God,  she  is  as  good  as  she 
is  pretty,"  said  the  mother,  I  am  sure  speaking  seriously  this 
time  regarding  her  daughter.  Prince  Slyboots  danced  with 
scarce  anybody  else.  He  raised  a  perfect  whirlwind  of  com- 
pliments round  about  Charlotte.  She  was  quite  a  simple  per- 
son, and  did  not  understand  one-tenth  part  of  what  he  said  to 
her.  He  strewed  her  path  with  roses  of  poes}' :  he  scattered 
garlands  of  sentiment  before  her  all  the  way  from  the  ante- 
chamber down  stairs,  and  so  to  the  fly  which  was  in  waiting 
to  take  her  and  parents  home  to  the  boarding-house.  "By 
George,  Charlotte,  I  think  you  have  smitten  that  fellow,"  cries 
the  General,  who  was  infinitelj'  amused  by  young  Hel}'^- — his 
raptures,  his  affectations,  his  long  hair,  and  what  Baynes  called 
his  l(^w  dress.  A  slight  white  tape  and  a  ruby  button  confined 
Help's  neck.  His  hair  waved  over  his  shoulders.  Bajnies  had 
never  seen  such  a  specimen.  At  the  mess  of  the  stout  120th, 
the  lads  talked  of  their  dogs,  horses,  and  sport.  A  young 
civilian,  smattering  in  poetry,  chattering  in  a  dozen  languages, 
scented,  smiling,  perfectl}'  at  ease  with  himself  and  the  world, 
was  a  novelt}'  to  the  old  officer. 

And  now  the  Queen's  birthday  arrived  —  and  that  it  may 
arrive  for  many  scores  of  3'ears  ^'et  to  come,  is,  I  am  sure,  the 
prayer  of  all  of  us  —  and  with  the  birthday  his  Excellenc}"  Lord 
Estridge's  grand  annual  fete  in  honor  of  his  sovereign.  A  card 
for  their  ball  was  left  at  Madame  Smolensk's,  for  General,  Mrs. 
and  Miss  Baynes  ;  and  no  doubt  Monsieur  Slyboots  Walsing- 
ham  Helv  was  the  artful  agent  by  whom  the  invitation  was  for- 
warded.  Once  more  the  General's  veteran  uniform  came  out 
from  the  tin-box,  with  its  dingy  epaulettes  and  httle  cross  and 
ribbon.  His  wife  urged  on  him  strongly  the  necessity-  of  hav- 
ing a  new  wig,  wigs  being  ver}'  cheap  and  good  at  Paris  —  but 
Baynes  said  a  new  wig  would  make  his  old  coat  look  very 
shabb}',  and  a  new  uniform  would  cost  more  money  than  he 
would  like  to  afford.     So  shabby  he  went  de  cap  a  pied,  with  a 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  5 

moulting  feather,  a  thi'eadbare  suit,  a  tarnished  wig,  and  a  worn- 
out  lace,  sibi  constans.  Boots,  trousers,  sash,  coat,  wei'e  all  old 
and  worse  for  wear,  and  "faith,"  says  he,  "my  face  follows 
suit."  A  brave,  silent  man  was  Baj'nes  ;  with  a  twinkle  of 
humor  in  his  lean,  wrinkled  face. 

And  if  Geuei-al  Baynes  was  shabbily  attired  at  the  Embassy 
ball,  I  think  I  know  a  friend  of  mine  who  was  shabb^^  too.  In 
the  daj's  of  his  prosperity,  Mr.  Philip  was  -parcus  cultor  et  infre- 
quens  of  balls,  routs,  and  ladies'  compan3\  Perhaps  because 
his  father  was  angered  at  Philip's  neglect  of  his  social  advan- 
tages and  indifference  as  to  success  in  the  world,  Philip  was  the 
more  neglectful  and  indifferent.  The  elder's  comedj'-smiles, 
and  solemn,  h3'pocritical  politeness  caused  scorn  and  revolt  on 
the  part  of  the  younger  man.  Philip  despised  the  humbug, 
and  the  world  to  which  such  humbug  could  be  welcome.  He 
kept  aloof  from  tea-parties  then :  his  evening-dress  clothes 
served  him  for  a  long  time.  I  cannot  say  how  old  his  dress- 
coat  was  at  the  time  of  which  we  are  writing.  But  he  had  been 
in  the  habit  of  respecting  that  garment  and  considering  it  new 
and  handsome  for  many  years  past.  Meanwhile  the  coat  had 
shrunk,  or  its  wearer  had  grown  stouter ;  and  his  grand  em- 
broidered, embossed,  illuminated,  carved  and  gilt  velvet  dress 
waistcoat,  too,  had  narrowed,  had  become  absurdly  tight  and 
short,  and  I  dare  say  was  the  laughing-stock  of  many  of  Philip's 
acquaintances,  whilst  he  himself,  poor  simple  fellow,  was  fanc3'- 
ing  that  it  was  a  most  splendid  article  of  apparel.  You  know 
in  the  Palais  Royal  thej'  hang  out  the  most  splendid  reach- 
me-down  dressing-gowns,  waistcoats,  and  so  forth.  "  No," 
thought  Philip,  coming  out  of  his  cheap  dining-house,  and 
swaggering  along  the  arcades,  and  looking  at  the  tailors'  shops, 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  "  My  brown  velvet  dress  waist- 
coat with  the  gold  sprigs,  which  I  had  made  at  college,  is  a 
much  more  tast}^  thing  than  these  gaud}'  ready-made  articles. 
And  my  coat  is  old  certainly,  but  the  brass  buttons  are  still 
very  bright  and  handsome,  and,  in  fact,  it  is  a  most  becoming 
and  gentlemanlike  thing."  And  under  this  delusion  the  honest 
fellow  dressed  himself  in  his  old  clothes,  lighted  a  pair  of  can- 
dles, and  looked  at  himself  with  satisfaction  in  the  looking- 
glass,  drew  on  a  pair  of  cheap  gloves  which  he  had  bought, 
walked  by  the  Quays,  and  over  the  Deputies'  Bridge,  across 
the  Place  Louis  XV.,  and  strutted  up  the  Faubourg  St.  Ilonore 
to  the  Hotel  of  the  British  Embassy.  A  half-mile  queue  of  car- 
riages was  formed  along  the  street,  and  of  course  the  entrance 
to  the  hotel  was  magnificently  illuminated. 


6  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

A  plague  on  those  cheap  gloves  !  Why  had  not  Philip  paid 
three  francs  for  a  pair  of  gloves,  instead  of  twenty-nine  sous? 
Mrs.  Baynes  had  found  a  capital  cheap  glove  shop,  whither 
poor  Phil  had  gone  in  the  simplicity  of  his  heart ;  and  now  as 
he  went  in  under  the  grand  illuminated  porte-coclih-e,  Philip  saw 
that  the  gloves  had  given  way  at  the  thumbs,  and  that  his 
hands  appeared  through  the  rents,  as  red  as  raw  beefsteaks. 
It  is  wonderful  how  red  hands  will  look  through  holes  in  white 
gloves.  "And  there's  that  hole  in  my  boot,  too,"  thought 
Phil ;  but  he  had  put  a  little  ink  over  the  seam,  and  so  the  rent 
was  imperceptible.  The  coat  and  waistcoat  were  tight,  and  of 
a  past  age.  Nevermind.  The  chest  was  broad,  the  arms  were 
muscular  and  long,  and  Phil's  face,  in  the  midst  of  a  halo  of 
fair  haiii'  and  flaming  whiskers,  looked  brave,  honest,  and  hand- 
some. For  a  while  his  eyes  wandered  fiercely  and  restlesslj^  all 
about  the  room  from  group  to  group  ;  but  now  —  ah  !  now  — 
they  were  settled.  They  had  met  another  pair  of  eyes,  which 
lighted  up  with  glad  welcome  when  they  beheld  him.  Two 
young  cheeks  mantled  with  a  sweet  blush.  These  w^ere  Char- 
lotte's cheeks  :  and  hard  by  them  were  mamma's,  of  a  ver}' 
different  color.  But  Mrs.  General  Baj-nes  had  a  knowing 
turban  on,  and  a  set  of  garnets  round  her  old  neck,  like  goose- 
berries set  in  gold. 

The}'  admired  the  rooms  :  the}'  heard  the  names  of  the  great 
folks  who  arrived,  and  beheld  many  famous  personages.  They 
made  their  curtsies  to  the  ambassadress.  Confusion  !  With  a 
great  rip,  the  thumb  of  one  of  those  cheap  gloves  of  Philip's 
parts  company  from  the  rest  of  the  glove,  and  he  is  ol)liged  to 
wear  it  crumpled  up  in  his  hand  :  a  dreadful  mishap  —  for  he 
is  going  to  dance  with  Charlotte,  and  he  will  have  to  give  his 
hand  to  the  vis-a-vis. 

Who  comes  up  smiling,  with  a  low  neck,  with  waving  curls 
and  whiskers,  prett}'  little  hands  exquisitely  gloved,  and  tiny 
feet?  'Tis  Walsingham  Hely,  lightest  in  the  dance.  Most 
affably  does  Mrs.  General  Baynes  greet  the  3'oung  fellow. 
Very  brightly  and  happil}"  do  Charlotte's  ej-es  glance  towards 
her  favorite  partner.  It  is  certain  that  poor  Phil  can't  hope  at 
all  to  dance  like  Hely.  "And  see  what  nice  neat  feet  and 
hands  he  has  got,"  sa3'S  Mrs.  Baj'nes.  "  Comme  il  est  bien 
gante  !     A  gentleman  ought  to  be  alwaj^s  well  gloved." 

' '  Why  did  you  send  me  to  the  twenty-nine-sous-shop  ?  "  says 
poor  Phil,  looking  at  his  tattered  haind-shoes  and  red  obtruisive 
thumb. 

"Oh,  you!"  —  (here  Mrs.  Baynes  shrugs  her  yellow  old 


Miss  Charlotte  and  her  Partners. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  TPIE    WORLD.  7 

shoulders.)  "  Tuur  hands  would  burst  through  any  gloves. 
How  do  3'ou  do,  Mr.  Hely  ?  Is  your  mamma  hero  ?  Of  course 
she  is  !  What  a  delightful  part}'  she  gave  us  !  The  dear  am- 
bassadress looks  quite  unwell  —  most  pleasing  manners,  I  am 
sure  ;  Lord  Estridge,  what  a  perfect  gentleman  !  " 

The  Bayneses  were  just  come.  For  what  dance  was  Miss 
Ba}- nes  disengaged  ?  ' '  As  man}'  as  ever  jon  like  !  "  cries 
Charlotte,  who,  in  fact,  called  Ilelj'  her  little  dancing- master, 
and  never  thought  of  him  except  as  a  partner.  "  Oh,  too  much 
happiness  !  Oh,  that  this  could  last  for  ever !  "  sighed  Hely, 
after  a  waltz,  pollia,  mazurka,  I  know  not  what,  and  fixing  on 
Charlotte  the  full  blaze  of  his  beauteous  blue  e3'es.  "•  For 
ever  ?  "  cries  Charlotte,  laughing.  "  I'm  very  fond  of  dancing, 
indeed  ;  and  you  dance  beautifully ;  but  I  don't  know  that  I 
should  like  to  dance  for  ever."  Ere  the  words  are  over,  he  is 
whirling  her  round  the  room  again.  His  little  feet  fly  with 
sur2:)rising  agilitj'.  His  hair  floats  behind  him.  He  scatters 
odors  as  he  spins.  The  handkerchief  with  which  he  fans  his 
pale  brow  is  like  a  cloudj'  film  of  muslin  —  and  poor  old  Philip 
sees  with  terror  that  his  pocket-handkerchief  has  got  three  great 
holes  in  it.  His  nose  and  one  eye  appeared  through  one  of  the 
holes  while  Phil  was  wiping  his  forehead.  It  was  very  hot. 
He  was  very  hot.  He  was  hotter,  though  standing  still,  than 
young  Hely  who  was  dancing.  "He!  he!  I  compliment  3'ou 
on  your  gloves,  and  your  handkerchief,  I'm  sure,"  sniggers 
Mrs.  Baynes,  with  a  toss  of  her  turban.  Has  it  not  been  said 
that  a  bull  is  a  strong,  courageous,  and  noble  animal,  but  a 
bull  in  a  china-shop  is  not  in  his  place?  "There  3'ou  go. 
Thank  you !  I  wish  you'd  go  somewhere  else,"  cries  Mrs. 
Baynes,  in  a  fur}-.  Poor  Philip's  foot  has  just  gone  through 
her  flounce.  How  red  is  he !  how  much  hotter  than  ever ! 
There  go  Hely  and  Charlotte,  whirling  round  like  two  opera- 
dancers  !  PhiHp  grinds  his  teeth,  he  buttons  his  coat  across 
his  cliest.  How  very  tiglit  it  feels  !  How  savagely  his  eyes 
glare!  Do  y<)ung  men  stiU  look  savage  and  solemn  at  bails? 
An  ingenuous  young  Englishman  ought  to  do  that  duty  of 
dancing,  of  course.  Society  calls  upon  him.  But  I  doubt 
whether  he  ought  to  look  cheerful  during  the  performance,  or 
flippantly  engage  in  so  grave  a  matter. 

As  Charlotte's  sweet  round  face  beamed  smiles  upon  Philip 
over  Hely's  shoulders,  it  looked  so  happy  that  he  never  thought 
of  grudging  her  her  pleasure :  and  happy  he  might  have  re- 
mained in  this  contemplation,  regarding  not  the  circle  of  dan- 
cers who  were  galloping  and  whirling  on  at  their  usual  swift 


8  THE   ADVENTURES  OF   PHILIP 

rate,  but  her,  who  was  the  centre  of  all  joy  and  pleasure  for 
him; — when  suddenly  a  shrill  voice  was  heard  behind  him, 
crying,  "  Get  out  of  the  way,  hang  you  !  "  and  suddenly  there 
bounced  against  him  Ringwood  Twjsden,  pulling  Miss  Flora 
Trotter  round  the  room,  one  of  the  most  powerful  and  intrepid 
dancers  of  that  season  at  Paris.  They  hurtled  past  Philip ; 
they  shot  him  forward  against  a  pillar.  He  heard  a  screech, 
an  oath,  aud  another  loud  laugh  from  Twysden,  and  beheld  the 
scowls  of  Miss  Trotter  as  that  rapid  creature  bumped  at  length 
into  a  place  of  safet3\ 

I  told  you  about  Philip's  coat.  It  was  ver}^  tight.  The 
daylight  had  long  been  struggling  to  make  an  entry  at  the 
seams.  As  he  staggered  up  against  the  wall,  crack  !  went  a 
great  hole  at  his  back  ;  and  crack !  one  of  his  gold  buttons 
came  off,  leaving  a  rent  in  his  chest.  It  was  in  those  days 
when  gold  buttons  still  lingered  on  the  breasts  of  some  brave 
men,  and  we  have  said  simple  Philip  still  thought  his  coat  a 
fine  one. 

There  was  not  only  a  rent  of  the  seam,  there  was  not  only  a 
burst  button,  but  there  was  also  a  rip  in  Philip's  rich  cut-velvet 
waistcoat,  with  the  gold  sprigs,  which  he  thought  so  handsome 
—  a  ffreat  heart-rending  scar.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  Retreat 
was  necessar3\  He  told  Miss  Charlotte  of  the  hurt  he  had 
received,  whose  face  wore  a  very  comical  look  of  pity  at  his 
misadventure  —  he  covered  part  of  his  wound  with  his  gibus 
hat  —  and  he  thought  he  would  try  and  make  his  way  out  by 
the  garden  of  the  hotel,  which,  of  course,  was  illuminated,  and 
bright,  and  crowded,  but  not  so  very  bright  and  crowded  as 
the  saloons,  galleries,  supper-rooms,  and  halls  of  gilded  light 
in  which  the  company,  for  the  most  part,  assembled. 

So  our  poor  wounded  friend  wandered  into  the  garden,  over 
which  the  moon  was  shining  with  the  most  blank  indifference 
at  the  fiddling,  feasting,  and  party-colored  lamps.  He  says  that 
his  mind  was  soothed  b}^  the  aspect  of  yonder  placid  moon 
and  twinkling  stars,  and  that  he  had  altogether  forgotten  his 
trumper^^  little  accident  and  torn  coat  and  waistcoat :  but  I 
doubt  about  the  entire  truth  of  this  statement,  for  there  have 
been  some  occasions  when  he,  Mr.  Phihp,  has  mentioned  the 
subject,  and  owned  that  he  was  mortified  and  in  a  rage. 

Well.  He  went  into  the  garden :  and  was  calming  himself 
by  contemplating  the  stars,  when,  just  by  that  fountain  where 
there  is  Pradier's  little  statue  of — Moses  in  the  Bulrushes,  let 
us  say  —  round  which  there  was  a  beautiful  row  of  illuminated 
lamps,  lighting  up  a  great  coronal  of  flowers,  which  my  dear 


ON   HIS  WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  9 

readers  are  at  libert}'  to  select  and  arrange  according  to  their 
own  exquisite  taste  ;  —  near  tliis  little  fountain  he  found  three 
gentlemen  talking  together. 

The  high  voice  of  one  Philip  could  hear,  and  knew  from  old 
days.  Ringwood  Twysden,  Esquire,  alwaj's  liked  to  talk  and 
to  excite  himself  with  other  persons'  liquor.  He  had  been 
drinking  the  sovereign's  health  with  great  assiduity,  I  suppose, 
and  was  exceedingl}'  loud  and  happy.  With  Ringwood  was 
Mr.  Woolcomb,  whose  countenance  the  lamps  lit  up  in  a  fine 
lurid  manner,  and  whose  eyeballs  gleamed  in  the  twilight : 
and  the  third  of  the  group  was  our  30ung  friend  Mr.  Lowndes. 

"I  owed  him  one,  you  see,  Lowndes,"  said  Mr.  Ringwood 
Twysden.  "I  hate  the  fellow!  Hang  him,  alwa3"s  did!  I 
saw  the  great  hulkin'  brute  standin'  there.  Couldn't  help  my- 
self. Give  you  my  honor,  couldn't  help  myself.  I  just  drove 
Miss  Trotter  at  him  —  sent  her  elbow  well  into  him,  and  spun 
him  up  against  the  wall.  The  buttons  cracked  off  the  beg- 
gar's coat,  begad!  What  business  had  he  there,  hang  him? 
Gad,  sir,  be  made  a  cannon  off  an  old  woman  in  blue,  and  went 
into  .  .   .   . " 

Here  Mr.  Ringwood's  speech  came  to  an  end  :  for  his  cousin 
stood  before  him,  grim  and  biting  his  moustache. 

"  Hullo  !  "  piped  the  other.  "  Who  wants  5-ou  to  overhear 
my  conversation  ?     Dammy,  I  say  !     I  ....  " 

Philip  put  out  that  hand  wath  the  torn  glove.  The  glove 
was  in  a  dreadful  state  of  disruption  now.  He  worked  the 
hand  well  into  his  kinsman's  neck,  and  twisting  Ringwood 
round  into  a  proper  position,  brought  that  poor  old  broken  boot 
so  to  bear  upon  the  proper  quarter,  that  Ringwood  was  dis- 
charged into  the  little  font,  and  lighted  amidst  the  flowers,  and 
the  water,  and  the  oil-lamps,  and  made  a  dreadful  mess  and 
splutter  amongst  them.  And  as  for  Philip's  coat,  it  was  torn 
worse  than  ever. 

I  don't  know  how  many  of  the  brass  buttons  had  revolted 
and  parted  company  from  the  poor  old  cloth,  which  cracked 
and  split,  and  tore  under  the  agitation  of  that  beating  angry 
bosom.  I  blush  as  I  think  of  Mr.  Firmin  in  this  ragged  state, 
a  great  rent  all  across  his  back,  and  his  prostrate  enemy  lying 
howling  in  the  water,  amidst  the  sputtering,  crashing  oil-lamps 
at  his  feet.  When  Cinderella  quitted  her  first  ball,  just  after 
the  clock  struck  twelve,  we  all  know  how  shabby  she  looked. 
Philip  was  a  still  more  disreputable  object  when  he  slunk  away. 
I  don't  know  b}-  what  side  door  Mr.  Lowndes  eliminated  him. 
He  also   benevolently   took   charge   of  Philip's  kinsman   and 


10  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

antagonist,  Mr.  Ringwood  Twysden.  Mr.  Twysden's  hands, 
coat-tails,  &c.,  were  verj"  much  singed  and  scalded  by  the  oil, 
and  cut  b}'  the  broken  glass,  which  was  all  extracted  at  the 
Beaujon  Hospital,  but  not  without  much  suffering  on  the  part 
of  the  patient.  But  though  young  Lowndes  spoke  up  for  Phili[), 
in  describing  the  scene  (I  fear  not  without  laughtei*),  his  Excel- 
lency' caused  Mr.  Firmin's  name  to  be  erased  from  his  partj'' 
lists  :  and  I  am  sure  no  sensible  man  will  defend  Philip's  con 
duct  for  a  moment. 

Of  this  lamentable  fracas  which  occurred  in  the  Hotel  Gar- 
den, Miss  Baynes  and  her  parents  had  no  knowledge  for  a 
while.  Charlotte  was  too  much  occupied  with  her  dancing, 
which  she  pursued  with  all  her  might ;  papa  was  at  cards  with 
some  sober  male  and  female  veterans,  and  mamma  was  looking 
with  delight  at  her  daughter,  whom  the  young  gentlemen  of 
many  embassies  were  charmed  to  choose  for  a  partner.  When 
Lord  Headbur}-,  Lord  Estridge's  son,  was  presented  to  Miss 
Baynes,  her  mother  was  so  elated  that  she  was  ready  to  dance 
too.  I  do  not  env3'  Mrs.  Major  MacWhirter,  at  Tours,  the  peru- 
sal of  that  immense  manuscript  in  which  her  sister  recorded 
the  events  of  the  ball.  Plere  was  Charlotte,  beautiful,  elegant, 
accomplished,  admired  everywhere^  with  3'oung  men,  3'oung  noble- 
men of  immense  property'  and  expectations,  wild  about  Iwr  ;  and 
engaged  by  a  promise  to  a  rude,  ragged,  presumptuous,  ill-bred 
3'Oung  man,  without  a  penny  in  the  world  —  wasn't  it  provok- 
ing? Ah,  poor  Philip  !  How  that  little  sour,  yellow  mother-in- 
law  elect  did  scowl  at  him  when  he  came  with  rather  a  shamefaced 
look  to  pay  his  dutj'  to  his  sweetheart  on  the  da^'  after  the  ball ! 
Mrs.  Baynes  had  caused  her  daughter  to  dress  with  extra  smart- 
ness, had  forbidden  the  poor  child  to  go  out,  and  coaxed  her, 
and  wheedled  her,  and  dressed  her  with  I  know  not  what  orna- 
ments of  her  own,  with  a  fond  expectation  that  Lord  Headburj-, 
that  the  yellow  young  Spanish  attache,  that  the  sprightly  Prussian 
secretary,  and  Walsingham  Hel^',  Charlotte's  partners  at  the 
ball,  would  certainlj'  call ;  and  the  onl}^  equipage  that  appeared 
at  Madame  Smolensk's  gate  was  a  hack  cab,  which  drove  up 
at  evening,  and  out  of  which  poor  Philip's  well-known  tattered 
boots  came  striding.  Such  a  fond  mother  as  Mrs.  Bajnes  may 
well  have  been  out  of  humor. 

As  for  Phihp,  he  was  unusually'  sh^'  and  modest.  He  did  not 
know  in  what  light  his  friends  would  regard  his  escapade  of 
the  previous  evening.  He  had  been  sitting  at  home  all  the 
morning  in  state,  and  in  company-  with  a  Polish  colonel,  who 
lived  in  his  hotel,  and  whom  Philip  had  selected  to  be  his  second 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  11 

in  case  the  battle  of  the  previous  night  should  have  any  suite. 
He  had  left  that  colonel  in  company  with  a  bag  of  tobacco  and 
an  order  for  unlimited  beer,  whilst  he  himself  ran  up  to  catch 
a  glimpse  of  his  beloved.  The  Bayneses  had  not  heard  of  the 
battle  of  the  previous  night.  The}'  were  full  of  the  ball,  of 
Lord  Estridge's  affabilit}',  of  the  Golconda  ambassador's  dia- 
monds, of  the  appearance  of  the  royal  princes  who  honored  the 
fete,  of  the  most  fashionable  Paris  talk  in  a  word.  Philip  was 
scolded,  snubbed,  and  coldly  received  by  mamma;  but  he  was 
used  to  that  sort  of  treatment,  and  greatly  relieved  by  finding 
that  she  was  unacquainted  with  his  own  disorderly  behavior. 
He  did  not  tell  Charlotte  about  the  quarrel :  a  knowledge  of 
it  might  alarm  the  little  maiden  ;  and  so  for  once  our  friend 
was  discreet,  and  held  his  tongue. 

But  if  he  had  any  influence  with  the  editor  of  GaUgnani's 
Messenger,  wh}'  did  he  not  entreat  the  conductors  of  that  ad- 
mirable journal  to  forego  all  mention  of  the  fracas  at  the 
Embassy  ball?  Two  da^'s  after  the  fete,  I  am  sorry  to  say, 
there  appeared  a  paragraph  in  the  paper  narrating  the  circum- 
stances of  the  fight.  And  the  guilty  Philip  found  a  cop}^  of 
that  paper  on  the  table  before  Mrs.  Baynes  and  the  General 
when  he  came  to  the  Champs  Elysees  according  to  his  wont. 
Behind  that  paper  sat  Major-General  Baynes,  C.B.,  looking 
confused,  and  beside  him  his  lady  frowning  like  Rhadamanthus. 
But  no  Charlotte  was  in  the  room. 


CHAPTER  II. 

INFANDI    DOLORES. 

Philip's  heart  beat  very  quickly  at  seeing  this  grim  pair, 
and  the  guilty  newspaper  before  them,  on  which  Mrs.  Baynes' 
lean  right  hand  was  laid.  "So,  sir,"  she  cried,  "you  still 
honor  us  with  jour  compan}' :  after  distinguishing  yourself  as 
you  did  the  night  before  last.  Fighting  and  boxing  like  a 
porter  at  his  Excellency's  ball.  It's  disgusting !  I  have  no 
other  word  for  it :  disgusting ! "  And  here  I  suppose  she 
nudged  the  General,  or  gave  him  some  look  or  signal  by  which 
he  knew  he  was  to  come  into  action ;  for  Baynes  straightway 
advanced  and  delivered  his  fire. 


12  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

• 

"Faith,  sir,  more  bub-ub-blackguard  conduct  I  never  heard 
of  in  my  Ufe  !  That's  the  only  word  for  it :  the  only  word  for 
it,"  cries  Baynes. 

"  The  General  knows  what  blackguard  conduct  is,  and  yours 
is  that  conduct,  Mr.  Firmin  !  It  is  all  over  the  town  :  is  talked 
of  everywhere  :  will  be  in  all  the  newspapers.  When  his  lord- 
ship heard  of  it,  he  was  furious.  Never,  never,  will  you  be 
admitted  into  the  Embassy  again,  after  disgracing  yourself  as 
you  have  done,"  cries  the  lad}'. 

"Disgracing  yourself,  that's  the  word. — And  disgraceful 
your  conduct  was,  begad  !  "  cries  the  officer  second  in  command. 

"You  don't  know  my  provocation,"  pleaded  poor  Philip. 
"As  I  came  up  to  him  Twysden  was  boasting  that  he  had 
struck  me  —  and  —  and  laughing  at  me." 

"And  a  pretty  figure  you  were  to  come  to  a  ball.  Who 
could  help  laughing,  sir  ?  " 

"  He  bragged  of  having  insulted  me,  and  I  lost  my  temper, 
and  struck  him  in  return.  The  thing  is  done  and  can't  be 
helped,"  growled  PhiUp. 

"Strike  a  little  man  before  ladies!  Very  brave  indeed  !  " 
cries  the  lady. 

"  Mrs.  Baynes  ! " 

"I  call  it  cowardly.  In  the  army  we  consider  it  cowardly 
to  quarrel  before  ladies,"  continues  Mrs.  General  B. 

"I  have  waited  at  home  for  two  days  to  see  if  he  wanted 
an}^  more,"  groaned  Philip. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  After  insulting  and  knocking  a  little  man  down, 
you  want  to  murder  him  !  And  you  call  that  the  conduct  of 
a  Christian  —  the  conduct  of  a  gentleman  !  " 

"The  conduct  of  a  ruffian,  by  George!"  says  General 
Ba3'nes. 

"It  was  prudent  of  jou  to  choose  a  verj' little  man,  and 
to  have  the  ladies  within  hearing ! "  continues  Mrs.  Baj'nes. 
"  WJiy,  I  wonder  3'ou  haven't  beaten  m}- dear  children  next. 
Don't  3'ou,  General,  wonder  he  has  not  knocked  down  our  poor 
bo3^s?  They  are  quite  small.  And  it  is  evident  that  ladies 
being  present  is  no  hindrance  to  Mr.  Firmin's  boxing-matches." 

"The  conduct  is  gross  and  unworthy  of  a  gentleman," 
reiterates  the  General. 

"You  hear  what  that  man  sa3's  —  that  old  man,  who  never 
sa3^s  an  unkind  word  ?  That  veteran,  who  has  been  in  twent3' 
battles,  and  never  struck  a  man  before  women  yet?  Did  3'OU, 
Charles?  He  has  given  3'OU  his  opinion.  He  has  called  3'OU 
a  name  which  I  won't  soil  my  lips  with  repeating,  but  which 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  13 

3'ou  deserve.  And  do  you  suppose,  sir,  that  I  will  give  my 
blessed  child  to  a  man  who  has  acted  as  you  have  acted,  and 

been  called  a ?     Charles  !  General !  I  will  go  to  ray  grave 

rather  than  see  my  daughter  given  up  to  such  a  man  !  " 

"Good  heavens!"  said  Philip,  his  knees  trembling  under 
him.  "  You  don't  mean  to  .say  that  you  intend  to  go  from  your 
word,  and  —  " 

"Oh!  you  threaten  about  money,  do  you?  Because  your 
father  was  a  cheat,  you  intend  to  try  and  make  us  suffer,  do 
you?"  shrieks  the  lady.  "A  man  who  strikes  a  little  man 
before  ladies  will  commit  any  act  of  cowardice,  I  dare  say. 
And  if  you  wish  to  beggar  my  family,  because  your  father  was 
a  rogue  —  " 

"  My  dear !  "  interposes  the  General. 

"Wasn't  he  a  rogue,  Baynes?  Is  there  any  denying  it? 
Haven't  you  said  so  a  hundred  and  a  hundred  times  ?  A  nice 
family  to  marry  into  !  No,  Mr.  Firmin  !  You  may  insult  me 
as  you  please.  Y'^ou  may  strike  little  men  before  ladies.  You 
may  lift  your  great  wicked  hand  against  that  poor  old  man,  in 
one  of  your  tipsy  fits  :  but  I  know  a  mother's  love,  a  mother's 
duty  — and  I  desire  that  we  see  you  no  more." 

"  Great  Powers  !  "  cries  Philip,  aghast.  "  You  don't  mean 
to  —  to  separate  me  from  Charlotte,  General?  I  have  your 
word.  You  encouraged  me.  I  shall  break  my  heart.  I'll  go 
down  on  my  knees  to  that  fellow.  I'll  —  oh  !  —  you  don't 
mean  what  you  say ! "  And,  scared  and  sobbing,  the  poor 
fellow  clasped  his  strong  hands  together,  and  appealed  to  the 
General. 

Baj-nes  was  under  his  wife's  eye.  "I  think,"  he  said, 
"your  conduct  has  been  confoundedly  bad,  disorderly,  and 
ungentlemanlike.  You  can't  support  my  child,  if  you  marry 
her.  And  if  you  have  the  least  spark  of  honor  in  you,  as  you 
say  you  have,  it  is  you,  Mr.  Firmin,  who  will  break  off  the 
match,  and  release  the  poor  child  from  certain  misery.  By 
George,  sir,  how  is  a  man  who  fights  and  quarrels  in  a  noble- 
man's ball-room  to  get  on  in  the  world?  How  is  a  man,  who 
can't  afford  a  decent  coat  to  his  back,  to  keep  a  wife?  The 
more  I  have  known  you,  the  more  I  have  felt  that  the  engage- 
ment would  bring  misery  upon  my  child !  Is  that  what  you 
want?  A  man  of  honor  —  "  ("  Honor!"  in  italics,  from  Mrs. 
Baynes.)  "Hush,  my  dear! — A  man  of  spirit  would  give 
her  up,  sir.  What  have  you  to  offer  but  beggary,  by  George? 
Do  you  want  my  girl  to  come  home  to  your  lodgings,  and  mend 
your  clothes  ? "  —  "I  think  I  put  that  point  pretty  well,  Bunch, 


14  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

my  boy,"  said  the  General,  talking  of  the  matter  afterwards- 
"  I  hit  him  there,  sir." 

The  old  soldier  did  indeed  strike  his  adversary'  there  with 
a  vital  stab.  Philip's  coat,  no  doubt,  was  ragged,  and  his 
purse  but  light.  He  had  sent  money  to  his  fiither  out  of  his 
small  stock.  There  were  one  or  two  servants  in  the  old  house 
in  Parr  Street,  who  had  been  left  without  their  wages,  and  a 
part  of  these  debts  Phihp  had  paid.  He  knew  his  own  violence 
of  temper,  and  his  unruly  independence.  He  thought  very 
humbly  of  his  talents,  and  often  doubted  of  his  capacity  to  get 
on  in  the  world.  In  his  less  hopeful  moods,  he  trembled  to 
think  that  he  might  be  bringing  poverty  and  unhappiness  upon 
his  dearest  little  maiden,  for  whom  he  would  joyfully  have 
sacrificed  his  blood,  his  life.  Poor  Philip  sank  back  sickening 
and  fainting  almost  under  Baynes's  words. 

' '  You'll  let  me  —  you'll  let  me  see  her  ? "  he  gasped 
out. 

"She's  unwell.  She  is  in  her  bed.  She  can't  appear  to- 
da}'^ !  "  cried  the  mother. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Baynes  !  I  must  —  I  must  see  her,"  Philip  said  ; 
and  fairly  broke  out  in  a  sob  of  pain. 

"This  is  the  man  that  strikes  men  before  women!"  said 
Mrs.  Baynes.     "  Very  courageous,  certainl^M" 

"By  George,  Eliza!"  the  General  cried  out,  starting  up, 
"  it's  too  bad  —  " 

"Infirm  of  purpose,  give  me  the  daggers!"  Philip  yelled 
out,  whilst  describing  the  scene  to  his  biogi'apher  in  after  days. 
"  Macbeth  would  never  have  done  the  murders  but  for  that 
little  quiet  woman  at  his  side.  When  the  Indian  prisoners  are 
killed,  the  squaws  always  invent  the  worst  tortures.  You 
should  have  seen  that  fiend  and  her  livid  smile,  as  she  was 
drilling  her  gimlets  into  my  heart.  I  don't  know  how  I  offended 
her.  I  tried  to  like  her,  sir.  I  had  humbled  mjself  before 
her.  I  went  on  her  errands.  I  pla^^ed  cards  with  her.  I  sat 
and  listened  to  her  dreadful  stories  about  Barrackpore  and  the 
Governor-General.  I  wallowed  in  the  dust  before  her,  and 
she  hated  me.  I  can  see  her  face  now :  her  cruel  5'ellow  face, 
and  her  sharp  teeth,  and  her  gray  ejes.  It  was  the  end  of 
August,  and  pouring  a  storm  that  day.  I  suppose  m}^  poor 
child  was  cold  and  suffering  up  stairs,  for  I  heard  the  poking 
of  a  fire  in  her  little  room.  When  I  hear  a  fire  poked  over- 
head now  —  twenty  years  after  —  the  whole  thing  comes  back 
to  me  ;  and  I  suff"er  over  again  that  infernal  agony.  Were  I 
to  live  a  thousand  years,  I  could  not  forgive  her.     I  never  did 


,    ON   HIS  WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  15 

her  a  wrong,  but  I  can't  forgive  her.     Ah,  my  heaven,  how 
that  woman  tortured  me  !  " 

"I  think  I  know  one  or  two  similar  instances,"  said  Mr. 
Firmin's  biographer. 

"You  are  alvva3's  speaking  ill  of  women,"  said  Mr.  Firmin's 
biographer's  wife. 

"No,  thank  heaven!"  said  the.  gentleman.  "1  tbink  I 
know  some  of  whom  I  never  thought  or  spoke  a  word  of  evil. 
My  dear,  will  you  give  Philip  some  more  tea?"  and  with  this 
the  gentleman's  narrative  is  resumed. 

The  rain  was  beating  down  the  avenue  as  Philip  went  into 
the  street.  He  looked  up  at  Charlotte's  window :  but  there 
was  no  sign.  There  was  a  flicker  of  a  fire  there.  The  poor 
girl  had  the  fever,  and  was  shuddering  in  her  little  room,  weep- 
ing and  sobbing  on  Madame  Smolensk's  shoulder.  "Que 
c'etait  pitie  a  voir,"  Madaine  said.  Her  mother  had  told  her 
she  must  break  from  Philip  ;  had  invented  and  spoken  a  hun- 
dred calumnies  against  him  ;  declared  that  he  never  cared  for 
her;  that  he  had  loose  principles,  and  was  for  ever  haunting 
theatres  and  bad  company.  "It's  not  true,  mother,  it's  not 
true  !  "  the  little  girl  had  cried,  flaming  up  in  revolt  for  a  mo- 
ment :  but  she  soon  subsided  in  tears  and  misery,  utterly'' 
broken  by  the  thought  of  her  calamity.  Then  her  father  had 
been  brought  to  her,  who  had  been  made  to  believe  some  of 
the  stories  against  poor  Philip,  and  who  was  commanded  by 
his  wife  to  impress  them  upon  the  girl.  And  Baynes  tried  to 
obey  orders  ;  but  he  was  scared  and  cruelly  pained  by  the  sight 
of  liis  little  maiden's  grief  and  sufl'ering.  He  attempted  a  weak 
expostulation,  and  began  a  speech  or  two.  But  his  heart  failed 
him.  He  retreated  behind  his  wife.  She  never  hesitated  in 
speech  or  resolution,  and  her  language  became  more  bitter  as 
her  ally  faltered.  Philip  was  a  drunkard  ;  Philip  was  a  prod- 
igal ;  Philip  was  a  frequenter  of  dissolute  haunts  and  loose 
companions.  She  had  the  best  authority  for  what  she  said^ 
Was  not  a  mother  anxious  for  the  welfare  of  her  own  child  ? 
("Begad,  you  don't  suppose  your  own  mother  would  do  any- 
thing that  was  not  for  j'our  welfare,  now?"  broke  in  the  Gen- 
eral, feebly.)  "Do  you  think  if  he  had  not  been  drunk  he 
would  have  ventured  to  commit  such  an  atrocious  outrage  as 
that  at  the  Embassy?  And  do  you  suppose  I  want  a  drunkard 
and  a  beggar  to  marry  my  daughter?  Your  ingratitude.  Char- 
lotte, is  horrible  !  "  cries  mamma.  And  poor  Piiilip,  charged 
with  drunkenness,  had  dined  for  seventeen  sous,  with  a  caralbn 
of  beer,  and  had  counted  on  a  supper  that  night  by  little  Char- 


16  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

lotte's  side :  so,  while  ttie  child  lay  sobbing  on  her  bed,  the 
mother  stood  OA^er  her,  and  lashed  her.  For  General  Baynes, 
—  a  brave  man,  a  kind-hearted  man,  —  to  have  to  look  on 
whilst  this  torture  was  inflicted,  must  have  been  a  hard  duty. 
He  could  not  eat  the  boarding-house  dinner,  though  he  took 
his  place  at  the  table  at  the  sound  of  the  dismal  bell.  Madame 
herself  was  not  present  at  the  meal ;  and  you  know  poor  Char- 
lotte's place  was  vacant.  Her  father  went  up  stairs,  and  paused ' 
by  her  bedroom  door,  and  listened.  He  heard  murmurs  within, 
and  Madame's  voice,  as  he  stumbled  at  the  door,  cried  harshly, 
"  Qui  est  la?"  He  entered.  Madame  was  sitting  on  the  bed, 
with  Charlotte's  head  on  her  lap.  The  thick  brown  tresses 
were  falling  over  the  child's  white  night-dress,  and  she  lay 
almost  motionless,  and  sobbing  feebly.  "  Ah,  it  is  you.  Gen- 
eral! "  said  Madame.  "You  have  done  a  prett}-  work,  sir!" 
"Mamma  sa3^s,  won't  you  take  something,  Charlotte  dear?" 
faltered  the  old  man.  "  Will  you  leave  her  tranquil?"  said 
Madame,  with  her  deep  voice.  The  father  retreated.  When 
Madame  went  out  presently  to  get  that  panacea,  une  tasse  de 
the,  for  her  poor  little  friend,  she  found  the  old  gentleman 
seated  on  a  portmanteau  at  his  door.  "  Is  she  —  is  she  a  little 
better  now?  "  he  sobbed  out.  Madame  shrugged  her  shoulders, 
and  looked  down  on  the  veteran  with  superb  scorn.  ' '  Vous 
n'etes  qn'un  poltron.  General ! "  she  said,  and  swept  down 
stairs.  Baynes  was  beaten  indeed.  He  was  suffering  horrible 
pain.  He  was  quite  unmanned,  and  tears  were  trickling,  down 
his  old  cheeks  as  he  sat  wretchedly  there  in  the  dark.  His 
wife  did  not  leave  the  table  as  long  as  dinner  and  dessert  lasted. 
She  i"ead  Galignani  resolutely  afterwards.  She  told  the  chil- 
dren not  to  make  a  noise,  as  their  sister  was  up  stairs  with  a 
bad  headache.  But  she  revoked  that  statement  as  it  were  (as 
she  revoked  at  cards  presently),  by  asking  the  Miss  Bolderos 
to  plaj-  one  of  their  duets. 

I  wonder  whether  Philip  walked  up  and  down  before  the 
house  that  night?  Ah  !  it  was  a  dismal  night  for  all  of  them  : 
a  racking  pain,  a  cruel  sense  of  shame,  throbbed  under  Ba3'nes's 
cotton  tassel ;  and  as  for  Mrs.  Baynes,  I  hope  there  was  not 
much  rest  or  comfort  under  her  old  nightcap.  Madame  passed 
the  greater  part  of  the  night  in  a  great  chair  in  Charlotte's  bed- 
room, where  the  poor  child  heard  the  hours  toll  one  after 
the  other,  and  found  no  comfort  in  the  dreary  rising  of  the 
dawn. 

At  a  very  early  hour  of  the  dismal  rainy  morning,  what 
made  poor  little  Charlotte  fling  her  arms  round  Madame,  and 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  17 

cry  out,  "Ah,  que  je  vous  aime !  ah,  que  vous  etes  bonne, 
Madame!"  and  smile  almost  happily  through  her  tears?  In 
the  first  place,  Madame  went  to  Charlotte's  dressing-table, 
whence  she  took  a  pair  'of  scissors.  Then  the  little  maid  sat 
up  on  her  bed.  with  her  brown  hair  clustering  over  her  shoul- 
ders ;  and  Madame  took  a  lock  of  it,  and  cut  a  thick  curl ;  and 
kissed  poor  little  Charlotte's  red  eyes  ;  and  laid  her  pale  cheek 
on  the  pillow,  and  carefull}^  covered  her ;  and  bade  her,  with 
many  tender  words,  to  go  to  sleep.  "  If  you  are  ver}-  good, 
and  will  go  to  sleep,  he  shall  have  it  in  half  an  hour,"  Madame 
said.  "  And  as  I  go  down  stairs,  I  will  tell  Fran^oise  to  have 
some  tea  ready  for  3'ou  when  you  ring."  And  this  promise, 
and  the  thought  of  what  Madame  was  going  to  do,  comforted 
Charlotte  in  her  misery.  And  with  man}"  fond,  fond  prayers 
for  Philip,  and  consoled  by  thinking,  "Now  she  must  have 
gone  the  greater  part  of  the  way  ;  now  she  must  be  with  him  ; 
now  he  knows  I  will  never,  never'  love  any  but  him,"  she  fell 
asleep  at  length  on  her  moistened  pillow :  and  was  smiling  in 
her  sleep,  and  I  dare  say  dreaming  of  Philip,  when  the  noise 
of  the  fall  of  a  piece  of  furniture  roused  her,  and  she  awoke 
out  of  her  dream  to  see  the  grim  old  mother,  in  her  white  night- 
cap and  white  dressing-gown,  standing  by  her  side. 

Nevermind.  "She  has  seen  him  now.  She  has  told  him 
now,"  was  the  child's  very  first  thought  as  her  e^es  fairly 
opened.  "  He  knows  that  I  never,  never  will  think  of  any  but 
him."  She  felt  as  if  she  was  actually  there  in  Philip's  room, 
speaking  herself  to  him  ;  murmuring  vows  which  her  fond  lips 
had  whispered  man}'  and  many  a  time  to  her  lover.  And  now 
he  knew  she  would  never  break  them,  she  was  consoled  and 
felt  more  courage. 

"  You  have  had  some  sleep,  Charlotte?"  asks  Mrs.  Baynes. 

"Yes,  I  have  been  asleep,  mamma."  As  she  speaks,  she 
feels  under  the  pillow  a  little  locket  containing  —  what?  I 
suppose  a  scrap  of  Mr.  PhiUp's  lank  hair. 

"  I  hope  you  are  in  a  less  wicked  frame  of  mind  than  when 
I  left  you  last  night,"  continues  the  matron. 

"Was  I  wicked  for  loving  Philip?  Then  I  am  wicked  still, 
mamma ! "  cries  the  child,  sitting  up  in  her  bed.  And  she 
clutches  that  little  lock  of  hair  which  nestles  under  her  pillow. 

"  What  nonsense,  child !  This  is  what  3'ou  get  out  of  your 
stupid  novels.  I  tell  you  he  does  not  think  about  you.  He  is 
quite  a  reckless,  careless  libertine." 

"Yes,  so  reckless  and  careless  that  we  owe  him  the  bread 
we  eat.     He  doesn't  think  of  me  !     Doesn't  he  ?    Ah  —  "    Here 

27 


18  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

she  paused  as  a  clock  in  a  neighboring  chamber  began  to  strike. 
'"'Now,"  she  thought,  "he  has  got  nn'  message!"  A  smile 
dawned  over  her  face.  She  sank  back  on  her  pillow,  turning 
her  head  from  her  mother.  She  kiss'ed  the  locket,  and  mur- 
mured :  "  Not  think  of  me  !  Don't  you,  don't  you,  mN^  dear  !  " 
She  did  not  heed  the  woman  by  her  side,  hear  her  voice,  or  for 
a  moment  seem  aware  of  her  presence.  Charlotte  was  away 
in  Philip's  room  ;  she  saw  him  talking  with  her  messenger ; 
heard  his  voice  so  deep  and  so  sweet ;  knew  that  the  promises 
he  had  spoken  he  never  would  break.  With  gleaming  eyes  and 
flushing  cheeks  she  looked  at  her  mother,  her  enem}-.  She  held 
her  talisman  locket  and  pressed  it  to  her  heart.  No,  she  would 
never  be  untrue  to  him  !  No,  he  would  never,  never  desert  her  ! 
And  as  Mrs.  Baj'nes  looked  at  the  honest  indignation  beaming 
in  the  child's  face,  she  read  Charlotte's  revolt,  defiance,  perhaps 
victory.  The  meek  child  who  never  before  had  questioned  an 
order,  or  formed  a  wish  which  she  would  not  sacrifice  at  her 
mother's  order,  was  now  in  arms  asserting  independence.  But 
I  should  think  mamma  is  not  going  to  give  up  the  command 
after  a  single  act  of  revolt ;  and  that  she  will  try  more  attempts 
than  one  to  cajole  or  coerce  her  rebel. 

Meanwhile  let  Fancy  leave  the  talisman  locket  nestling  on 
Charlotte's  little  heart  (in  which  soft  shelter  methinks  it  were 
pleasant  to  linger).  Let  her  wrap  a  shawl  round  her,  and  affix 
to  her  feet  a  pair  of  stout  goloshes  ;  let  her  walk  rapidly  through 
the  muddy  Champs  Elysees,  where,  in  this  inclement  season, 
only  a  few  policemen  and  artisans  are  to  be  found  moving. 
Let  her  pay  a  halfpenny  at  the  Pont  des  Invalides,  and  so 
march  stoutly  along  the  quad's,  by  the  Chamber  of  Deputies, 
where  as  yet  deputies  assemble  :  and  trudge  along  the  river 
side,  until  she  reaches  Seine  Street,  into  which,  as  you  all  know, 
the  Rue  Poussin  debouches.  This  was  the  road  brave  Madame 
Smolensk  took  on  a  gusty,  rainy  autumn  morning,  and  on  foot, 
for  five-france  pieces  were  scai-ce  with  the  good  woman.  Be- 
fore the  "  Hotel  Poussin"  (a/«,  qiCon  y  etait  bieu  a  vingt  ans !) 
is  a  little  painted  wicket  which  opens,  ringing,  and  then  there 
is  the  passage,  you  know,  with  the  stair  leading  to  the  upper 
regions,  to  Monsieur  Philippe's  room,  which  is  on  the  first  floor, 
as  is  that  of  Bouchard,  the  painter,  who  has  his  atelier  over  the 
way.  A  bad  painter  is  Bouchard,  but  a  worthy  friend,  a  cheery 
companion,  a  modest,  amiable  gentleman.  And  a  rare  good 
fellow  is  Laberge  of  the  second  floor,  the  poet  from  Carcassonne, 
who  pretends  to  be  studying  law,  but  whose  heart  is  with  the 
Muses,  and  whose  talk  is  of  Victor  Hugo  and  Alfred  de  Musset, 


ON  HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  19 

whose  verses  he  will  repeat  to  all  comers.  Near  Laberge  (I 
think  I  have  heard  Philip  say)  lived  Eseasse,  a  Southern  man 
too  —  a  capitalist  —  a  clerk  in  a  bank,  quoi !  —  whose  apart- 
ment was  decorated  sumptuouslj'  with  his  own  furniture,  who 
had  Spanish  wine  and  sausages  in  cupboards,  and  a  bag  of 
dollars  for  a  friend  in  need.  Is  Eseasse  alive  still?  Philip 
Firmin  wonders,  and  that  old  colonel,  who  lived  on  the  same 
floor,  and  who  had  been  a  prisoner  in  England?  W^hat  won- 
derful descriptions  that  Colonel  Dujarret  had  of  Ics  Meess  An- 
glaises  and  their  singularities  of  dress  and  behavior !  Though 
conquered  and  a  prisoner,  what  a  conqueror  and  enslaver  he 
was.  when  in  our  country !  You  see,  in  his  rough  way,  Philip 
used  to  imitate  these  people  to  his  friends,  and  we  almost 
fancied  we  could  see  the  hotel  before  us.  It  was  very  clean  ; 
it  was  very  cheap  ;  it  was  very  dark  ;  it  was  very  cheerful ;  — 
capital  coffee  and  bread-and-butter  for  breakfast  for  fifteen 
sous  ;  capital  bedroom  au  premier  for  thirt}'  francs  a  month  — 
dinner  if  you  would  for  I  forget  how  little,  and  a  merry  talk 
round  the  pipes  and  the  grog  afterwards  —  the  grog,  or  the 
modest  eau  sucree.  Here  Colonel  Dujarret  recorded  his  victories 
over  both  sexes.  Here  Colonel  Tymowski  sighed  over  his  en- 
slaved Poland.  Tymowski  was  the  second  who  was  to  act  for 
Philip,  in  case  the  Ringwood  Twysden  affair  should  have  come 
to  any  violent  conclusion.  Here  Laberge  bawled  poetry  to 
Philip,  who  no  doubt  in  his  turn  confided  to  the  young  French- 
man his  own  hopes  and  passion.  Deep  into  the  night  he  would 
sit  talking  of  his  love,  of  her  goodness,  of  her  ])eauty,  of  her 
innocence,  of  her  dreadful  mother,  of  her  good  old  father.  Que 
s(;ais-je .?  Have  we  not  said  that  when  this  man  had  anything 
on  his  mind,  straightway  he  bellowed  forth  his  opinions  to  the 
universe?  Philip,  awa}'  from  his  love,  would  roar  out  her 
praises  for  hours  and  hours  to  Laberge,  until  the  candles  l)nrned 
down,  until  the  hour  for  j-est  was  come  and  could  be  delayed 
no  longer.  Then  he  M^ould  hie  to  bed  with  a  prayer  for  licr ; 
and  the  very  instant  he  awoke  begin  to  think  of  her,  and  bles.s 
her,  and  thank  God  lor  her  love.  Poor  as  Mr.  Philip  was,  yet 
as  the  possessor  of  health,  content,  honor,  and  that  priceless 
pure  jewel  the  girl's  love,  I  think  we  will  not  pity  him  much  ; 
though,  on  the  night  when  he  received  his  dismissal  from  Mrs. 
Baynes,  he  must  have  passed  an  awful  time,  to  be  sure.  Toss, 
Philip,  on  3-our  bed  of  pain,  and  doubt,  and  fear.  Toll,  heavy 
hours,  from  night  till  dawn.  Ah  !  'twas ^ a  wear}-  night  through 
which  two  sad  young  hearts  heard  you  tolling. 

At  a  pretty  early  hour  the  various  occupants  of  the  crib  at 


20  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

the  Rue  Poussin  used  to  appear  in  the  cling}'  little  salle-a-man- 
ger,  and  partake  of  the.  breakfast  there  provided.  Monsieur 
Menou,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  shared  and  distributed  the  meal. 
Madame  Menou,  with  a  Madras  handkerchief  round  her  griz- 
zling head,  laid  down  the  smoking  coffee  on  the  shining  oil-cloth, 
whilst  each  guest  helped  himself  out  of  a  little  museum  of  nap- 
kins to  his  own  particular  towel.  The  room  was  small :  the 
breakfast  was  not  fine  :  the  guests  who  partook  of  it  were 
certainly  not  remarkable  for  the  luxury  of  clean  linen ;  but 
Philip  —  who  is  many  years  older  now  than  when  he  dwelt  in 
this  hotel,  and  is  not  pinched  for  money  at  all  you  will  be 
pleased  to  hear,  (and  between  ourselves  has  become  rather  a 
gourmand,)  — declares  he  was  a  very  happy  j'outh  at  this  hum- 
ble "  Hotel  Poussin,"  and  sighs  for  the  days  when  he  was  sigh- 
ing for  Miss  Charlotte. 

Well,  he  has  passed  a  dreadful  night  of  gloom  and  terror. 
I  doubt  that  he  has  bored  Laberge  very  much  with  his  tears 
and  despondency.  And  now  morning  has  come,  and,  as  he  is 
having  his  breakfast  with  one  or  more  of  the  before-named 
worthies,  the  little  boy-of- all- work  enters,  grinning,  his  plumet 
under  his  arm,  and  cries  "  Une  dame  pour  M.  Philippe  !  " 

"  Une  dame  !  "  says  the  French  colonel,  looking  up  from  his 
paper.     "  Allez,  mauvais  sujet !  " 

"Grand  Dieu !  what  has  happened?"  cries  Philip,  running 
forward,  as  he  recognizes  Madame's  tall  figure  in  the  passage. 
They  go  up  to  his  room,  I  suppose,  regardless  of  the  grins  and 
sneers  of  the  little  boy  with  the  plumet^  who  aids  the  maid-ser- 
vant to  make  the  beds  ;  and  who  thinks  Monsieur  Philippe  has 
a  Nery  elderlj*  acquaintance. 

Philip  closes  the  door  upon  his  visitor,  who  looks  at  him 
with  so  much  hope,  kindness,  confidence  in  her  eyes,  that  the 
poor  fellow  is  encouraged  almost  ere  she  begins  to  speak. 
"Yes,  you  have  reason;  I  come  from  the  little  person," 
Madame  Smolensk  said.  "  The  means  of  resisting  that  poor 
dear  angel!  She  has  passed  a  sad  night!  What?  You,  too, 
have  not  been  to  bed,  poor  young  man  ! "  Indeed  Philip  had 
only  thrown  himself  on  his  bed,  and  had  kicked  there,  and  had 
groaned  there,  and  had  tossed  there ;  and  had  tried  to  read, 
and,  I  dare  say,  remembered  afterwards,  with  a  strange  in- 
terest, the  book  he  read,  and  that  other  thought  which  was 
throbbing  in  his  brain  all  the  time  whilst  he  was  reading,  and 
whilst  the  wakeful  hours  went  wearily  tolling  b}^. 

"  No,  in  effect,"  says  poor  Philip,  rolling  a  dismal  cigarette  ; 
"  the  night  has  not  been  too  fine.     And  she  has  suffered  too? 


{ 


ox   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  21 

Heaven  bless  her ! "  And  then  Madame  Smolensk  told  how 
the  little  dear  angel  had  cried  all  the  night  long,  and  how  the 
Smolensk  had  not  succeeded  in  comforting  her,  until  she  prom- 
ised she  would  go  to  Philip,  and  tell  him  that  his  Charlotte 
would  be  his  for  ever  and  ever ;  that  she  never  could  think  of 
any  man  but  him  ;  that  he  was  the  best,  and  the  dearest,  and 
the  bravest,  and  the  truest  Philip,  and  that  she  did  not  believe 
one  word  of  those  wicked  stories  told  against  him  b}'  —  "  Hold, 
Monsieur  Philippe,  I  suppose  Madame  la  Generale  has  been 
talking  about  ycm,  and  loves  you  no  more,"  cried  Madame 
Smolensk.  "We  other  women  are  assassins  —  assassins,  see 
you !  But  Madame  la  Generale  went  too  far  with  the  little 
maid.  She  is  an  obedient  little  maid,  the  dear  Miss  !  — trem- 
bling before  her  mother,  and  always  read}'  to  yield  —  only  now 
her  spirit  is  roused ;  and  she  is  yours  and  yours  only.  The 
little  dear,  gentle  child  !  Ah,  how  pretty  she  was,  leaning  on 
my  shoulder.  I  held  her  there  —  3es,  there,  m^'  poor  gargon, 
and  I  cut  this  from  her  neck,  and  brought  it  to  thee.  Come, 
embrace  me.  "Weep  ;  that  does  good,  Philip.  I  love  thee  well. 
Go — and  thy  little  —  it  is  an  angel!"  And  so,  in  the  hour 
of  their  pain,  myriads  of  manly  hearts  have  found  woman's  love 
ready  to  soothe  their  anguish. 

Leaving  to  Philip  that  thick  curling  lock  of  brown  hair, 
(from  a  head  where  now,  mayhap,  there  is  a  line  or  two  of 
matron  silver,)  this  Samaritan  plods  her  way  back  to  her  own 
house,  where  her  own  cares  await  her.  But  though  the  way  is 
long,  Madame's  step  is  lighter  now,  as  she  thinks  how  Char- 
lotte at  the  journey's  end  is  waiting  for  news  of  Philip  ;  and  I 
suppose  there  are  more  kisses  and  embraces,  when  the  good 
soul  meets  with  the  little  suffering  girl,  and  tells  her  how  Phili[) 
will  remain  for  ever  true  and  faithful ;  and  how  true  love  must 
come  to  a  happy  ending  ;  and  how  she,  Smolensk,  will  do  all  in 
her  power  to  aid,  comfort,  and  console  her  3'oung  friends.  As 
for  the  writer  of  Mr.  Philip's  memoirs,  you  see  I  never  try  to 
make  any  concealments.  I  have  told  3'ou,  all  along,  that  Char- 
lotte and  Philip  are  married,  and  I  believe  the}'  are  happy. 
But  it  is  certain  that  they  suffered  dreadfull}'  at  this  time  of 
their  lives  ;  and  m}'  wife  sa3's  that  Charlotte,  if  she  alludes  to 
the  period  and  the  trial,  speaks  as  though  they  had  both  under- 
gone some  hideous  operation,  the  remembi-ance  of  which  for 
ever  causes  a  pang  to  the  memory.  So,  m}-  j'oung  lady,  will 
3'ou  have  your  trial  one  day,  to  be  borne,  pray  heaven,  with  a 
meek  spirit.  Ah,  how  surely  the  turn  comes  to  all  of  us ! 
Look  at  Madame  Smolensk  at  her  luncheon-table,   this  day 


22  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

after  her  visit  to  Philip  at  his  lodging,  after  comforting  little 
Charlotte  in  her  pain.  How  brisk  she  is  !  How  good-natured  ! 
How  she  smiles  !  How  she  speaks  to  all  her  company,  and 
carves  for  her  guests  !  You  do  not  suppose  slie  has  no  griefs 
and  cares  of  her  own  ?  You  know  better.  I  dare  say  she  is 
thinking  of  her  creditors  ;  of  her  poverty  ;  of  that  accepted  bill 
which  will  come  due  next  week,  and  so  forth.  The  KSamaritan 
who  rescues  30U,  most  likely,  has  been  robbed  and  has  bled  in  his 
daj-,  and  it  is  a  wounded  arm  that  bandages  yours  when  bleeding. 

If  Anatole,  the  boy  who  scoured  the  plain  at  the  "  Hotel 
Poussin,"  with  his  plumet  in  his  jacket-pocket,  and  his  slippers 
soled  with  scrubbing  brushes,  saw  the  embrace  between  Philip 
and  his  good  friend,  I  believe,  in  his  experience  at  that  hotel, 
he  never  witnessed  a  transaction  more  honorable,  generous,  and 
blameless.  Put  what  construction  you  will  on  the  business, 
Anatole,  you  little  imp  of  mischief!  your  mother  never  gave 
3'ou  a  kiss  more  tender  than  that  which  Madame  Smolensk 
bestowed  on  Philip  —  than  that  wliich  she  gave  Philip  —  than 
that  which  she  carried  back  from  liim  and  faithfull}'  placed  on 
poor  little  Charlotte's  pale  round  cheek.  The  world  is  full  of 
love  and  pit^',  I  say.  Had  there  been  less  suffering,  there 
would  have  been  less  kindness.  I,  for  one,  almost  wish  to  be 
ill  again,  so  that  the  friends  who  succored  me  might  once  more 
come  to  my  rescue. 

To  poor  little  wounded  Charlotte  in  her  bed,  our  friend  the 
mistress  of  the  boarding-house  brought  back  inexpressible  com- 
fort. Whatever  might  betide,  Philip  would  never  desert  her ! 
"  Think  3'ou  I  would  ever  have  gone  on  such  an  embassy  for  a 
French  girl,  or  interfered  between  her  and  her  parents?"  Ma- 
dame asked.  "Never,  never!  But  yoix  and  Monsieur  Phi- 
lippe are  already  betrothed  before  heaven ;  and  I  should 
despise  you,  Charlotte,  I  should  despise  him,  were  eitlier  to 
draw  back."  This  little  point  being  settled  in  Miss  Cliarlotte's 
mind,  I  can  fancy  she  is  immensely  soothed  and  comforted  ; 
that  hope  and  courage  settle  in  her  heart ;  that  the  color  comes 
back  to  her  3'oung  cheeks  ;  that  she  can  come  and  join  her 
family  as  she  did  ^-esterda}-.  "  I  told  3-ou  she  never  cared 
about  him,"  says  Mrs.  Baynes  to  her  husband.  "Faith,  no: 
she  can't  have  cared  for  him  much,"  sa3's  Ba3'nes,  with  some- 
thing of  a  sorrow  that  his  girl  should  be  so  light-minded.  But 
3'Ou  and  I,  who  have  been  behind  the  scenes,  who  have  peeped 
into  Philip's  bedroom  and  behind  poor  Charlotte's  modest  cur- 
tains, know  that  the  girl  had  revolted  fi'om  her  parents  ;  and  so 
children  will  if  the  authority  exercised  over  them  is  too  t3'ran- 


ON^   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  23 

aical  or  unjust.  Gentle  Charlotte,  who  scarce  ever  resisted, 
was  aroused  and  in  rebellion  :  honest  Charlotte,  who  used  to 
speak  all  her  thoughts,  now  hid  them,  and  deceived  father  and 
mother  ;  —  3'es,  deceived  :  —  what  a  confession  to  make  regard- 
'\a<y  a  young  lad3',  the  prima  donna  of  our  opera  !  Mrs.  Barnes 
is,  as  usual,  writing  her  length}'  scrawls  to  sister  MacWhirter 
at  Tours,  and  informs  the  Major's  lady  that  she  has  very  great 
satisfaction  in  at  last  being  able  to  announce  "that  that  most 
imprudent  and  in  all  respects  ineligible  engagement  between 
her  Charlotte  and  a  certain  young  man^  son  of  a  bankrupt  Lon- 
don physician,  is  come  to  an  end.  Mr.  F.'s  conduct  has  been 
so  wild,  so  gross,  so  disorderly  and  ungentlemanlike,  that  the 
General  (and  you  know,  Maria,  how  soft  and  sweet  a  tempered 
man  Baynes  is)  has  told  Mr.  Firmin  his  opinion  in  unmistaka- 
ble words,  and  forbidden  him  to  continue  his  visits.  After  see- 
ing him  every  day  for  six  months,  during  which  time  she  has 
accustomed  herself  to  his  peculiarities,  and  his  often  coarse  and 
odious  expressions  and  conduct,  no  wonder  the  separation  has 
been  a  shock  to  dear  Char,  though  I  believe  the  young  man 
feels  nothing  who  has  been  tlie  cause  of  all  this  grief.  That  he 
cares  but  little  for  her,  has  been  my  opinion  all  along,  though 
she,  artless  child,  gave  him  her  whole  affection.  He  has  been 
accustomed  to  throw  over  women  ;  and  the  brother  of  a  young 
lady  whom  Mr.  F.  had  courted  and  left  (and  who  has  made  a 
most  excellent  match  since),  showed  his  indignation  at  Mr.  F.'s 
(jonduct  at  the  Embassy  ball  the  other  night,  on  which  the 
young  man  took  advantage  of  his  greatly  superior  size  and 
strength  to  begin  a  vulgar  boxing-match,  in  which  both  parties 
were  severely  wounded.  Of  course  _you  saw  the  paragraph  in 
Galigaani  about  the  whole  affair.  I  sent  our  dresses,  but  it 
did  not  print  them,  though  our  names  appeared  as  amongst  the 
company.  An3-thing  more  singular  than  the  appearance  of 
Mr.  F.  you  cannot  well  imagine.  I  wore  m}'  garnets  ;  Char- 
lotte (who  attracted  universal  admiration)  was  in  &c.  &c.  Of 
course,  the  separation  has  occasioned  her  a  good  deal  of  pain  ; 
for  Mr.  F.  certainly  behaved  with  much  kindness  and  forbear- 
ance on  a  previous  occasion.  But  the  General  will  not  hear  of 
the  continuance  of  the  conhection.  He  sa3's  the  3'oung  man's 
conduct  has  been  too  gross  and  shameful ;  and  when  once 
roused,  3'ou  know,  I  might  as  well  attempt  to  chain  a  tiger 
as  Baynes.  Our  poor  Char  will  suffer  no  doubt  in  consequence 
of  Ihe  behavior  of  this  brute,  but  she  has  ever  been  an  obedient 
child,  who  knows  how  to  honor  her  father  and  mother.  She 
bears  up  wonderfulhj,  though,  of  course,  the  dear  child  suffers 


24  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

at  the  paiting.  I  think  if  she  were  to  go  to  you  and  Mac  Whirter 
at  Tours  for  a  month  or  two,  she  would  be  all  the  better  for 
change  of  air,  too,  dear  Mac.  Come  and  fetch  her,  and  we  will 
pa}'  the  dawk.  She  would  go  to  certain  poverty  and  wretched- 
ness did  she  marry  this  most  violent  and  disreputable  young 
man.     The  General  sends  regards  to  Mac.  and  I  am,"  &c. 

That  these  were  the  actual  words  of  Mrs.  Bayues's  letter  I 
cannot,  as  a  veracious  biographer,  take  upon  mjself  to  say. 
I  never  saw  the  document,  though  I  have  had  the  good  fortune 
to  peruse  others  from  the  same  hand.  Charlotte  saw  the  letter 
some  time  after,  upon  one  of  those  not  unfrequent  occasions, 
when  a  quarrel  occurred  between  the  two  sisters  —  Mrs.  Major 
and  Mrs.  General  —  and  Chai'lotte  mentioned  the  contents  of 
the  letter  to  a  friend  of  mine  who  has  talked  to  me  about  his 
affairs,  and  especiall}^  his  love-affairs,  for  many  and  many  a 
long  hour.  And  shrewd  old  woman  as  Mrs.  Baynes  may  be, 
you  may  see  how  utterly'  she  was  mistaken  in  fancying  that  her 
daughter's  obedience  was  still  secure.  The  little  maid  had  left 
father  and  mother,  at  first  with  their  eager  sanction  ;  her  love 
had  been  given  to  Firmin  ;  and  an  inmate  —  a  prisoner  if  you 
will  —  under  her  father's  roof,  her  heart  remained  with  Philip, 
however  time  or  distance  might  separate  them. 

And  now,  as  we  have  the  command  of  Philip's  desk,  and 
are  free  to  open  and  read  t%e  private  letters  which  relate  to  his 
historj',  I  take  leave  to  put  in  a  document  which  was  penned 
in  his  place  of  exile  by  kis  worthy  father,  upon  receiving  the 
news  of  the  quarrel  de.-imbed  in  the  last  chapter  of  these 
memoirs  :  — 

"  ASTOR  House,  New  York,  September  27. 

"Dear  Philip,  —  I  received  the  news  in  your  last  kind  and  affection- 
ate letter  with  not  unmingled  pleasure :  but  ah,  what  pleasure  in  life  does 
not  carry  its  ainari  aliquid  along  with  it!  That  you  are  hearty,  cheerful, 
and  industrious,  earning  a  small  competence,  I  am  pleased  indeed  to  think  : 
that  you  talk  about  being  married  to  a  penniless  girl  I  can't  say  gives  me 
a  very  sincere  pleasure.  With  your  good  looks,  good  manners,  attain- 
ments, you  might  have  lioped  for  a  better  matcli  than  a  half-pay  officer's 
daughter.  But  'lis  useless  sijeculating  on  what  might  have  been.  We  are 
puppets  in  tlie  hands  of  fate,  most  of  us.  We  are  carried  along  by  a  power 
stronger  than  ourselves.  It  has  driven  me,  at  sixty  years  of  age,  from 
competence,  general  respect,  high  position,  to  poverty  and  exile.  So  be  it ! 
laudo  manentem,  as  my  delightful  old  friend  and  philosopher  teaches  me  — 
si  celeres  quatit  penruis  —  you  know  the  rest.  Whatever  our  fortune  may 
be,  I  hope  that  my  Philip  and  his  father  will  bear  it  with  the  courage  of 
gentlemen. 

"  Our  papers  have  announced  the  death  of  your  poor  mother's  uncle. 
Lord  Ringwood,  and  I  had  a  fond  lingering  hope  that  he  might  have  left 
some  token  of  remembrance  to  his  brother's  grandson.     He  has  not.     You 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  25 

have  probam  pauperiem  sine  dote.  You  have  courage,  health,  strength,  and 
talent.  I  was  in  greater  straits  than  you  are  at  your  age.  My  father  was 
not  as  indulgent  as  yours,  I  hope  and  trust,  has  been.  From  debt  and  de- 
pendence I  worked  myself  up  to  a  proud  position  by  my  own  efforts.  That 
the  storm  overtook  me  and  engulfed  me  afterwards,  is  true.  But  I  am 
like  the  merchant  of  rny  favorite  poet :  I  still  hope  —  ay,  at  63 !  —  to  mend 
my  shattered  ships,  indocilis  pauperiem  pad.  I  still  hope  to  pay  back  to  my 
dear  boy  that  fortune  which  ought  to  have  been  his,  and  wliich  went  down 
in  my  own  shipwreck.     Something  tells  me  I  must  —  I  will ! 

"  I  agree  with  you  that  your  escape  from  Agnes  Twysden  has  been  a 
piece  of  f/oocl  fortune  for  you,  and  am  much  diverted  by  your  account  of  her 
diishij  innamorato!  Between  ourselves,  the  fondness  of  the  Twysdens  for 
money  amounted  to  meanness.  And  though  I  always  received  Twysden 
in  dear  Old  Parr  Street,  as  I  trust  a  gentleman  should,  his  company  was 
insufferably  tedious  to  me,  and  his  vulgar  loquacity  odious.  His  son  also 
was  little  to  my  taste.  Indeed  I  was  heartily  relieved  when  I  found  your 
connection  with  that  family  was  over,  knowing  their  rapacity  about 
money,  and  that  it  was  your  fortune,  not  you,  they  were  anxious  to  secure 
for  Agnes. 

"You  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  I  am  in  not  inconsiderable  practice 
already.  My  reputation  as  a  physician  had  preceded  me  to  this  country. 
My  work  on  Gout  was  favorably  noticed  here,  and  in  Philadelphia,  and  in 
Boston,  by  the  scientific  journals  of  those  great  cities  People  are  more 
generous  and  compassionate  towards  misfortune  here  than  in  our  cold- 
hearted  island.  I  could  mention  several  gentlemen  of  New  York  who  have 
suffered  shipwreck  like  myself,  and  are  now  prosperous  and  respected.  I 
had  the  good  fortune  to  be  of  considerable  professional  service  to  Colonel 
J.  B.  Fogle,  of  New  York,  on  our  voyage  out;  and  the  Colonel,  who  is  a 
leading  personage  here,  has  shown  himself  not  at  all  ungrateful.  Those 
who  fancy  that  at  New  York  people  cannot  appreciate  and  understand  the 
manners  of  a  gentleman,  are  not  a  little  mistaken ;  and  a  man  who,  like  my- 
self, has  lived  with  the  best  society  in  London,  has,  I  flatter  myself,  not 
lived  in  that  society  r/uite  in  vain.  The  Colonel  is  proprietor  and  editor 
of  one  of  the  most  brilliant  and  influential  journals  of  the  city.  _  You 
know  that  arms  and  the  toga  are  often  worn  here  by  the  same  individual, 
and  — 

"I  had  actually  written  thus  far  when  I  read  in  the  Colonel's  paper  — 
tlie  New  York  Emerald  —  an  account  of  your  battle  with  your  cousin  at  the 
Embassy  ball!  Oh,  you  pugnacious  Pliilip!  Well,  young  Twysden  was 
very  vulgar,  very  rude  and  overbearing,  and,  I  have  no  doubt,  deserved 
the  chastisement  you  gave  him.  By  the  way,  the  correspondent  of  the 
JCmirald  makes  some  droll  blunders  regarding  you  in  his  letter.  We  are 
all  fair  game  for  publicity  in  this  country,  where  the  press  is  free  with  a 
vemjeance  ;  and  your  private  affairs,  or  mine,  or  the  President's,  or  our 
gracious  Queen's,  for  the  matter  of  that,  are  discussed  with  a  freedom 
which  certainly  amounts  to  license.  The  Colonel's  lady  is  passing  the  winter 
in  Paris,  where  I  should  wish  you  to  pay  your  respects  to  her.  Her  husband 
ha^  been  most  kind  to  me.  I  am  told  that  Mrs.  F.  lives  in  the  very  choicest 
French  society,  and  the  friendship  of  this  family  may  be  useful  to  you  as 
to  your  affectionate  father,  G.  B.  F. 

"Address  as  usual,  until  you  hear  further  from  me,  as  Dr.  Brandon, 
New  York.  I  wonder  wliether  Lord  Estridge  has  asked  you  after  his  old 
college  friend  \  When  he  was  Headbury  and  at  Trinity,  he  and  a  certain 
pensioner  whom  men  used  to  nickname  Brummell  Firmin  were  said  to  be 


26  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

tlie  best  dressed  men  in  the  university.  Estridge  has  advanced  to  rank,  to 
honors !  You  nia^'  rely  on  it,  tliat  lie  will  have  one  of  the  verij  next  vacant 
garters.  What  a  different,  what  an  unfortunate  career,  has  been  his  quon- 
dam friend's!  —  an  exile,  an  inhabitant  of  a  small  room  in  a  great  hotel, 
where  I  sit  at  a  scrambling  public  table  with  all  sorts  of  coarse  people  ! 
'i'he  way  in  which  they  bolt  their  dinner,  often  with  a  knife,  sliocks  me. 
Your  remittance  was  most  welcome,  small  as  it  was.  It  shows  my  Philip 
lias  a  kind  lieart.  All !  why,  why  are  you  thinking  of  marriage,  who  are  so 
poor?  By  the  way,  your  encouraging  account  of  your  circumstances  has 
induced  me  to  draw  upon  you  for  100  dollars.  The  bill  will  go  to  Europe 
by  the  packet  which  carries  this  letter,  and  has  kindly  been  cashed  for  me 
by  my  friends,  Messrs.  Plaster  and  Shinman,  of  Wall  Street,  respected 
bankers  of  this  city.  Leave  your  card  with  Mrs.  Fogle.  Her  husband 
himself  may  be  useful  to  you  and  your  ever  attached  Father." 

"VVe  take  the  New  Torh  Emerald  at  "  Bays's,"  and  in  it  I 
had  read  a  veiy  amusing  account  of  our  friend  Philip,  in  an  in- 
genious correspondence  entitled  "Letters  from  an  Attache," 
which  appeared  in  that  journal.  I  even  copied  the  paragraph 
to  show  to  my  wife,  and  perhaps  to  forward  to  our  fi'iend. 

"  I  promise  you,"  wrote  the  attache,  "  the  .new  country  did 
not  disgrace  the  old  at  the  British  Embassy  ball  on  Queen  Vic's 
birthday.  Colonel  Z.  B.  Hoggins's  lad}',  of  Albany,  and  the 
peerless  bride  of  P21ijah  J.  Dibbs,  of  Twent\'-ninth  Street  in 
your  cit}',  were  the  observed  of  all  observers  for  splendor,  for 
elegance,  for  refined  native  beauty.  The  Royal  Dukes  danced 
with  nobody  else  ;  and  at  the  attention  of  one  of  the  Princes  to 
the  lovely  Miss  Dibbs,  I  observed  his  Royal  Duchess  looked  as 
black  as  thunder.  Supper  handsome.  Back  Delmonico  to  beat 
it.  Champagne  so-so.  B3'  the  way,  the  young  fellow  who  writes 
here  for  the  Pall  Mull  Gazette  got  too  much  of  the  champagne 
on  board  —  as  usual,  I  am  told.  The  Honorable  R.  Twysden, 
of  London,  was  rude  to  my  .young  chap's  partner,  or  winked  at 
him  offensively,  or  trod  on  his  toe,  or  I  don't  know  v.-hat  —  but 
young  F.  followed  him  into  the  garden  ;  hit  out  at  him  ;  sent 
liim  flying  like  a  spread  eagle  into  the  midst  of  an  illumination, 
and  left  him  there  sprawling.  Wild,  rampageous  fellow  this 
Aoung  F.  ;  has  already  spent  his  own  fortune,  and  ruined  his 
poor  old  father,  who  has  been  forced  to  cross  the  water.  Old 
Louis  Philippe  went  awa.y  early.  He  talked  long  with  our 
INIinister  about  his  travels  in  our  countiy.  I  w^as  standing  b}^ 
but  in  course  ain't  so  ill-bred  as  to  saj"  what  passed  between 
them." 

In  this  w\ay  history  is  written.  I  dare  say  about  others 
besides  Philip,  in  English  papers  as  well  as  American,  have 
fables  been  narrated. 


ON  HIS  WAY   THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  27 


CHAPTER  III. 

CONTAINS   A   TUG   OF   WAR. 

Who  was  the  first  to  spread  the  report  that  Philip  was  a 
prodigal,  and  had  ruined  his  poor  confiding  father?  I  thought 
I  knew  a  person  who  might  be  interested  in  getting  under  any 
shelter,  and  sacrificing  even  his  own  son  for  his  own  advantage. 
I  thought  I  knew  a  man  who  had  done  as  much  alread3',  and 
surely  might  do  so  again  ;  but  my  wife  flew  into  one  of  her 
tempests  of  indignation,  when  I  hinted  something  of  this, 
clutched  her  own  children  to  her  heart,  according  to  her  mater- 
nal wont,  asked  me  was  there  any  power  would  cause  me  to 
belie  them  ?  and  sternly  rebuked  me  for  daring  to  be  so  wicked, 
heartless,  and  cynical.  My  dear  creature,  wrath  is  no  answer. 
You  call  me  heartless  and  C3nic,  for  saying  men  are  false  and 
wicked.  Have  you  never  heard  to  what  lengths  some  bank- 
rupts will  go  ?  To  appease  the  wolves  who  chase  them  in  the 
winter  forest,  have  you  not  read  how  some  travellers  will  cast 
all  their  provisions  out  of  the  sledge?  then,  when  all  the  provi- 
sions are  gone,  don't  you  know  that  they  will  fling  out  perhaps 
the  sister,  perhaps  the  mother,  perhaps  the  baby,  the  little  dear 
tender  innocent?  Don't  you  see  him  tumbling  among  the  howl- 
ing pack,  and  the  wolves  gnashing,  gnawing,  crashing,  gobbling 
him  up  in  the  snow?  Oh,  horror — horror!  M3'  wife  draws 
all  the  3'oung  ones  to  her  breast  as  I  utter  these  fiendish  re- 
marks. -She  hugs  them  in  her  embrace,  and  says,  "  For  shame  !  " 
and  that  I  am  a  monster,  and  so  on.  Go  to  !  Go  down  on 
your  knees,  woman,  and  acknowledge  the  sinfulness  of  our  hu- 
mankind. How  long  had  our  race  existed  ere  murder  and 
violence  began?  and  how  old  was  the  world  ere  brother  slew 
brother? 

Well,  my  wife  and  I  came  to  a  compromise.  I  might  have 
my  opinion,  but  was  there  an}'  need  to  counnunicate  it  to  poor 
Phihp?  No,  surely.  So  I  never  sent  him  the  extract  from 
the  New  York  Emerald;  though,  of  course,  some  other  good- 
natured  friend  did,  and  I  don't  think  my  magnanimous  friend 
cared  much.  As  for  supposing  that  his  own  father,  to  cover 
his  own  character,  would  lie  away  his  son's  —  such  a  piece  of 
artifice  was  quite  beyond  Philip's  comprehension,  who  has  been 
all  his  life  slow  in  appreciating  roguery,  or  recognizing  that 


28  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

there  is  meanness  and  double-dealing  in  the  world.  When  he 
once  comes  to  understand  the  fact ;  when  he  once  comprehends 
that  Tartuffe  is  a  humbug  and  swelling  Bufo  is  a  toady  ;  then 
m}'  friend  becomes  as  absurdly  indignant  and  mistrustful  as  be- 
fore he  was  admiring  and  confiding.  Ah,  Philip  !  Tartuffe  has 
a  number  of  good,  respectable  qualities  ;  and  Bufo,  though  an 
underground  odious  animal,  may  have  a  precious  jewel  in  his 
head.  'Tis  3'ou  are  cynical.  /  see  the  good  qualities  in  these 
I'ascals  whom  you  spurn.  I  see.  I  shrug  my  shoulders.  I 
smile  :  and  you  call  me  cjniic. 

It  was  long  before  Philip  could  comprehend  why  Charlotte's 
mother  turned  upon  him,  and  tried  to  force  her  daughter  to 
forsake  him.  "I  have  offended  the  old  woman  in  a  hundred 
ways,"  he  would  sa3\  "My  tobacco  annoys  her;  my  old 
clothes  offend  her ;  the  ver^^  English  I  speak  is  often  Greek  to 
her,  and  she  can  no  more  construe  m}'  sentences  than  I  can 
the  Ilindostanee  jargon  she  talks  to  her  husband  at  dinner." 
"  My  dear  fellow,  if  j'ou  had  ten  thousand  a  year  she  would  try 
and  construe  your  sentences,  or  accept  them  even  if  not  under- 
stood," I  would  reply.  And  some  men,  whom  you  and  I  know 
to  be  mean,  and  to  be  false,  and  to  be  flatterers  and  parasites, 
and  to  be  inexorabl}'  hard  and  cruel  in  their  own  private  circles, 
will  surely  pull  a  long  face  to-morrow,  and  say,  "  Oh  !  the  man's 
so  cynical." 

I  acquit  Baynes  of  what  ensued.  I  hold  Mrs.  B.  to  have 
been  the  criminal  —  the  stupid  criminal.  The  husband,  like 
man}^  other  men  extremely  brave  in  active  life,  was  at  home 
timid  and  irresolute.  Of  two  heads  that  lie  side  by  side  on  the 
same  pillow  for  thirty  3'ears,  one  must  contain  the  stronger 
power,  the  more  enduring  resolution.  Baynes,  away  from  his 
wife,  was  shrewd,  courageous,  ga}^  at  times  ;  when  with  her  he 
was  fascinated,  torpid  under  the  power  of  this  baleful  superior 
creature.  "  Ah,  when  we  were  subs  together  in  camp  in  1803, 
what  a  lively  fellow  Charley  Baynes  was ! "  his  comrade, 
Colonel  Bunch  would  say.  "That  was  before  he  ever  saw 
his  wife's  yellow  face ;  and  what  a  slave  she  has  made  of 
him  !  " 

After  that  fatal  conversation  which  ensued  on  the  day  suc- 
ceeding the  ball,  Philip  did  not  come  to  dinner  at  Madame's 
according  to  his  custom.  Mrs.  Baynes  told  no  family  stories, 
and  Colonel  Bunch,  who  had  no  special  liking  for  the  young 
gentleman,  did  not  trouble  himself  to  make  any  inquiries  about 
him.  One,  two,  three  days  passed,  and  no  Philip.  At  last 
the  Colonel  sa^'s  to  the  General,  with  a  sly  look  at  Charlotte, 


1 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  29 

"  Baj'iies,  where  is  our  young  friend  with  the  moustache?  We 
have  not  seen  him  tliese  three  days."  And  he  gives  an  arch 
look  at  poor  Charlotte.  A  burning  blush  flamed  up  in  little 
Charlotte's  pale  face,  as  she  looked  at  her  parents  and  then  at 
their  old  friend.  "Mr.  Firmin  does  not  come,  because  papa 
and  mamma  have  forbidden  him,"  says  Charlotte.  "  I  suppose 
he  only  comes  where  he  is  welcome."  And,  having  made  this 
audacious  speech,  I  suppose  the  little  maid  tossed  her  little  head 
up  ;  and  wondered,  in  the  silence  which  ensued,  whether  all  the 
company  could  hear  her  heart  thumping. 

Madame,  from  her  central  place,  where  she  is  carving,  sees, 
from  the  looks  of  her  guests,  the  indignant  flushes  on  Char- 
lotte's face,  the  confusion  on  her  father's,  the  wrath  on  Mrs. 
Baynes's,  that  some  dreadful  words  are  passing ;  and  in  vain 
endeavors  to  turn  the  angry  current  of  talk.  "  Un  petit  canard 
delicieux,  goutez-en,  madame ! "  she  cries.  Honest  Colonel 
Bunch  sees  the  little  maid  with  eyes  flashing  with  anger,  and 
trembling  in  every  limb.  The  offered  duck  having  failed  to 
create  a  diversion,  he,  too,  tries  a  feeble  commonplace.  "A 
little  difference,  my  dear,"  he  says,  in  an  under  voice.  "There 
will  be  such  in  the  best-regulated  families.  Canard  sauvage 
tres  bong,  madame,  avec  — "  but  he  is  allowed  to  speak  no 
more,  for  — 

"  What  would  you  do,  Colonel  Bunch,"  little  Charlotte 
breaks  out  with  her  poor  little  ringing,  trembling  voice  — ' '  that 
is,  if  3'ou  were  a  young  man,  if  another  young  man  struck  you 
and  insulted  .you?"  I  saj'  she  utters  this  in  such  a  clear  voice, 
that  FrauQoise,  the  femme-de-chambre^  that  Auguste,  the  foot- 
man, that  all  the  guests  hear,  that  all  the  knives  and  forks  stop 
their  clatter. 

"Faith,  m}''  dear,  I'd  knock  him  down  if  I  could,"  says 
Bunch  ;  and  he  catches  hold  of  the  little  maid's  sleeve,  and 
would  stop  her  speaking  if  he  could. 

"  And  that  is  what  Philip  did,"  cries  Charlotte  aloud  ;  "and 
mamma  has  turned  him  out  of  the  house  —  3'es,  out  of  the  house, 
for  acting  like  a  man  of  honor  !  " 

"Go  to  your  room  this  instant,  Miss!"  shrieks  mamma. 
As  for  old  Baynes,  his  stained  old  uniform  is  not  more  dingy- 
red  than  his  wrinkled  face  and  his  throbbing  temples.  lie 
blushes  under  his  wig,  no  doubt,  could  we  see  beneath  that 
ancient  artifice. 

"  What  is  it?  madame  30ur  mother  dismisses  3'Ou  of  m3' 
table?  I  will  come  with  3-ou,  m3^  dear  Miss  Charlotte  !"  sa3^s 
Madame,  with  much    dignit3'.      "Serve    the    sugared    plate, 


30  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

Auguste  !  M}'  ladies,  3'ou  will  excuse  me  !  I  go  to  attend 
the  dear  miss,  who  seems  to  be  ill."  And  she  rises  up,  and 
she  follows  poor  little  blushing,  burning,  weeping  Charlotte  : 
and  again,  I  have  no  doubt,  takes  her  in  her  arms,  and  kisses, 
and  cheers,  and  caresses  her  —  at  the  threshold  of  the  door  — 
there  by  the  staircase,  among  the  cold  dishes  of  the  dinner, 
where  Moira  and  Macgrigor  had  one  moment  before  been  ma- 
rauding. 

"  Courage,  ma  fille,  courage,  mon  enfant!  Tenez  !  Behold 
something  to  console  thee  !  "  and  Madame  takes  out  of  her 
pocket  a  little  letter,  and  gives  it  to  the  girl,  who  at  sight  of  it 
kisses  the  superscription,  and  then,  in  an  anguish  of  love,  and 
joy,  and  grief,  falls  on  the  neck  of  the  kind  woman,  who  con- 
soles her  in  her  misery.  Whose  writing  is  it  Charlotte  kisses? 
Can  you  guess  bj'  any  means?  Upon  my  word,  Madame  Smo- 
lensk, I  never  recommend  ladies  to  take  daughters  to  your 
boarding-house.  And  I  like  you  so  much,  I  woukl  not  tell  of 
you,  but  you  know  the  house  is  shut  up  this  many  a  long  da^^. 
Oh !  the  years  slip  away  fugacious  ;  and  the  grass  lias  grown 
over  graves  ;  and  many  and  manj-  joys  and  sorrows  have  been 
born  and  have  died  since  then  for  Charlotte  and  Philip  :  but 
that  grief  aches  still  in  their  bosoms  at  times  ;  and  that  sorrow 
throbs  at  Charlotte's  heart  again  whenever  she  looks  at  a  little 
yellow  letter  in  hei*  trinket-box  :  and  she  says  to  her  children, 
"Papa  wrote  that  to  me  before  we  were  married,  my  dears." 
There  are  scarcely  half  a  dozen  words  in  the  little  letter,  I  be- 
lieve ;  and  two  of  them  are  "  for  ever." 

I  could  draw  a  ground-plan  of  Madame's  house  in  the  Champs 
Elysees  if  I  liked,  for  has  not  Philip  shown  me  the  place  and 
described  it  to  me  many  times?  In  front,  and  facing  the  road 
and  garden,  were  Madame's  room  and  the  salon  ;  to  the  back 
was  the  salle-a-manger ;  and  a  stair  ran  up  the  house  (where 
the  dishes  used  to  be  laid  during  dinner-time,  and  where  Moira 
and  Macgrigor  fingered  the  meats  and  puddings).  Mrs.  Gen- 
eral Baynes's  rooms  were  on  the  first  floor,  looking  on  the 
Champs  Elysees,  and  into  the  garden-court  of  the  house  below. 
And  on  this  da}',  as  the  dinner  was  necessarily  short  (owing  to 
unhappy  circumstances),  and  the  gentlemen  were  left  alone 
glumly  drinking  their  wine  or  grog,  and  Mrs.  Baynes  had  gone 
up  stairs  to  her  own  apartment,  had  slapped  her  bo3'S  and  was 
looking  out  of  window  —  was  it  not  provoking  that  of  all  days 
in  the  world  3'oung  Hely  should  ride  up  to  the  house  on  his 
capering  mare,  with  his  flower  in  his  button-hole,  with  his  little 
varnished  toe-tips  just  touching  his  stirrups,  and  after  perform- 


COMFOKT    IN    GkIEF. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.      31 

ing  various  caracolades  and  gambadoes  in  the  garden,  kiss  his 
3'ellow-kidded  hand  to  Mrs.  General  Baynes  at  the  window, 
hope  Miss  Baynes  was  quite  well,  and  ask  if  lie  might  come  in 
and  take  a  cup  of  tea?  Charlotte,  lying  on  Madame's  bed  in 
the  ground-floor  room,  heard  Mr.  Ilely's  sweet  voice  asking 
after  her  health,  and  the  crunching  of  his  horse's  hoofs  on  the 
gravel,  and  she  could  even  catch  glimpses  of  that  little  form  as 
the  horse  capered  about  in  the  court,  though  of  course  he  could 
not  see  her  where  she  was  lying  on  the  bed  with  her  letter  in 
her  hand.  Mrs.  Baynes  at  her  window  had  to  wag  her  withered 
head  from  the  casement,  to  groan  out,  "  My  daughter  is  lying 
down,  and  has  a  bad  headache,  I  am  sorrv  to  say,"  and  then 
she  must  have  had  the  mortification  to  see  Ileh'  caper  otf,  after 
waving  her  ii  genteel  adieu.  The  ladies  in  the  front  salon,  who 
assembled  after  dinner,  witnessed  the  transaction,  and  Mrs. 
Bunch,  I  dare  say,  had  a  grim  pleasure  at  seeing  Eliza  Baynes's 
young  sprig  of  fashion,  of  whom  Eliza  was  for  ever  bragging, 
come  at  last,  and  obliged  to  ride  away,  not  bootless,  certain!}", 
for  where  were  feet  more  beautifully  chausses  ?  but  after  a  boot- 
less errand. 

Meanwhile  the  gentlemen  sat  awhile  in  the  dining-room,  after 
tlie  British  custom  which  such  veterans  like  too  well  to  give  up. 
Other  two  gentlemen  boarders  went  away,  rather  alarmed  by 
that  storm  and  outbreak  in  which  Charlotte  had  quitted  the 
dinner-table,  and  left  the  old  soldiers  together,  to  enjo}^  accord- 
ing to  their  after-dinner  custom,  a  sober  glass  of  "  something 
hot,"  as  the  saying  is.  In  truth,  Madame's  wine  was  of  the 
poorest ;  but  wliat  better  could  3-ou  expect  for  the  money  ? 

Baynes  was  not  eager  to  be  alone  with  Bunch,  and  I  have 
no  doubt  began  to  blush  ngain  when  he  found  himself  tete-a-fefe 
with  his  old  friend.  But  what  was  to  be  done?  The  General 
did  not  dare  to  go  up  stairs  to  his  own  quarters,  where  poor 
Charlotte  was  probably  cr^'ing.  and  her  mother  in  one  of  her 
tantrums.  Then  in  the  salon  there  were  the  ladies  of  the  board- 
ing-house part}-,  and  there  Mrs.  Bunch  would  be  sure  to  be  at 
him.  Indeed,  since  the  Barneses  were  launched  in  the  great 
world,  Mrs.  Bunch  was  untiringly  sarcastic  in  her  remarks 
about  lords,  ladies,  attaches,  ambassadors,  and  fire  people  in 
general.  So  Baynes  sat  with  his  friend,  in  the  falling  evening, 
in  much  silence,  dipping  his  old  nose  in  the  l)randy-and-water. 

Little  square-faced,  red-faced,  whisker-dyed  Colonel  Bunch 
sat  opposite  his  old  companion,  regarding  him  not  without 
scorn.  Bunch  had  a  wife.  Bunch  had  feelings.  Do  you  sup- 
pose those  feelings  had  not  been  worked  upon  by  that  wife  in 


32  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

private  colloquies?  Do  3'ou  suppose  —  when  two  old  women 
have  lived  together  in  pretty  much  the  same  rank  of  life  —  if  one 
suddenly  gets  promotion,  is  carried  off  to  higher  spheres,  and 
talks  of  her  new  friends,  the  countesses,  duchesses,  ambassa- 
dresses, as  of  course  she  will — do  3'ou  suppose,  I  say,  that  the 
unsuccessful  woman  will  be  pleased  at  the  successful  woman's 
success?  Your  knowledge  of  30ur  own  heart,  my  dear  lad}', 
must  tell  you  the  truth  in  this  matter.  I  don't  want  you  to 
acknowledge  that  you  are  angry  because  your  sister  has  been 
staying  with  the  Duchess  of  Fitzbattleaxe,  but  3"ou  are,  you 
know.  You  have  made  sneering  remarks  to  your  husband  on 
the  subject,  and  such  remarks,  I  haA^e  no  doubt,  were  made  b}- 
Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch  to  her  husband,  regarding  her  poor  friend 
Mrs.  General  Baynes. 

During  this  parenthesis  we  have  left  the  General  dipping 
his  nose  in  the  brand^-and-water.  He  can't  keep  it  there  for 
ever.  He  must  come  up  for  air  presently.  His  face  must  come 
out  of  the  drink,  and  sigh  over  the  table. 

"  What's  this  business,  Baynes  ?  "  says  the  Colonel.  "  What's 
the  matter  with  poor  Charley  ?  " 

"Family  affairs  —  differences  will  happen,"  says  the  Gen- 
eral. 

"  I  do  hope  and  trust  nothing  has  gone  wrong  with  her  and 
young  Firmin,  Baynes?" 

The  General  does  not  like  those  fixed  e3'es  staring  at  him 
under  those  bushy  ej^ebrows,  between  those  bushy,  blackened 
whiskers. 

"  Well,  then,  yes.  Bunch,  something  has  gone  wrong ;  and 
given  me  and  —  a^id  Mrs.  Baynes  —  a  deuced  deal  of  pain  too. 
The  young  fellow  has  acted  like  a  blackguard,  brawling  and 
fighting  at  an  ambassador's  ball,  bringing  us  all  to  ridicule. 
He's  not  a  gentleman  ;  that's  the  long  and  short  of  it,  Bunch  ; 
and  so  let's  change  the  subject." 

"  Why,  consider  the  provocation  he  had  !  "  cries  the  other, 
disregarding  entirely'  his  friend's  prayer.  "  I  heard  them  talk- 
ing about  the  business  at  Gali'gnani's  this  ver}*  day.  A  fellow 
swears  at  Firmin  ;  runs  at  him  ;  brags  that  he  has  pitched  him 
over  ;  and  is  knocked  down  for  his  pains.  By  George  !  I  think 
Firmin  was  quite  right.  Were  an}'  man  to  do  as  much  to  me 
or  you,  what  should  we  do,  even  at  our  age?" 

"  We  are  military  men.  I  said  I  didn't  wish  to  talk  about 
the  subject.  Bunch,"  says  the  General  in  rather  a  lofty  manner. 

' '  You  mean  that  Tom  Bunch  has  no  need  to  put  his  oar  in  ?  " 

"Precisely  so,"  saj's  the  other,  curtly. 


ON  HIS  WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  33 

"  Mum's  the  word  !  Let  us  talk  about  the  dukes  and  duch- 
esses at  the  ball.  That's  more  in  your  line  now,"  sajs  the 
Colonel,  with  rather  a  sneer. 

' '  What  do  you  mean  by  duchesses  and  dukes  ?  What  do 
3'ou  know  about  them,  or  what  the  deuce  do  I  care  ?  "  asks  the 
General. 

"  Oh,  they  are  tabooed  too  !  Hang  it,  there's  no  satisfying 
3'ou,"  growls  the  Colonel. 

' '  Look  here.  Bunch,"  the  General  broke  out ;  "  I  must  speak, 
since  you  won't  leave  me  alone.  I  am  unhappy.  You  can  see 
that  well  enough.  For  two  or  three  nights  past  I  have  had  no 
rest.  This  engagement  of  my  child  and  Mr,  Firmin  can't 
come  to  an}'  good.  You  see  what  he  is  —  an  overbearing,  ill- 
conditioned,  quarrelsome  fellow.  What  chance  has  Charley  of 
being  happ}'  with  such  a  fellow?  " 

"  I  hold  my  tongue,  Baynes.  You  told  me  not  to  put  my 
oar  in,"  growls  the  Colonel. 

"  Oh,  if  that's  the  way  yon  take  it.  Bunch,  of  oourse  there's 
no  need  for  me  to  go  on  any  more,"  cries  General  Baynes. 
"If  an  old  friend  won't  give  an  old  friend  advice,  b}'  George, 
or  help  him  in  a  strait,  or  say  a  kind  word  when  he's  unhappy, 
I  have  done.  I  have  known  j-ou  for  forty  years,  and  I  am  mis- 
taken in  3'ou  —  that's  all." 

"  There's  no  contenting  3-ou.  You  say,  '  Hold  3'our  tongue,* 
and  I  shut  my  mouth.  I  hold  m}'  tongue,  and  you  saj-,  '  Why 
don't  30U  speak?'  Why  don't  I?  Because  you  won't  like 
what  I  say,  Charles  Baynes :  and  so  what's  the  good  of  more 
talking?" 

"  Confound  it !  "  cries  Baynes,  with  a  thump  of  his  glass  on 
the  table,  "  but  what  do  j'ou  say  ?  " 

"  I  sa}',  then,  as  you  will  have  it,"  cries  the  other,  clenching 
his  fists  in  his  pockets,  —  "I  sa}'  j'ou  are  wanting  a  pretext 
for  breaking  off  this  match,  Barnes.  I  don't  say  it  is  a  good 
one,  mind  ;  but  3'our  word  is  passed,  and  3'our  honor  engaged 
to  a  young  fellow  to  whom  you  are  under  deep  obligation." 

' '  What  obligation  ?  Who  has  talked  to  3'ou  about  my 
private  affairs?"  cries  the  General,  reddening.  "  xias  Philip 
Firmin  been  bragging  about  his  —  ?  " 

"  You  have  3'ourself,  Ba3nes.  When  3-ou  arrived  here,  3'Ou 
told  me  over  and  over  again  what  the  young  fellow  had  done : 
and  you  certainly  thought  he  acted  like  a  gentleman  then.  If 
you  choose  to  break  3'our  word  to  him  now  —  " 

"  Ba^eak  my  word!  Great  powers,  do  30U  know  what  j'ou 
are  sa^'ing,  Bunch  ?  " 


34  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

"  Yes,  and  what  j^ou  are  doing,  Ba3nes." 

*■ '  Doing  ?  and  what  ?  " 

"  A  damned  shabby  action ;  that's  what  5''ou  are  doing,  if 
yon  want  to,  knovr.  Don't  tell  me.  Wh}-,  do  you  suppose 
Sarah  —  do  you  suppose  ever3'body  doesn't  see  what  you  are 
at?  You  think  j'ou  can  get  a  better  match  for  the  girl,  and 
you  and  Eliza  are  going  to  throw  the  3'oung  fellow  over :  and 
the  follow  who  held  his  hand,  and  might  have  ruined  3'ou,  if  he 
liked.     I  say  it's  a  cowardly-  action  !  " 

"  Colonel  Bunch,  do  3'ou  dare  to  use  such  a  word  to  me?  " 
calls  out  the  Genei-al,  starting  to  his  feet. 

' '  Dare  be  hanged  !  I  sa^'  it's  a  shabby  action  !  "  roars  the 
other,  rising  too. 

"  Hush  !  unless  you  wish  to  disturb  the  ladies  !  Of  course 
you  know  what  ^'our  expi'ession  means,  Colonel  Bunch?"  and 
the  General  drops  his  voice  and  sinks  back  to  his  chair. 

"  I  know  what  m^^  words  mean,  and  I  stick  to  'em,  Ba^-nes," 
growls  the  other;   "  which  is  more  than  j'ou  can  sa}'  of  yours." 

"  I  am  dee'd  if  anj-  man  alive  shall  use  this  language  to  me," 
says  the  General,  in  the  softest  whisper,  "  without  accounting 
to  me  for  it." 

"  Did  you  ever  find  me  backward,  Bajaies,  at  that  kind  of 
thing?"  growls  the  Colonel,  with  a  face  like  a  lobster,  and  e^-es 
starting  from  his  head. 

"  Very  good,  sir.  To-morrow,  at  your  earliest  convenience. 
I  shall  be  at  Galignani's  from  eleven  till  one.  With  a  friend, 
if  possible.  —  What  is  it,  m}'  love?  A  game  at  whist?  Well, 
no,  thank  you  ;  I  think  I  won't  pla}^  cards  to-night." 

It  was  Mrs.  Ba^^nes  who  entered  the  room  when  the  two 
gentlemen  were  quarrelling  ;  and  the  bloodthii'sty  hj'pocrites 
instantl}'  smoothed  their  ruffled  brows  and  smiled  on  her  with 
perfect  courtes3\ 

"  Whist  —  no  !  I  was  thinking  should  we  send  out  to  meet 
him?     He  has  never  been  in  Paris." 

"  Never  been  in  Paris?  "  said  the  General,  puzzled. 

"  He  will  be  here  to-night,  you  know.  Madame  has  a  room 
i'ead3'  for  him." 

"  The  ver3^  thing,  the  very  thing!  "  cries  General  Baynes, 
with  great  glee.  And  Mrs.  Ba3mes,  all  unsuspicious  of  the 
quarrel  between  the  old  friends,  proceeds  to  inform  Colonel 
Bunch  that  Major  MacWhirter  was  expected  that  evening. 
And  then  that  tough  old  Colonel  Bunch  knew  the  cause  of 
Ba3  nes's  delight.  A  second  was  provided  for  the  General  — 
the  very  thing  Baynes  wanted. 


ON   HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  35 

We  have  seen  how  Mrs.  Baynes,  after  taking  counsel  with 
her  General,  had  privately  sent  for  MacWhirter.  Her  plan 
was  that  Charlotte's  uncle  should  take  her  for  a  while  to  Tours, 
and  make  her  hear  reason.  Then  Charley's  foolisli  passion  for 
Philip  would  pass  away.  Then,  if  he  dared  to  follow  her  so 
far,  her  aunt  and  uncle,  two  dragons  of  virtue  and  circumspec- 
tion, would  watch  and  guard  her.  Then,  if  Mrs.  Hely  was 
still  of  the  same  mind,  she  and  her  son  might  easily'  take  the 
post  to  Tours,  where,  Philip  being  absent,  young  Wtilsingham 
might  plead  his  passion.  The  best  part  of  the  plan,  perhaps, 
was  the  separation  of  our  young  couple.  Charlotte  would 
recover.  Mrs.  Baynes  was  sure  of  that.  The  little  girl  had 
made  no  outbreak  until  that  sudden  insurrection  at  dinner 
which  we  have  witnessed  ;  and  her  mother,  who  had  domineered 
over  the  child  all  her  life,  thought  she  was  still  in  her  power. 
She  did  not  know  that  she  had  passed  the  bounds  of  authorit}^, 
and  that  with  her  behavior  to  Philip  her  child's  allegiance  had 
revolted. 

Bunch,  then,  from  Baynes's  look  and  expression,  perfectly 
understood  what  his  adversary  meant,  and  that  the  General's 
second  was  found.  His  own  he  had  in  his  eye  —  a  tough  little 
old  arm}'  surgeon  of  Peninsular  and  Indian  times,  who  lived 
hard  bv,  who  would  aid  as  second  and  doctor  too,  if  need  were 
—  and  so  kill  two  birds  with  one  stone,  as  they  say.  The 
Colonel  would  go  forth  that  very  instant  and  seek  for  Dr.  Mar- 
tin, and  be  hanged  to  Baynes,  and  a  plague  on  the  whole 
transaction  and  the  folly  of  two  old  friends  burning  powder  in 
such  a  quarrel.  But  he  knew  what  a  bloodthirsty  little  fellow 
that  henpecked,  silent  Baynes  was  when  foused  ;  and  as  for 
himself —  a  fellow  use  that  kind  of  language  to  me  ?  By  George, 
Tom  Bunch  was  not  going  to  balk  him  ! 

Whose  was  that  tall  figure  prowling  about  Madame's  house 
in  the  Champs  Elysees  when  Colonel  Bunch  issued  forth  in 
quest  of  his  friend ;  who  had  been  watched  by  the  police  and 
mistaken  for  a  suspicious  character ;  who  had  been  lookiug  up 
at  Madame's  windows  now  that  the  evening  shades  had  fallen  ? 
Oh,  you  goose  of  a  Philip  !  (for  of  course,  my  dears,  3'ou  guess 
that  the  spy  was  P.  F.,  Esq.)  3^ou  look  up  at  the  premier,  and 
there  is  the  Beloved  in  Madame's  room  on  the  ground-floor ;  — 
in  yonder  room,  where  a  lamp  is-  burning  and  casting  a  faint 
light  across  the  bars  of  the  jalousie.  If  Philip  knew  she  was 
there  he  would  be  transformed  into  a  clematis,  and  climb  up 
the  bars  of  the  window,  and  twine  round  them  all  night.  But 
you  see  he  thinks  she  is  on  the  first  floor ;  and  the  glances  of 


36  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

his  passionate  ejes  are  taking  aim  at  the  wrong  windows. 
And  now  Colonel  Bunch  comes  forth  in  his  stout  strutting  wa}-, 
in  his  little  military  cape  —  quick  march  —  and  Philip  is  startled 
like  a  guilt}'  thing  surprised,  and  dodges  behind  a  tree  in  the 
avenue. 

The  Colonel  departed  on  his  murderous  errand.  Philip  still 
continues  to  ogle  tlae  window  of  his  heart  (the  wrong  window), 
defiant  of  the  policeman,  who  tells  him  to  circuler.  He  has  not 
watched  liere  man}^  minutes  more,  ere  a  hackney-coach  drives  ■ 
up  with  portmanteaus  on  the  roof  and  a  lady  and  gentleman 
within. 

You  see  Mrs.  MacWhirter  thought  she,  as  well  as  her  hus- 
band, might  have  a  peep  at  Paris.  As  Mac's  coach-hire  was 
paid,  Mrs.  Mac  could  afford  a  little  outlay  of  mone}'.  And  if 
they  were  to  bring  Charlotte  back  —  Charlotte  in  grief  and  agi- 
tation, poor  child  — a  matron,  an  aunt,  would  be  a  much  fitter 
companion  for  her  than  a  major,  however  gentle.  So  the  pair 
of  MacWhirters  journe^'ed  from  Tours  —  a  long  journey  it  was 
before  railways  were  invented  —  and  after  four-and-twenty 
hours  of  squeeze  in  the  diligence,  presented  themselves  at 
niahtfall  at  Madame  Smolensk's. 

The  Baynes  boys  dashed  into  the  garden  at  the  sound  of 
wheels.  "Mamma  —  mamma!  it's  uncle  Mac!"  these  inno- 
cents cried,  as  they  ran  to  the  railings.  "  Uncle  Mac  I  what 
could  bring  him  ?  Oh  !  thej-  are  going  to  send  me  to  him  !  they 
are  going  to  sfend  me  to  him !  "  thought  Charlotte,  starting  on 
her  bed.  And  on  this  I  dare  say,  a  certain  locket  was  kissed 
more  vehementh"  than  ever. 

"  I  say,  Ma  !  "  cries  the  ingenuous  Moira,  jumping  back  to 
the  holise  ;  "  it's  uncle  Mac,  and  aunt  Mac,  too  !  " 

'■'■What?"  cries  mamma,  with  anything  but  pleasure  in  her 
voice  ;  and  then  turning  to  the  dining-room,  where  her  husband 
still  sat,  she  called  out,  "General!  here's  MacWhirter  and 
Emily  ! "  ■ 

Mrs.  Baynes  gave  her  sister  a  very  grim  kiss. 

"  Dearest  Eliza,  I  thought  it  was  such  a  good  opportunity 
of  coming,  and  that  I  might  be  so  useful,  you  know  !  "  pleads 

Emilv. 

"Thank  3-ou.  How  do  you  do,  MacWhirter?"  says  the 
grim  Generale. 

"  Glad  to  see  .you,  Baynes,  mj  boj' !  " 

"How  d'ye  do,  Emily?  Boys,  bring  3'our  uncle's  traps. 
Didn't  know  Emily  was  coming,  Mac.  Hope  there's  room  for 
her !  "  sighs  the  General,  coming  forth  from  his  parlor. 


What  Nathan  said  dnto  David. 


I 


9  5  fi  4  .  5'- 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  37 

The  major  was  struck  by  the  sad  looks  and  pallor  of  his 
brother-in-law.  "  B3'  George,  Baj-nes,  3'ou  look  as  yellow  as  a 
guinea.     How's  Tom  Bunch?" 

"  Come  into  this  room  along  with  me.  Have  some  brandy- 
and- water,  Mac.  Auguste  !  Odevie  O  sho  !  "  calls  the  General ; 
and  Auguste,  who  out  of  the  new-comers'  six  packages  has 
daintil}'  taken  one  very  small  mackintosh  cushion,  says  "  Com- 
ment? encore  du  grog.  General?  "  and,  shrugging  his  shoulders, 
disappears  to  procure  the  refreshment  at  his  leisure. 

The  sisters  disappear  to  their  embraces  ;  the  brothers-in-law 
retreat  to  the  salle-a-manger,  where  General  Ba3nes  has  been 
sitting,  gloomy  and  lonely,  for  half  an  hour  past,  thinking  of 
his  quarrel  with  his  old  comrade.  Bunch.  He  and  Bunch  have 
been  chums  for  more  than  forty  years.  They  have  been  in 
action  together,  and  honorably  mentioned  in  the  same  report. 
The}'  have  had  a  great  regard  for  each  other ;  and  each  knows 
the  other  is  an  obstinate  old  mule,  and,  in  a  quarrel,  will  die 
rather  than  give  way.  They  have  had  a  dispute  out  of  which 
there  is  only  one  issue.  Words  have  passed  which  no  man, 
however  old,  by  George !  can  brook  from  any  friend,  however 
intimate,  by  Jove !  No  wonder  Ba3'nes  is  grave.  His  fai:Qily 
is  large ;  his  means  are  small.  To-morrow  he  may  be  under 
fire  of  an  old  friend's  pistol.  In  such  an  extremity-  he  knows 
how  each  will  behave.  No  wonder,  I  say,  the  General  is 
solemn. 

"What's  in  the  wind  now,  Baynes?"  asks  the  Major, 
after  a  little  drink  and  a  long  silence.  "  How  is  poor  little 
Char?" 

"Infernally'  ill  —  I  mean  behaved  infernally  ill,"  says  the 
General,  biting  his  lips. 

' '  Bad  business  !  Bad  business  !  Poor  little  child  !  "  cries 
the  Major. 

"  Insubordinate  little  devil !  "  saj's  the  pale  General,  grind- 
ing his  teeth.     "  We'll  see  which  shall  be  master  !  "  ^ 

"  What !  you  have  had  words?" 

"  At  this  table,  this  very  da^^  She  sat  here  and  defied  her 
mother  and  me,  b}'  George  !  and  flung  out  of  the  room  like  a 
traged}'  queen.  She  must  be  tamed,  Mac,  or  my  name's  not 
Bajnes," 

MacWhii-ter  knew  his  relative  of  old,  and  that  this  quiet, 
submissive  man,  when  angr}-,  worked  up  to  a  white  heat  as  it 
were.  "Sad  affair;  hope  you'll  both  come  round,  Baynes," 
sighs  the  Major,  trying  bootless  commonplaces ;  and  seeing 
this  last  remark  had  no  effect,  he  bethought  him  of  recurring  to 


38  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

their  mutual  friend.  "  How's  Tom  Bunch?"  the  Major  asked, 
cheerily. 

At  this  question  Ba^-nes  grinned  in  such  a  ghastly  way  that 
MacWhirter  eyed  him  with  wonder.  "Colonel  Bunch  is  very 
well,"  the  General  said,  in  a  dismal  voice;  "  at  least,  he  was 
half  an  hour  ago.  He  was  sitting  there  ;  "  and  he  pointed  to  an 
empty  spoon  lying  in  an  empty  beaker,  whence  the  spirit  and 
water  had  departed. 

"  What  has  been  the  matter,  Baj'nes?"  asked  the  Major. 
"  Has  any  tiling  happened  between  3'ou  and  Tom?" 

"  I  mean  tluit,  half  an  hour  ago.  Colonel  Bunch  used  words 
to  me  wliicli  I'll  bear  from  no  man  alive  :  and  you  have  arrived 
just  in  the  nick  of  time,  MacWhirter,  to  take  my  message  to 
him.    Hush  !   here's  the  drink." 

"  Voici,  Messieurs  !  "  Auguste  at  length  has  brought  up  a 
second  supph'  of  brand3^-and-water.  The  veterans  mingled 
their  jorums  ;  and  whilst  his  brother-in-law  spoke,  the  alarmed 
MacWhirter  sipped  occasionally  intentusque  ora  tenebat. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

I  CHARGE  YOU,  DROP  YOUR  DAGGERS  ! 

General  Baynes  began  the  story  which  3'ou  and  I  have 
heard  at  length.  He  told  it  in  his  own  way.  He  grew  very 
angr}-  with  himself  whilst  defending  himself.  He  had  to  abuse 
Philip  very  fiercely,  in  order  to  excuse  his  own  act  of  treason. 
He  had  to  show  that  his  act  was  not  his  act ;  that,  after  all,  he 
never  had  promised  ;  and  that,  if  he  had  promised,  Philip's 
atrocious  conduct  ought  to  absoh^e  him  from  anj-  previous 
promise.  I  do  not  wonder  that  the  General  was  abusive,  and 
out  of  temper.  Such  a  crime  as  he  was  committing  can't  be 
performed  cheerfullj'  b}^  a  man  who  is  habitually  gentle,  gener- 
ous, and  honest.  I  do  not  sa^'  that  men  cannot  cheat,  cannot 
lie,  cannot  inflict  torture,  cannot  commit  rascally'  actions,  with- 
out in  the  least  losing  their  equanimity  ;  but  these  are  men 
habituall}'  false,  knavish,  and  cruel.  They  are  accustomed  to 
break  their  promises,  to  cheat  their  neighbors  in  bargains,  and 
what  not.  A  roguish  word  or  action  more  or  less  is  of  little 
matter  to  them:  their  remorse  only  awakens  after  detection, 
and  they  don't  begin  to  repent  till  they  come  sentenced  out  of 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  39 

the  dock.  But  here  was  an  ordinarily  just  man  withdrawing 
from  his  promise,  turning  his  back  on  his  benefactor,  and  justi- 
fying himself  to  himself  by  maligning  the  man  whom  he  injured. 
It  is  not  an  uncommon  event,  mj^  dearly  beloved  brethren  and 
esteemed  miserable  sister  sinners  ;  but  you  like  to  say  a  preacher 
is  "cynical"  who  admits  this  sad  truth  —  and,  perhaps,  don't 
care  to  hear  about  the  subject  on  more  than  one  day  in  the 
week. 

So,  in  order  to  make  out  some  sort  of  case  for  himself,  our 
poor  good  old  General  Bajnes  chose  to  think  and  declare  that 
Philip  was  so  violent,  ill-conditioned,  and  abandoned  a  fellow, 
that  no  faith  ought  to  be  kept  with  him ;  and  that  Colonel 
Bunch  had  behaved  with  such  brutal  insolence  that  Baynes  must 
call  him  to  account.  As  for  the  fact  that  there  was  another,  a 
richer,  and  a  much  more  eligible  suitor,  who  was  likely  to  offer 
for  his  daughter,  Baynes  did  not  happen  to  touch  on  this  point  at 
all ;  preferring  to  speak  of  Philip's  hopeless  povert^^,  disrepu- 
table conduct,  and  gross  and  cai'eless  behavior. 

Now  MacWhirter,  having,  I  suppose,  little  to  do  at  Tours, 
had  read  Mrs.  Bajnes's  letters  to  her  sister  Emily,  and  remem- 
bered them.  Indeed,  it  was  but  very  few  months  since  Eliza 
Barnes's  letters  had  been  full  of  praise  of  Philip,  of  his  love  for 
Charlotte,  and  of  his  noble  generosity  in  foregoing  the  great 
claim  which  he  had  upon  the  General,  his  mother's  careless 
trustee.  Philip  was  the  first  suitor  Charlotte  had  had  :  in  her 
first  glow  of  pleasure,  Charlotte's  mother  had  covered  yards  of 
paper  with  compliments,  interjections,  and  those  scratches  or 
dashes  under  her  words,  b}'  which  some  ladies  are  accustomed 
to  point  their  satire  or  emphasize  their  delight.  He  was  an 
admirable  .young  man  —  wild,  but  generous,  handsome,  noble! 
He  had  forgiven  his  father  thousands  and  thousands  of  pounds 
which  the  doctor  owed  him  —  all  his  mother's  fortune  ;  ai.d  he 
had  acted  inost  nobly  by  her  trustees  —  tliat  she  must  say,  though 
poor  dear  weak  Ba3'nes  was  one  of  them  !  Baynes  who  was  as 
simple  as  a  child.  Major  Mac  and  his  wife  had  agreed  that 
Philii)'s  forbearance  was  very  generous  and  kind,  but  after  all 
that  thei-e  was  no  special  cause  for  rapture  at  the  notion  of  their 
niece  marrying  a  struggling  j'oung  fellow  without  a  penny  in 
the  world ;  and  they  had  been  not  a  little  amused  with  the 
change  of  tone  in  p]liza's  later  letters,  when  she  began  to  go 
out  in  the  great  world,  and  to  look  coldly  upon  poor,  penniless 
Firmin,  her  hero  of  a  few  months  since.  Then  Emilj*  remem- 
bered how  Eliza  had  always  been  fond  of  great  people  ;  how 
her  head  was  turned  by  going  to  a  few  parties  at  Government 


40  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

House ;  now  absurdly  she  went  on  with  that  Httle  creature 
Fitzrickets  (because  he  was  an  Honorable,  forsooth,)  at  Dum- 
dum. Eliza  was  a  good  wife  to  Baynes  ;  a  good  mother  to  the 
children  ;  and  made  both  ends  of  a  narrow  income  meet  with 
surprising  dexterity ;  but  Emily  was  bound  to  say  of  her  sister 
Eliza,  that  a  more,  &c.  &c.  &c.  And  when  the  news  came  at 
length  that  Philip  was  to  be  thrown  OA'erboard,  Emily  clapped 
her  hands  together,  and  said  to  her  husband,  "Now,  Mac, 
didn't  I  always  tell  j'ou  so?  If  she  could  get  a  fashionable 
husband  for  Charlotte,  I  knew  my  sister  would  put  the  doctor's 
son  to  the  door  !  "  That  the  poor  child  would  suffer  consider- 
ably, her  aunt  was  assured.  Indeed,  before  her  own  union 
with  Mac,  Emil}^  had  undergone  heartbreakings  and  pangs  of 
separation  on  her  own  account.  The  poor  child  would  want 
comfort  and  companionship.  She  would  go  to  fetch  her  niece. 
And  though  the  Major  said,  "My  dear,  you  want  to  go  to 
Paris,  and  buy  a  new  bonnet,"  Mrs.  MacWhirter  spurned  the 
insinuation,  and  came  to  Paris  from  a  mere  sense  of  duty. 

So  Baynes  poured  out  his  history  of  wrongs  to  his  brother- 
in-law,  who  marvelled  to  hear  a  man,  ordinarily  chary  of  words 
and  cool  of  demeanor,  so  angr}-  and  so  voluble.  If  he  had  done 
a  bad  action,  at  least,  after  doing  it,  Baynes  had  the  grace  to 
be  very  much  out  of  humor.  If  I  ever,  for  m}'  part,  do  an}'- 
thing  wrong  in  my  family,  or  to  them,  I  accompany  that  action 
with  a  furious  rage  and  blustering  passion.  I  won't  have  wife 
or  children  question  it.  No  querulous  Nathan  of  a  family 
friend  (or  an  incommodious  conscience,  may  be,)  shall  come 
and  lecture  me  about  m^-  ill-doings.  No  —  no.  Out  of  the 
house  with  him !  Away,  3'ou  preaching  bugbear,  don't  try  to 
frighten  me!  Baynes,  I  suspect,  to  browbeat,  bull}',  and  out- 
talk  the  Nathan  pleading  in  his  heart  —  Baynes  will  outbawl 
that  prating  monitor,  and  thrust  that  inconvenient  preacher  out 
of  sight,  out  of  hearing,  drive  him  with  angry  words  from  the 
gate.  Ah  !  in  vain  we  expel  him  ;  and  bid  John  sa^',  not  at 
home !  There  he  is  when  we  wake,  sitting  at  our  bed-foot. 
We  throw  him  overboard  for  daring  to  put  an  oar  in  our  boat. 
Whose  ghastl}'  head  is  that  looking  up  from  the  water  and 
swimming  alongside  us,  row  we  never  so  swiftly?  Fire  at  him. 
Brain  him  with  an  oar,  one  -of  yon,  and  pull  on  !  Flash  goes 
the  pistol.  Surely  that  oar  has  stove  the  old  skull  in  ?  See  ! 
there  comes  the  awful  companion  popping  up  out  of  water 
again,  and  crj-ing,  "Remember,  remember,  I  am  here,  I  am 
here  !  "  Ba3'nes  had  thought  to  bully  away  one  monitor  by  the 
threat  of  a  pistol,  and  here  was  another  swimming  alongside  of 


ON  HIS   WAY   TPIROUGH   THE   WORLD.  41 

his  boat.  And  would  you  have  it  otherwise,  my  dear  reader, 
for  you,  forme?  That  3'ou  and  I  shall  commit  sins,  in  this, 
and  ensuing  3'ears,  is  certain  ;  but  I  hope  —  I  hope  the}^  won't 
be  past  praying  for.  Here  is  Baynes,  having  just  done  a  bad 
action,  in  a  dreadfully  wicked,  murderous,  and  dissatisfied  state 
of  mind.  His  chafing,  bleeding  temper  is  one  raw;  his  whole 
soul  one  rage,  and  wrath,  and  fever.  Charles  Baynes,  thou  old 
sinner,  I  pray  that  heaven  may  turn  thee  to  a  better  state  of 
mind.  I  will  kneel  down  by  thy  side,  scatter  ashes  on  my  own 
bald  pate,  and  we  w\\\  quaver  out  Peccavimus  together. 

"In  one  word,  the  young  man's  conduct  has  been  so  out- 
rageous and  disreputable  that  I  can't,  Mac,  as  a  father  of  a 
family,  consent  to  mj'  girl's  marrying  him.  Out  of  a  regard  for 
her  happiness,  it  is  my  dut}'  to  break  off  the  engagement,"  cries 
the  General,  finishing  the  story. 

' '  Has  he  formally  released  you  from  that  trust  business  ? " 
asked  the  Major. 

"  Good  heavens,  Mac  !  "  cries  the  General,  turning  very  red. 
"  You  know  I  am  as  innocent  of  all  wrong  towards  him  as  vou 
are ! »  «  j 

"Innocent  —  only  3'ou  did  not  look  to  your  trust  —  " 

"  I  think  ill  of  him,  sir.  I  think  he  is  a  wild,  reckless,  over- 
bearing young  fellow,"  calls  out  the  General,  very  quickly,  "who 
would  make  ni}'  child  miserable  ;  but  I  don't  think  he  is  such 
a  blackguard  as  to  come  down  on  a  retired  elderlj'  man  with  a 
poor  family  —  a  numerous  family ;  a  man  who  has  bled  and 
fought  for  his  sovereign  in  the  Peninsula,  and  in  India,  as  the 
'  Army  List'  will  show  you,  by  George  !  I  don't  think  Firmin 
will  be  such  a  scoundrel  as  to  come  down  on  me,  I  sa}^ ;  and  I 
must  say,  MacWhirter,  I  think  it  most  unhandsome  of  you  to 
allude  to  it  —  most  unhandsome,  by  George  !  " 

"  Why,  you  are  going  to  break  off  your  bargain  with  him  ; 
why  should  he  keep  his  compact  with  you?"  asks  the  gruff 
Major. 

"  Because,"  shouted  the  General,  "  it  would  be  a  sin  and  a 
shame  that  an  old  man  with  seven  children,  and  broken  health, 
who  has  served  in  every  place  —  yes,  in  the  West  and  East 
Indies,  by  George  !  —  in  Canada  —  in  the  Peninsula,  and  at 
New  Orleans  ;  —  because  he  has  been  deceived  and  humbugged 
by  a  miserable  scoundrel  of  a  doctor  into  signing  a  sham  paper, 
by  George  !  should  be  ruined,  and  his  poor  children  and  wife 
driven  to  beggary,  by  Jove  !  as  3-ou  seem  to  recommend  j'oung 
Firmin  to  do.  Jack  MacWhirter ;  and  I  tell  you  what.  Major 
MacWhirter,  I  take  it  dee'd  unfriendly  of  you  ;  and  I'll  trouble 


42  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

3'ou  not  to  put  your  oar  into  my  boat,  and  meddle  with  mi/  affairs, 
that's  aU,  and  I'll  know  who's  at  the  bottom  of  it,  by  Jove ! 
It's  the  gray  mare,  Mac  —  it's  your  better  half,  MacWhirter  — 
it's  that  confounded,  meddling,  sneaking,  backbiting,  domi- 
neering—  " 

"  What  next?"  roared  the  Major.  "  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  Do  j-ou 
think  I  don't  know,  Baynes,  who  has  put  you  on  doing  what 
I  have  no  hesitation  in  calling  a  most  sneaking  and  rascally 
action  — yes,  a  rascally  action,  by  George  !  I  am  not  going  to 
mince  matters  !  Don't  come  your  Major-General  or  3'our  Mrs. 
Major-General  over  me  !  It's  Eliza  that  has  set  3'ou  on.  And 
if  Tom  Bunch  has  been  telling  you  that  you  have  been  breaking 
from  your  word,  and  are  acting  shabbily,  Tom  is  right ;  and 
you  ma}'  get  somebody  else  to  go  out  with  3'ou,  General  Ba3'nes, 
for,  by  George,  I  won't !  " 

"  Have  30U  come  all  the  way  from  Tours,  Mac,  in  order  to 
insult  me  ?  "  asks  the  General. 

"  I  came  to  do  3'ou  a  friendly  turn  ;  to  take  charge  of  3'our 
poor  girl,  upon  whom  3'ou  are  being  very  hard,  Ba3'nes.  And 
this  is  the  reward  I  get !  Thank  3'ou.  No  more  grog  !  What 
I  have  had  is  rather  too  strong  for  me  alread3'."  And  the  Major 
looks  down  with  an  expression  of  scorn  at  the  emptied  beaker, 
the  idle  spoon  before  him. 

As  the  warriors  were  quarrelling  over  their  cups,  there  came 
to  them  a  noise  as  of  brawling  and  of  female  voices  without. 
"Mais,  madame ! "  pleads  Madame  Smolensk,  in  her  grave 
wa3".  "  Taisez-vons,  madame,  laissez-moi  tranquille,  s'il  vous 
plait !  "  exclaims  the  well-known  voice  of  Mrs.  General  Ba3'nes, 
which  I  own  was  never  ver3-  pleasant  to  me,  either  in  anger  or 
good-humor.  "  And  3'Our  Little,  —  who  tries  to  sleep  in  my 
chamber !  "  again  pleads  the  mistress  of  the  boarding-house. 
"Vous  n'avez  pas  droit  d'appeler  Mademoiselle  Baynes  petite  !  " 
calls  out  the  General's  lady.  And  Baynes,  who  was  fighting 
and  quarrelling  himself  just  now,  trembled  when  he  heard  her. 
His  angry  face  assumed  an  alarmed  expression.  He  looked  for 
means  of  escape.  He  appealed  for  protection  to  MacWhirter, 
whose  nose  he  had  been  read3'  to  pull  anon.  Samson  was  a 
might3^  man,  but  he  was  a  fool  in  the  hands  of  a  woman.  Her- 
cules was  a  brave  man  and  a  strong,  but  Omjihale  twisted  him 
round  her  spindle.  Even  so  Ba3'nes,  who  had  fought  in  India, 
Spain,  America,  trembled  before  the  partner  of  his  bed  and 
name. 

It  was  an  unlucky  afternoon.  Whilst  the  husbands  had  been 
quarrelling  in  the  dining-room  over  brandy-and- water,  the  wives, 


ON  HIS   WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  43 

the  sisters,  had  been  fighting  over  their  tea  in  the  salon.  I  don't 
know  what  the  other  boarders  were  about.  Phihp  never  told 
me.  Perhaps  they  had  left  the  room  to  give  the  sisters  a  free 
opportunity  for  embraces  and  confidential  communication.  Per- 
haps there  were  no  lady  boarders  left.  Howbeit,  Emily  and 
Eliza  had  tea  ;  and  before  that  refreshing  meal  was  concluded, 
those  dear  women  were  fighting  as  hard  as  their  husbands  in 
the  adjacent  chamber. 

Eliza,  in  the  first  place,  was  very  angry  at  Emily's  coming 
without  invitation.  Emily,  on  her  part,  was  angry  with  Eliza 
for  being  angry.  "  I  am  sure,  Eliza,"  said  the  spirited  and 
injured  MacW'hirter,  "  that  is  the  third  time  you  have  alluded 
to  it  since  we  have  been  here.  Had  you  and  all  your  family  come 
to  Tours,  Mac  and  I  would  have  made  them  welcome  —  children 
and  all ;  and  I  am  sure  yours  make  trouble  enough  in  a  house." 

"  A  private  house  is  not  like  a  boarding-house,  Emily. 
Here  Madame  makes  us  pay  frightfully  for  extras,"  remarks 
Mrs.  Baynes. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  came,  Eliza.  Let  us  say  no  more  about  it. 
I  can't  go  away  to-night,"  says  the  other. 

"  And  most  unkind  it  is  that  speech  to  make,  Emily.  Any 
more  tea  ?  " 

"  Most  unpleasant  to  have  to  make  that  speech,  Eliza.  To 
travel  a  whole  day  and  night  —  and  I  never  able  to  sleep  in  a 
diligence  —  to  hasten  to  my  sister  because  I  thought  she  was 
in  trouble,  because  I  thought  a  sister  might  comfort  her ;  and 
to  be  received  as  you're  —  as  you  —  oh,  oh,  oh  —  boh!  How 
stoopid  I  am  !  "  A  handkerchief  dries  the  tears  :  a  smelling- 
bottle  restores  a  little  composure.  "When  3'ou  came  to  us  at 
Dumdum,  with  two — o — o  children  in  the  hooping-cough,  I 
am  sure  Mac  and  I  gave  you  a  very  different  welcome." 

The  other  was  smitten  with  remorse-  She  remembered  her 
sister's  kindness  in  former  days.  "I  did  not  mean,  J.ster,  to 
give  you  pain,"  she  said.  "But  I  am  very  unhappy  myself, 
Emil}'.     My  child's  conduct  is  making  me  most  unhappy." 

"  And  very  good  reason  you  have  to  be  unhappy,  Eliza,  i£ 
woman  ever  had,"  sa3's  the  other. 

"  Oh,  indeed,  yes  !  "  gasps  the  General's  lady. 

"  If  any  woman  ought  to  feel  remorse,  Eliza  Baynes,  I  am 
sure  it's  3^ou.  Sleepless  nights  !  What  was  mine  in  the  dili- 
gence, compared  to  the  nights  you  must  have?  I  said  so  to 
myself.     '  1  am  wretched,'  I  said,  '  but  what  must  she  be?'" 

"  Of  course,  as  a  feeling  mother,  I  feel  that  poor  Charlotte 
is  unhappy,  m}-  dear." 


44  THE   ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

"  But  what  makes  her  so,  my  dear  ? "  cries  Mrs.  MacWhirter, 
who  presently  showed  that  she  was  mistress  of  the  whole  con- 
troversy. "No  wonder  Charlotte  is  unhappy,  dear  love! 
Can  a  girl  be  engaged  to  a  young  man,  a  most  interesting 
young  man,  a  clever,  accomplished,  highly  educated  young 
man  —  " 

"  What?"  cries  Mrs.  Baynes. 

"Haven't  I  your  letters?  I  have  them  all  in  my  desk. 
They  are  in  that  hall  now.  Didn't  you  tell  me  so  over  and 
over  again  ;  and  rave  about  him,  till  I  thought  you  were  in  love 
with  him  3'ourself  almost  ?  "  cries  Mrs.  Mac. 

"  A  most  indecent  observation  !  "  cries  out  Eliza  Baynes,  in 
her  deep,  awful  voicCo  "No  woman,  no  sister,  shall  say  that 
to  me  !  " 

"  Shall  I  go  and  get  the  letters?  It  used  to  be  '  Dear  Philip 
has  just  left  us.  Dear  Philip  has  been  more  than  a  son  to  me. 
He  is  our  preserver ! '  Didn't  you  write  all  that  to  me  over 
and  over  again?  And  because  you  have  found  a  richer  hus- 
band for  Charlotte,  you  are  going  to  turn  your  preserver  out  of 
doors  ! " 

"  Emily  MacWhirter,  am  I  to  sit  here  and  be  accused  of 
crimes,  uninvited,  mind  —  uninvited,  mind,  by  my  sister?  Is 
a  general  officer's  lady  to  be  treated  in  this  way  b}'  a  brevet- 
major's  wife?  Though  you  are  my  senior  in  age,  Emily,  I  am 
yours  in  rank.  Out  of  any  room  in  England,  but  this,  I  go 
before  you  !  And  if  you  have  come  uninvited  all  the  way -from 
Tours  to  insult  me  in  m}'  own  house  —  " 

"  House,  indeed  !  pretty  house  !  Everybody  else's  house  as 
well  as  youi's  !  " 

"  Such  as  it  is,  I  never  asked  3'ou  to  come  into  it,  Emily !  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  You  wish  me  to  go  out  in  the  night.  Mac  !  I 
say ! " 

Emily  !  "  cries  the  Generaless. 

Mac,  I  say !  "  screams  the  Majoress,  flinging  open  the 
door  of  the  salon,  "  my  sister  wishes  me  to  go.  Do  you  hear 
me?" 

"  Au  nom  de  Dieu,  madame,  pensez  k  cette  pauvre  petite, 
qui  souffre  a  cote,"  cries  the  mistress  of  the  house,  pointing  to 
her  own  adjoining  chamber,  in  which,  we  have  said,  our  poor 
little  Charlotte  was  lying. 

"  Nappley  pas  Madamaselle  Baynes  petite,  sivoplay ! " 
booms  out  Mrs.  Ba^^nes's  contralto. 

' '  MacWhirter,  I  say.  Major  MacWhirter !  "  cries  Emily, 
flinging  open  the  door  of  the  dining-room  where  the  two  geutle- 


ON  HIS  WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  45 

men  were  knocking  their  own  heads  together.  "  MacWhirter ! 
My  sister  chooses  to  insult  me,  and  say  that  a  brevet-major's 
wife  —  " 

"  By  George  !  are  you  fighting,  too?  "  asks  the  General. 

"  Baynes,  Emily  MacWhirter  has  insulted  me  !  "  cries  Mrs. 
'Baynes. 

"It  seems  to  have  been  a  settled  thing  beforehand,"  yells 
the  Genei'al.  "Major  MacWhirter  has  done  the  same  thing 
by  me  !  He  has  forgotten  that  he  is  a  gentleman,  and  that 
lam." 

' '  He  onl}'  insults  you  because  he  thinks  j-ou  are  his  relative, 
and  must  bear  everything  from  him,"  says  the  General's  wife. 

"  B}"  George  !  I  will  not  bear  everj-thing  from  him  !  "  shouts 
the  General.  The  two  gentlemen  and  their  two  wives  are 
squabbling  in  the  hall.  Madame  and  the  servants  are  peering 
up  from  the  kitchen-regions,  I  dare  sa}-  the  bo3-s  from  the 
topmost  banisters  are  sajing  to  each  other,  ' '  Row  between  Ma 
and  Aunt  Mac  !  "  I  dare  say  scared  little  Charlotte,  in  her 
temporary  apartment,  is,  for  a  while,  almost  forgetful  of  her 
own  grief;  and  wondering  what  quarrel  is  agitating  her  aunt 
and  mother,  her  father  and  uncle  ?  Place  the  remaining  male 
and  female  boarders  about  in  the  corridors  and  on  the  landings, 
in  various  attitudes  expressive  of  interest,  of  satiric  commen- 
tary, wrath  at  being  disturbed  by  unseemly  domestic  quarrel : 
—  "in  what  posture  you  will.  As  for  Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch,  she, 
poor  thing,  does  not  know  that  the  General  and  her  own  Colonel 
have  entered  on  a  mortal  quarrel.  She  imagines  the  dis- 
pute is  only  between  Mrs.  Baynes  and  her  sister  as  yet;  and 
she  has  known  this  pair  quarrelling  for  a  score  of  years  past. 
"  Toujours  comme  9a,  fighting  vous  savez,  et  puis  make 
it  up  again.  Qui,"  she  explains  to  a  French  friend  on  the 
landing. 

In  the  very' midst  of  this  storm  Colonel  Bunch  returns,  his 
friend  and  second.  Dr.  Martin,  on  his  arm.  He  does  not  know 
that  two  battles  have  been  fought  since  his  own  combat.  His, 
we  will  say,  was  Ligny.  Then  came  Quatre-Bras,  in  which 
Baynes  and  MacWhirter  were  engaged.  Then  came  the  general 
action  of  Waterloo.  And  here  enters  Colonel  Bunch,  quite 
unconscious  of  the  great  engagements  which  have  taken  place 
since  his  temporar}^  retreat  in  search  of  reinforcements. 

"  How  are  you,  MacWhirter?"  cries  the  Colonel  of  the  pur- 
ple whiskers.  "  My  friend.  Dr.  Martin  !  "  And  as  he  addresses 
htmself  to  the  General,  his  eyes  almost  start  out  of  his  head,  as 
if  they  would  shoot  themselves  into  the  breast  of  that  officer. 


46  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

"My  dear,  hush!  Emily  MacWhirter,  had  we  not  better 
defer  this  most  painful  dispute  ?  The  whole  house  is  listening 
to  us  !  "  whispers  the  General,  in  a  rapid  low  voice.  "  Doctor 
—  Colonel  Bunch  —  Major  MacWhirter,  had  we  not  better  go 
into  the  dining-room  ?  " 

The  General  and  the  Doctor  go  first,  Major  MacWhirter  and 
Colonel  Bun«h  pause  at  the  door.  Says  Bunch  to  MacWhirter  : 
"Major,  you  act  as  the  General's  friend  in  this  affair?  It's 
most  awkward,  but,  by  George  !  Ba^^nes  has  said  things  to  me 
that  I  won't  bear,  were  he  m}^  own  flesh  and  blood,  by  George  ! 
And  I  know  him  a  deuced  deal  too  well  to  think  he  will  ever 
apologize  ! " 

"  He  has  said  things  to  me,  Bunch,  that  I  won't  bear  from 
fifty  brother-in-laws,  by  George  !  "  growls  MacWhirter. 

"  What?     Don't  3'ou  bring  me  any  message  from  him?" 

"  I  tell  you,  Tom  Bunch,  I  want  to  send  a  message  to  him. 
Invite  me  to  his  house,  and  insult  me  and  Emily  when  we  come  ! 
By  George,  it  makes  m}'  blood  boil !  Insult  us  after  travelling 
twenty-four  hours  in  a  confounded  diligence,  and  say  we're  not 
invited  !     He  and  his  little  catamaran." 

"  Hush  !  "  interposed  Bunch. 

"I  say  catamaran,  sir!  don't  tell  me!  They  came  and 
sta^'ed  with  us  four  months  at  Dumdum  —  the  children  ill  with 
the  pip,  or  some  confounded  thing  —  went  to  Europe,  and  left 
me  to  pay  the  doctor's  bill ;  and  now,  by " 

Was  the  Major  going  to  invoke  George,  the  Cappadocian 
champion,  or  Olympian  Jove?  At  this  moment  a  door,  by 
which  they  stood,  opens.  You  may  remember  there  were  three 
doors,  all  on  that  landing;  if  you  doubt  me,  go  and  see  the 
house  (Avenue  de  Valniy,  Champs  Elj'sees,  Paris).  A  third 
door  opens,  and  a  young  lady  comes  out,  looking  very  pale  and 
sad,  and  her  hair  hanging  over  her  shoulders  ;  —  her  hair,  which 
hung  in  rich  clusters  generall}',  but  I  suppose  tears  have  put  it 
all  out  of  curl. 

"Is  it  30U,  uncle  Mac?  I  thought  I  knew  your  voice,  and 
I  heard  aunt  Emily's,"  says  the  little  person. 

"Yes,  it  is  I,  Charley,"  says  uncle  Mac.  And  he  looks 
into  the  round  face,  which  looks  so  wild  and  is  so  full  of  grief 
unutterable  that  uncle  Mac  is  quite  melted,  and  takes  the  child 
to  his  arms,  and  says,  "  What  is  it,  my  dear?"  And  he  quite 
forgets  that  he  proposes  to  blow  her  father's  brains  out  in  the 
morning.     "  How  hot  your  little  hands  are  !  " 

"  Uncle,  uncle  !  "  she  says,  in  a  swift  febrile  whisper,  "  3"0u're 
come  to  take  me  awa}*,  I  know.     I  heard  you  and  papa,  I  heard 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.     47 

mamma  and  aunt  Emily  speaking  quite  loud  !     But  if  I  go  — 
I'll  —  I'll  never  love  any  but  him  !  " 

"  But  whom,  dear  ?  " 

"ButPhihp,  uncle." 

"  B3' George,  Char,  no  more  you  shall !"  says  the  Major. 
And  herewith  the  poor  child,  who  had  been  sitting  up  on  her 
bed  whilst  this  quarrelling  of  sisters,  —  whilst  this  brawling  of 
majors,  generals,  colonels,  —  whilst  this  coming  of  hackney- 
coaches, —  whilst  this  arrival  and  departure  of  visitors  on 
horseback,  —  had  been  taking  place,  gave  a  fine  hysterical 
scream,  and  fell  into  her  uncle's  arms  laughing  and  crying 
wnldly. 

This  outcr}^,  of  course,  brought  the  gentlemen  from  their 
adjacent  room,  and  the  ladies  from  theirs. 

"What  are  you  making  a  fool  of  yourself  about?"  growls 
Mrs.  Baynes,  in  her  deepest  bark. 

"  By,  George,  Eliza,  you  are  too  bad  !  "  sa^^s  the  General, 
quite  white. 

"  Eliza,  3'ou  are  a  brute  !  "  cries  Mrs.  MacWhirter. 

"So  SHE  is!"  shrieks  Mrs.  Bunch  from  the  landing-place 
overhead,  where  other  ladj'-boarders  were  assembled  looking 
down  on  this  awful  famil}^  battle. 

Eliza  Baynes  knew  she  had  gone  too  far.  Poor  Charley  was 
scarce  conscious  by  this  time,  and  wildl}'  screaming,  "Never, 
never !"....  When,  as  I  live,  who  should  burst  into  the 
premises  but  a  young  man  with  fair  hair,  with  flaming  whiskers, 
with  flaming  eyes,  who  calls  out,  "What  is  it?  I  am  here, 
Charlotte,  Charlotte  ! " 

Who  is  that  3'oung  man?  We  had  a  glimpse  of  him,  prowl- 
ing about  the  Champs  Elysees  just  now,  and  dodging  behind  a 
tree  when  Colonel  Bunch  went  out  in  search  of  his  second. 
Then  the  young  man  saw  the  MacWhirter  hackney-coach  ap- 
proach the  house.  Then  he  waited  and  waited,  looking  to  that 
upper  window  behind  which  we  know  his  beloved  was  not  re- 
posing. Then  he  beheld  Bunch  and  Doctor  Martin  arrive. 
Then  he  passed  through  the  wicket  into  the  garden,  and  heard 
Mrs.  Mac  and  Mrs.  Baynes  fighting.  Then  there  came  from 
the  passage  —  where,  you  see,  this  battle  was  going  on  —  that 
ringing  dreadful  laugh  and  scream  of  poor  Charlotte ;  and 
Philip  Firmin  burst  like  a  bombshell  into  the  midst  of  the  hall 
where  the  Imttle  was  raging,  and  of  the  family  circle  who  were 
fighting  and  screaming. 

Here  is  a  picture  I  protest.  We  have  —  first,  the  boarders 
on  the  first  landing,  whither,  too,  the  Baynes  children  have 


48  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

crept  in  their  night-gowns.  Secondly,  we  have  Auguste,  Fran- 
9oise  the  cook,  and  the  assistant  coming  up  from  the  basement. 
And,  third,  we  have  Colonel  Bunch,  Doctor  Martin,  Major 
MacWhirter,  with  Charlotte  in  his  arms  ;  Madame,  General  B., 
Mrs.  Mac,  Mrs.  General  B.,  all  in  the  passage,  when  our  friend 
the  bombshell  bursts  in  amongst  them. 

"  What  is  it?  Charlotte,  I  am  here  !  "  cries  Philip,  with  his 
great  voice  ;  at  hearing  which,  little  Char  gives  one  final  scream, 
and,  at  the  next  moment,  she  has  fainted  quite  dead  —  but  this 
time  she  is  on  Phihp's  shoulder. 

"You  brute,  how  dare  you  do  this?"  asks  Mrs.  Baynes, 
glaring  at  the  young  man. 

"  It  is  you  who  have  done  it,  Eliza  !"  says  aunt  Emily. 

"  And  so  she  has,  Mrs.  MacWhirter !  "  calls  out  Mrs.  Colonel 
Bunch,  from  the  landing  above. 

And  Charles  Baynes  felt  he  had  acted  like  a  traitor,  and  hung 
down  his  head.  He  had  encouraged  his  daughter  to  give  her 
heai't  awa}^  and  she  had  obeyed  him.  When  he  saw  Philip  I 
think  he  was  glad :  so  was  the  Major,  though  Firmin,  to  be 
sure,  pushed  him  quite  roughly  up  against  the  wall. 

"  Is  this  vulgar  scandal  to  go  on  in  the  passage  before  the 
whole  house?"  gasped  Mrs.  Ba3'nes. 

"  Bunch  brought  me  here  to  prescribe  for  this  young  lady," 
says  little  Doctor  Martin,  in  a  very  courtly  way.  "  Madame, 
will  you  get  a  little  sal- volatile  from  Anjubeau's  in  the  Fau- 
bourg ;  and  let  her  be  kept  ver}'  quiet !  " 

"Come,  Monsieur  Philippe,  it  is  enough  like  that!"  cries 
Madame,  who  can't  repress  a  smile.  "  Come  to  j'our  chamber, 
dear  little !  " 

"  Madame  !  "  cries  Mrs.  Baynes,  "  une  mere  —  " 

Madame  shrugs  her  shoulders.  "  Une  mere,  une  belle  mere, 
ma  foi !  "  she  says.     "  Come,  mademoiselle  !  " 

There  were  only  very  few  people  in  the  boarding-house  :  if 
they  knew,  if  they  saw,  what  happened,  how  can  we  help  our- 
selves? But  that  they  had  all  been  sitting  over  a  powder- 
magazine,  which  might  have  blown  up  and  destroyed  one,  two, 
three,  five  people,  even  Philip  did  not  know,  until  afterwards, 
when,  laughing,  Major  MacWhirter  told  him  how  that  meek 
but  most  savage  Baynes  had  first  challenged  Bunch,  had  then 
challenged  his  brother-in-law,  and  how  all  sorts  of  battle, 
murder,  sudden  death  might  have  ensued  had  the  quarrel  not 
come  to  an  end. 

Were  your  humble  servant  anxious  to  harrow  his  reader's 
feelings,  or  display  his  own  graphical  powers,  you  understand 


ON  HIS  WAY   THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  49 

that  I  never  would  have  allowed  those  two  gallant  officers  to 
quarrel  and  threaten  each  other's  ver}^  noses,  without  having 
the  insult  wiped  out  in  blood.  The  Bois  de  Boulogne  is  hard 
by  the  Avenue  de  Valmy,  with  plenty  of  cool  fighting  ground. 
The  octroi  officers  never  stop  gentlemen  going  out  at  the  neigh- 
boring barrier  upon  duelling  business,  or  prevent  the  return  of 
the  slain  victim  in  the  hackney-coach  when  the  dreadful  combat 
is  over.  From  my  knowledge  of  Mrs.  Baynes's  character,  I 
have  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  she  would  have  encouraged 
her  husband  to  fight ;  and,  the  General  down,  would  have  put 
pistols  into  the  hands  of  her  boys,  and  bidden  them  carry  on 
the  vendetta ;  but  as  I  do  not,  for  my  part,  love  to  see  brethren 
at  war,  or  Moses  and  Aaron  tugging  white  handfuls  out  of  each 
other's  beards,  I  am  glad  there  is  going  to  be  no  fight  between 
the  veterans,  and  that  cither's  stout  old  breast  is  secure  from 
the  fratricidal  bullet. 

Major  MacWhirter  forgot  all  about  bullets  and  battles  when 
poor  little  Charlotte  kissed  him,  and  was  not  in  the  least  jealous 
when  he  saw  the  Uttle  maiden  clinging  on  Philip's  arm.  He 
was  melted  at  the  sight  of  that  grief  and  innocence,  when  Mrs. 
Baynes  still  continued  to  bark  out  her  private  rage,  and  said : 
"  if  the  General  won't  protect  me  from  insult,  I  think  I  had 
better  go." 

"  By  Jove,  I  think  you  had!"  exclaimed  MacWhirter,  to 
which  remark  the  eyes  of  the  Doctor  and  Colonel  Bunch 
gleamed  an  approval. 

'■'■Allons,  Monsieur  Philippe.  Enough  like  that  —  let  me 
take  her  to  bed  again,"  Madame  resumed.  "  Come,  dear 
miss !  " 

What  a  pity  that  the  bedroom  was  but  a  yard  from  where 
they  stood !  Philip  felt  strong  enough  to  carry  his  little  Char- 
lotte to  the  Tuileries.  The  thick  brown  locks,  which  had  fallen 
over  his  shoulders,  are  lifted  away.  The  little  wounded  heart 
that  had  lain  against  his  own,  parts  from  him  with  a  -eviving 
throb.  Madame  and  her  mother  carry  away  little  Charlotte. 
The  door  of  the  neighboring  chamber  closes  on  her.  The  sad 
Uttle  vision  has  disappeared.  The  men,  quarrelling  anon  in  the 
passage,  stand  there  silent. 

"  I  heard  her  voice  outside,"  said  Philip,  after  a  little  pause 
(with  love,  with  grief,  with  excitement,  I  suppose  his  head  was 
in  a  whirl).  "  I  heard  her  voice  outside,  and  I  couldn't  help 
coming  in." 

"  By  George,  I  should  think  not,  young  fellow  !  "  says  Major 
MacWhirter,  stoutly  shaking  the  young  man  by  the  hand. 

29 


50  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

''  Hush,  hush  !  "  whispers  the  Doctor  ;  '•  she  must  be  kept 
quite  quiet.  She  has  had  quite  excitement  enough  for  to-night. 
There  must  be  no  more  scenes,  my  3'oung  fellow." 

And  Philip  says,  when  in  this  his  agony  of  grief  and  doubt 
he  found  a  friendly  hand  put  out  to  him,  he  himself  was  so 
exceedingly  moved  that  he  was  compelled  to  fly  out  of  the 
company  of  the  old  men,  into  the  night,  where  the  rain  was 
pouring  —  the  gentle  rain.  ' 

While  Philip,  without  Madame  Smolensk's  premises,  is  say- 
ing his  tenderest  prayers,  offering  up  his  tears,  heart-throbs  and 
most  passionate  vows  of  love  for  little  Charlotte's  benefit,  the 
warriors  assembled  within  once  more  retreat  to  a  colloquy  in 
the  salle-k-manger ;  and,  in  consequence  of  the  rainy  state 
of  the  night,  the  astonished  Auguste  has  to  bring  a  third  sup- 
ply of  hot-water  for  the  four  gentlemen  attending  the  congress. 
The  Colonel,  the  Major,  the  Doctor,  ranged  themselves  on  one 
side  the  table,  defended,  as  it  were,  by  a  line  of  armed  tumblers, 
flanked  b}'  a  strong  brandy-bottle  and  a  stout  earthwork,  from 
an  embrasure  in  which  scalding  water  could  be  discharged. 
Behind  these  fortifications  the  veterans  awaited  their  enemy, 
who,  after  marching  up  and  down  the  room  for  a  while,  takes 
position  finall}^  in  their  front  and  prepares  to  attack.  The 
General  remounts  his  cheval  de  hataille^  but  cannot  bring  the 
animal  to  charge  as  fiercelj^  as  before.  Charlotte's  white  appa- 
rition has  come  amongst  them,  and  flung  her  fair  arms  between 
the  men  of  war.  In  vain  Baynes  tries  to  get  wp  a  bluster,  and 
to  enforce  his  passion  with  hy  Georges,  b^'  Joves,  and  words 
naughtier  still.  That  weak,  meek,  quiet,  henpecked,  but  most 
bloodthirsty  old  General  found  himself  forming  his  own  minor- 
ity, and  against  him  his  old  comrade  Bunch,  whom  he  had 
insulted  and  nose-pulled  ;  his  brother-in-law  MacWhirter,  whom 
he  had  nose-pulled  and  insulted  ;  and  the  Doctor,  who  had  been 
called  in  as  a  friend  of  the  former.  As  they  faced  him,  shoulder 
to  shoulder,  each  of  those  three  acquired  fresh  courage  from  his 
neighbor.  Each,  taking  his  aim,  deliberately  poured  his  fire 
into  Baynes.  To  yield  to  such  odds,  on  the  other  hand,  was 
not  so  distasteful  to  the  veteran,  as  to  have  to  give  up  his  sword 
to  an}'  single  adversary'.  Before  he  would  own  himself  in  the 
wrong  to  any  individual,  he  would  eat  that  individual's  ears  and 
nose  :  but  to  be  surrounded  by  three  enemies,  and  strike  3'our 
flag  before  such  odds,  was  no  disgrace  ;  and  Ba3-nes  could  take 
the  circumbendibus  way  of  apology  to  which  some  proud  spirits 
will  submit.  Thus  he  could  say  to  the  Doctor,  "  Well,  Doctor, 
perhaps  I  was  hasty  in  accusing  Bunch  of  employing  bad  Ian- 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  51 

guage  to  me.  A  bystander  can  see  these  things  sometimes 
when  a  principal  is  too  angry ;  and  as  j'ou  go  against  me  — 
well  —  there,  then,  I  ask  Bunch's  pardon."  That  business 
over,  the  MacWhirter  reconciliation  was  very  speedily  brought 
about.  ' '  Fact  was,  was  in  a  confounded  ill-temper  —  xevy  much 
disturbed  by  events  of  the  da}'  —  didn^t  mean  anything  but 
this,  that,  and  so  forth."  If  this  old  chief  had  to  eat  humble 
l)ie,  his  brave  adversaries  were  anxious  that  he  should  gobble 
up  his  portion  as  quickly  as  possible,  and  turned  awa}-  their 
honest  old  heads  as  he  swalloM^ed  it.  One  of  the  party  told  his 
wife  of  the  quarrel  which  had  arisen,  but  Baynes  never  did. 
"  I  declare,  sir,"  Philip  used  to  sa}',  "  had  she  known  anything 
about  the  quarrel  that  night,  Mrs.  Baynes  would  have  made 
her  husband  turn  out  of  bed  at  midnight,  and  challenge  his  old 
friends  over  again  !  "  But  then  there  was  no  love  between 
Philip  and  Mrs.  Baynes,  and  in  those  whom  he  hates  he  is 
accustomed  to  see  little  good. 

Thus,  any  gentle  reader,  who  expected  to  be  treated  to  an 
account  of  the  breakage  of  the  sixth  commandment  will  close 
this  chapter  disappointed.  Those  stout  old  rusty  swords  which 
were  fetched  off  their  hooks  b}'  the  warriors,  theii*  owners,  were 
returned  undrawn  to  their  flannel  cases.  Hands  were  shaken 
after  a  fashion  —  at  least  no  blood  was  shed.  But,  though 
the  words  spoken  between  the  old  boys  were  civil  enough, 
Bunch,  MacWhirter,  and  the  Doctor  could  not  alter  their  opin- 
ion that  Philip  had  been  hardly  used,  and  that  the  benefactor 
of  his  family  merited  a  better  treatment  from  General  Ba3-nes. 

Meanwhile,  that  benefactor  strode  home  through  the  rain  in 
a  state  of  perfect  rapture.  The  rain  refreshed  him,  as  did  his 
own  tears.  The  dearest  little  maiden  had  sunk  for  a  moment 
on  his  heart,  and,  as  she  lay  there,  ii  thrill  of  hope  vibrated 
througli  his  whole  frame.  Her  father's  old  friends  liad  held 
out  a  hand  to  him,  and  bid  him  not  despair.  Blow  wind,  fall 
autumn  rains  !  In  tlie  midnight,  under  the  gusty  trees,  amidst 
which  the  lamps  of  the  reverheres  are  tossing,  the  young  fellow 
strides  back  to  his  lodgings.  He  is  poor  and  unhappy,  but  he 
has  Hope  along  with  him.  He  looks  at  a  certain  bi-east-button 
of  his  old  coat  ere  he  takes  it  oti  to  sleep.  "  Her  cheek  was 
lying  there,"  he  thinks  —  "just  there."  My  poor  little  Char- 
lotte !  what  could  she  have  done  to  the  breast-button  of  the  old 
coat? 


52  THE  ADVENTUKEb  OF  PHILIP 


CHAPTER  V. 

IN   WHICH   MRS. .  MACWHIRTER   HAS    A   NEW   BONNET. 

Now  though  the  unhappy  Philip  slept  quite  soundly,  so  that 
his  boots,  those  tramp-worn  sentries,  remained  en  faction  at  his 
door  until  quite  a  late  hour  next  morning ;  and  though  little 
Charlotte,  after  a  prayer  or  two,  sank  into  the  sweetest  and 
most  refreshing  girlish  slumber,  Charlotte's  father  and  mother 
had  a  bad  night ;  and,  for  my  part,  I  maintain  that  they  did 
not  deserve  a  good  one.  It  was  A^ery  well  for  Mrs.  Baynes  to 
declare  that  it  was  MacWhirter's  snoring  which  kept  them  awake 
(Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mac  being  lodged  in  the  bedroom  over  their 
relatives)  —  I  don't  say  a  snoring  neighbor  is  pleasant  —  but 
what  a  bedfellow  is  a  bad  conscience  !  Under  Mrs.  Baynes's 
nightcap  the  grim  eyes  lie  open  all  night ;  on  Baynes's  pillow 
is  a  silent,  wakeful  head  that  hears  the  hours  toll.  "  A  plague 
upon  the  3'oung  man  !  "  thinks  the  female  bonnet  de  nuit ;  "  how 
dare  he  come  in  and  disturb  everything?  How  pale  Charlotte 
will  look  to-morrow  when  Mrs.  Hely  calls  with  her  son  !  When 
she  has  been  crying  she  looks  hideous,  and  her  eyelids  and  nose 
are  quite  red.  She  may  fly  out,  and  say  something  wicked  and 
absurd,  as  she  did  to-day.  I  wish  I  had  never  seen  that  inso- 
lent young  man,  with  his  carroty  beard  and  vulgar  Blucher 
boots  !  If  mj'  boys  were  grown  up,  he  should  not  come  hector- 
ing about  the  house  as  he  does  ;  they  would  soon  find  a  way 
of  punishing  his  impudence  !  "  Balked  revenge  and  a  hungry 
disappointment,  I  think,  are  keeping  that  old  woman  awake  ; 
and,  if  she  hears  the  hours  tolling,  it  is  because  wicked  thoughts 
make  her  sleepless. 

As  for  Baynes,  I  believe  that  old  man  is  awake,  because  he 
is  awake  to  the  shabbiness  of  his  own  conduct.  His  conscience 
has  got  the  better  of  him,  which  he  has  been  trying  to  bully 
out  of  doors.  Do  what  he  will,  that  reflection  forces  itself  upoii 
him.  Mac,  Bunch,  and  the  Doctor  all  saw  the  thing  at  once, 
and  went  dead  against  him.  He  wanted  to  break  his  word  to 
a  young  fellow,  who,  whatever  his  faults  might  be,  had  acted 
most  nobly  and  generously  by  the  Baynes  family.  He  might 
have  been  rained  but  for  Philip's  forbearance  ;  and  showed  his 
gratitude  by  breaking  his  promise  to  the  3'oung  fellow.  He 
was  a  henpecked  man  —  that  Avas  the  fact.     He  allowed  his 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  53 

wife  to  govern  him  :  that  little  old  plain,  cantankerous  woman 
asleep  yonder.  Asleep  was  she?  No.  He  knew  she  wasn't. 
Both  were  l.ying  quite  still,  wide  awake,  pursuing  their  dismal 
thoughts.  Onl}'  Charles  was  owning  that  he  was  a  sinner, 
whilst  Eliza  his  wife,  in  a  rage  at  her  last  defeat,  was  medi- 
tating how  she  could  continue  and  still  win  her  battle. 

Then  Baynes  reflects  how  persevering  his  wife  is  ;  how,  all 
through  life,  she  has  come  back  and  back  and  back  to  her  point, 
until  he  has  ended  by  an  almost  utter  subjugation.  He  will  re- 
sist for  a  day  :  she  will  fight  for  a  year,  for  a  life.  If  once  she 
hates  people,  the  sentiment  always  remains  with  her  fresh  and 
lively.  Her  jealousy  never  dies  ;  nor  her  desire  to  rule.  What 
a  life  she  will  lead  poor  Charlotte  now  she  has  declared  against 
Phihp  !  The  poor  child  will  be  subject  to  a  dreadful  tyranny  : 
the  father  knows  it.  As  soon  as  he  leaves  the  house  on  his 
daily  walks  the  girl's  torture  will  begin.  Ba3-nes  knows  how 
his  wife  can  torture  a  woman.  As  she  groans  out  a  hollow 
cough  from  her  bed  in  the  midnight,  the  guilty  man  lies  quite 
mum  under  his  own  counterpane.  If  she  fancies  him  awake, 
it  will  be  his  turn  to  receive  the  torture.  Ah,  Othello  mon  ami! 
when  vou  look  round  at  married  life,  and  know  what  you  know, 
don't  30U  wonder  that  the  bolster  is  not  used  a  great  deal  more 
freely  on  both  sides  ?  Horrible  cj-uicism  !  Yes  —  I  know. 
These  propositions  served  raw  are  savage,  and  shock  your  sen- 
sibility ;  coolvcd  with  a  little  piquant  sauce,  they  are  welcome 
at  quite  polite  tables. 

"Poor  chiki !  Y^es,  by  George!  What  a  life  her  mother 
will  lead  lier  !  "  thinks  the  General,  rolling  uneasv  on  the  mid- 
night  pillow.  "  No  rest  for  her,  daj'  or  night,  until  she  marries 
the  man  of  her  mother's  choosing.  And  she  has  a  delicate 
chest  —  Martin  says  she  has  ;  and  she  wants  coaxing  and  sooth- 
ing, and  pretty  coaxing  she  will  have  from  mamma  !  "  Then, 
I  dare  sa}-,  tlie  past  I'ises  up  in  that  wakeful  old  man's  uncom- 
fortable memor3-.  His  little  Charlotte  is  a  child  again,  laugh- 
ing on  his  knee,  and  playing  with  his  accoutrements  as  he 
comes  home  from  parade.  He  remembers  the  fever  which  she 
had,  when  she  would  take  medicine  from  no  other  hand  ;  and 
how,  though  silent  with  her  motlier,  with  him  she  would  never 
tire  of  prattling,  prattling.  Guilt-stricken  old  man  !  ai'e  those 
tears  trickling  down  tli}-  old  nose  ?  It  is  midnight.  We  can- 
not see.  When  you  brought  her  to  the  river,  and  parted  with 
her  to  send  her  to  Europe,  how  the  little  maid  clung  to  you, 
and  cried,  "Papa,  papa!"  Staggering  up  the  stops  of  the 
ghaut,  how  you  wept  yourself — yes,  wept  tears  of  passionate, 


54  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

tender  grief  at  parting  with  the  darling  of  your  soul.  And 
now,  deliberately',  and  for  the  sake  of  money,  3'ou  stab  her  to 
the  heart,  and  bi'eak  3'our  plighted  honor  to  your  child.  "  And 
it  is  yonder  cruel,  shrivelled,  bilious,  plain  old  woman  who 
makes  me  do  all  this,  and  trample  on  my  darling,  and  torture 
her !  "  he  thinks.  In  Zoffanj-'s  famous  picture  of  Garrick  and 
Mrs.  Pritchard  as  Macbeth  and  Lady  Macbeth,  Macbeth  stands 
in  an  attitude  hideously  contorted  and  constrained,  while  lady 
Mac  is  firm  and  eas3\  Was  this  the  actor's  art,  or  the  poet's 
device?  Baynes  is  wretched,  then.  lie  is  wrung  with  remorse, 
and  shame  and  pit}'.  Well,  I  am  glad  of  it.  Old  man,  old 
man  !  how  darest  thou  to  cause  that  child's  tender  little  bosom, 
to  bleed  ?  LIow  bilious  he  looks  the  next  morning  !  I  declare 
as  yellow  as  his  grim  old  wife.  When  Mrs.  General  B.  hears 
the  children  their  lessons,  how  she  will  scold  them  !  It  is  my 
belief  she  will  bark  through  the  morning  chapter,  and  scarce 
understand  a  word  of  its  meaning.  As  for  Charlotte,  when 
she  appears  with  red  eyes,  and  ever  so  little  color  in  her  round 
cheek,  there  is  that  in  her  look  and  demeanor  which  warns  hef 
mother  to  refrain  from  too  familiar  abuse  or  scolding.  Th'£ 
girl  is  in  rebellion.  All  day  Char  was  in  a  feverish  state,  her 
e3'es  flashing  war.  There  was  a  song  which  Philip  lo\'ed  ira 
tliose  days  :  the  song  of  Ruth.  Char  sat  down  to  the  piano, 
and  sang  it  with  a  strange  energy.  "  Th}'  people  sliall  be  my 
people  "  —  she  sang  with  all  her  heart  —  ' '  and  th^'  God  my 
God  !  "  The  slave  had  risen.  The  httle  heart  was  in  arms 
and  mutiny.     The  mother  was  scared  b^'  her  defiance. 

As  for  the  guilty  old  father :  pursued  by  the  fiend  remorse, 
he  fled  early  from  his  house,  and  read  all  tlie  papers  at  Galig- 
nani's  without  comprehending  them.  Madl.y  regardless  of  ex- 
pense, he  then  plunged  into  one  of  those  luxurious  restaurants 
in  the  Palais  Royal,  where  3'ou  get  soup,  three  dishes,  a  sweet, 
and  a  pint  of  delicious  wine  for  two  frongs,  b}'  George  !  But 
all  the  luxuries  there  presented  to  him  could  not  drive  away  care, 
or  create  appetite.  Then  the  poor  old  wretch  went  olf,  and 
saw  a  ballet  at  the  Grand  Opera.  In  vain.  The  pink  nymphs 
had  not  the  slightest  fascination  for  him.  He  hardly  was  aware 
of  their  ogles,  bounds,  and  capers.  He  saw  a  little  maid  with 
round,  sad  eyes:  —  his  Iphigcnia  whom  he  was  stabbing.  He 
took  more  brand3'-and-water  at  cafes  on  his  waj'-  home.  In  vain, 
in  vain,  I  tell  you  !  The  old  wife  was  sitting  up  for  him,  scared 
at  the  unusual  absence  of  her  lord.  She  dared  not  remonstrate 
with  him  when  he  i-eturned.  His  face  was  pale.  His  eyes  were 
fierce  and  bloodshot.     When  the  General  had  a  particular  look, 


fc> 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  55 

Eliza  Baynes  cowered  in  silence.     Mac,  the  two  sisters,  and, 
I  think,  Colonel  Bunch  (but  on  this  point  my  informant,  Philip, 
cannot  be  sure)  were  having  a  dreary  rubber  when  the  General 
came  in.     Mrs.  B.  knew  b}'  the  General's  face  that  he  had  been 
having  recourse  to  alcoholic  stimulus.     But  she  dared  not  speak. 
A  tiger  in  a  jungle  was  not  more  savage  than  Baynes  sometimes. 
"Where's  Char  ?  "  he  asked  in  his  dreadful,  his  Bluebeard  voice. 
"  Char  was  gone  to  bed,"   said  mamma,  sorting  her  trumps. 
"  Ilm  !  Augoost,  Odevee,  Osho  !  "     Did  P^liza  Baynes  interfere, 
though  she  knew  he  had  had  enough  ?     As  soon  interfere  with 
a  tiger,  and  tell  him  he  had  eaten  enough  Sepo}'.     After  Lad}' 
Macbeth  had  induced  Mac  to  go  through  that  business  with 
Duncan,  depend  upon  it  she  was  very  deferential  and  respectful 
to  her  general.     No  groans,  praters,  remorses  could  avail  to 
bring  his  late  majesty  back  to  life  again.     As  for  you,- old  man, 
though  your  deed  is  done,  it  is  not  past  recalling.     Though  you 
have  withdrawn  from  3'our  word  on  a  sordid  money  pretext ; 
made  two  hearts  miserable,  stabbed  cruellj'  that  one  which  you 
love  best  in  the  world  ;  acted  with  wicked  ingratitude  towards 
a  young  man,  who  has  been  nobly  forgiving  towards  you  and 
3'ours  ;  and  are  suffering  with  rage  and  remorse,  as  you  own 
your  crime  to  yourself;  — your  deed  is  not  past  recalling  as  yet. 
You  ma}'  soothe  that  anguish,  and  dry  those  tears.     It  is  but 
an  act  of  resolution  on  your  part,  and  a  Arm  resumption  of  your 
marital  authority.     Mrs.  Baynes,  after  ker  crime,  is  quite  hum- 
ble and  gentle.     She  has  half  murdered  her  child,  and  stretched 
Philip  on  an  infernal  rack  of  torture  ;  but  she  is  quite  civil  to 
everybody  at  Madame's  house.     Not  one  word  does  she  say 
respecting  Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch's  outbreak  of  the  night  before. 
She  talks  to  sister  Emily  about  Paris,  the  fashions,  and  Emily's 
walks  on  the  Boulevard  and  the  Palais  Ro3'a]  with  her  Major. 
She  bestows  ghastly  smiles  upon  sundry  lodgers  at  table.     She 
thanks  Augoost  when  he  serves  her  at  dinner  —  and  says,  "  Ah, 
Madame,  que  le  boof  est  bong  aujourdhui,  rien  que  j'aime  comme 
le  potofou."     Oh,  you  old  hypocrite  !     But  you  know  I,  for  my 
part,  always  disliked  the  woman,  and  said  her  good  humor  was 
more  detestable  than  her  anger.     You  hypocrite  !  I  say  again  : 
—  ay,  and  avow  that  there  were  other  hypocrites  at  the  table, 
as  3'ou  shall  presently  hear. 

When  Baynes  got  an  opportunity  of  speaking  unobserved, 
as  he  thought,  to  Madame,  you  may  be  sure  the  guilty  wretch 
asked  her  how  his  little  Charlotte  was.  Mrs.  Baynes  trumped 
her  partner's  best  heart  at  that  moment,  but  pretended  to  ob- 
serve or  overhear  nothing.     "She  goes  better  —  she  sleeps," 


56  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

Madame  said.  "  Mr.  the  Doctor  Martin  has  commanded  her  a 
cahning  potion."  And  what  if  I  were  to  tell  you  that  some- 
body had  taken  a  little  letter  from  Charlotte,  and  actually  had 
given  fifteen  sous  to  a  Savoyard  youth  to  convey  that  letter  to 
somebody  else  ?  What  if  I  were  to  tell  you  that  the  party  to 
whom  that  letter  was  addressed,  straightway  wrote  an  answer 
. —  directed  to  Madame  de  Smolensk,  of  course?  I  know  it 
was  very  wrong  ;  ])ut  I  suspect  Philip's  prescription  did  quite 
as  much  good  as  Doctor  Martin's,  and  don't  intend  to  be  very 
angiy  with  Madame  for  consulting  the  unlicensed  practitioner. 
Don't  preach  to  me,  madam,  about  morality,  and  dangerous 
examples  set  to  young  people.  Even  at  your  present  mature 
age,  and  with  j'our  dear  daughters  around  you,  if  your  lad3'ship 
goes  to  hear  the  "  Barber  of  Seville,"  on  which  side  are  your 
sympathies  —  on  Dr.  Bartolo's,  or  Miss  Rosina's? 

Although,  then,  Mrs.  Baj-nes  was  most  respectful  to  her 
husband,  and  by  many  grim  blandishments,  humble  appeals, 
and  forced  humiliations,  strove  to  conciliate  and  soothe  him, 
the  General  turned  a  dark,  lowering  face  upon  the  partner  of 
his  existence  :  her  dismal  smiles  were  no  longer  pleasing  to 
him  :  he  returned  curt  "  Ohs  !  ^'  and  "  Ahs  !  "  to  her  remarks. 
When  Mrs.  Hely  and  her  son  and  her  daughter  drove  up  in 
their  famil}'  coach  to  pa}^  3'et  a  second  visit  to  the  Baynes 
family,  the  General  flew  in  a  passion,  and  cried,  "Bless  my 
soul,  Eliza,  5'ou  can't  tkink  of  receiving  visitors,  with  our  poor 
child  sick  in  the  next  room  ?  It's  inhuman  !  "  The  scared 
woman  ventured  on  no  remonstrances.  She  w^as  so  frightened 
that  she  did  not  attempt  to  scold  the  younger  children.  She 
took  a  piece  of  work,  and  sat  amongst  them,  furtively  weeping. 
Their  artless  queries  and  unseasonable  laughter  stabbed  and 
punished  the  matron.  You  see  people  do  wrong,  though  they 
are  long  past  fifty  j-ears  of  age.  It  is  not  onl^'  the  scholars, 
but  the  ushers,  and  the  head-master  himself,  who  sometimes 
deserve  a  chastisement.  I,  for  my  part,  hope  to  remember 
this  sweet  truth,  though  I  live  into  the  year  1900. 

To  those  other  ladies  boarding  at  Madame's  establishment, 
to  Mrs.  Mac  and  Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch,  though  they  had  de- 
clared against  him,  and  expressed  their  opinions  in  the  frankest 
way  on  the  night  of  the  battle  royal,  the  General  was  provok- 
ingly  polite  and  amiable.  The}'  had  said,  but  twent3'-four 
hours  since,  that  the  General  was  a  brute  ;  and  Lord  Chester- 
field could  not  have  been  more  polite  to  a  lovelj^  .young  duchess 
than  was  Ba3'nes  to  these  matrons  next  da}'.  You  have  heard 
how  Mrs.  Mao  had  a  strong  desire  to  possess  a  new  Paris  bon- 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  57 

net,  so  that  she  might  appear  with  proper  lustre  among  the 
ladies  on  the  promenade  at  Tours?  Major  and  Mrs.  Mac  and 
•  Mrs.  Bunch  talked  of  going  to  the  Palais  Royal  (where  Mac- 
Whirter  said  he  had  remarked  some  uncommonly  neat  things,  by 
George  !  at  the  corner  shop  under  the  glass  gallery).  On  this, 
Baynes  started  up,  and  said  he  would  accompany  his  friends, 
adding,  "  You  know,  Emily,  I  promised  you  a  hat  ever  so  long 
ago  !  "  And  those  four  went  away  together,  and  not  one  offer 
did  Baynes  make  to  his  wife  to  join  the  party  ;  though  her  best 
bonnet,  poor  thing,  was  a  dreadfully  old  performance,  with 
moulting  feathers,  rumpled  ribbons,  tarnished  flowers,  and 
lace  bought  in  St.  Martin's  Alley  months  and  months  before.  ' 
Emily,  to  be  sure,  safd  to  her  sister,  ^' Eliza,  won't  yojt  be  of 
the  party  ?  We  can  take  the  omnibus  at  the  corner,  which  will 
land  us  at  the  very  gate."  But  as  Emily  gave  this  unlucky  in- 
vitation, the  General's  face  wore  an  expression  of  ill-will  so 
savage  and  terrific,  that  Eliza  Baynes  said,  "No,  thank  you, 
Emily ;  Charlotte  is  still  unwell,  and  I  —  I  may  be  wanted  at 
home."  And  the  party  went  away  without  Mrs.  Baynes  ;  and 
they  were  absent  I  don't  know  how  long:  and  Emily  Mac- 
Whirter  came  back  to  the  boarding-house  in  a  bonnet  —  the 
sweetest  thing  3-ou  ever  saw  !  —  green  pique  velvet,  with  a 
ruche  full  of  rosebuds,  and  a  bird  of  paradise  perched  on  the 
top,  pecking  at  a  bmich  of  the  most  magnificent  grapes,  pop- 
pies, ears  of  corn,  barley,  &c.,  all  indicative  of  the  bounteous 
autumn  season.  Mrs.  General  Baynes  had  to  see  her  sister 
return  home  in  this  elegant  bonnet ;  to  welcome  her  ;  to  acqui- 
esce in  Emily's  remark  that  the  General  had  done  the  genteel 
thing ;  to  hear  how  the  part}'  had  further  been  to  Tortoni's  and 
had  ices  ;  and  then  to  go  up  stairs  to  her  own  room,  and  look 
at  her  own  battered,  blowsy  old  chapeau^  with  its  limp  streamers, 
hanging  from  its  peg.  This  humihation,  I  say,  Eliza  Baynes 
had  to  bear  in  silence,  without  wincing,  and,  if  possible,  M'ith 
a  smile  on  her  face. 

In  consequence  of  circumstances  before  indicated.  Miss 
Charlotte  was  pronounced  to  be  very  much  better  when  her 
papa  returned  from  his  Palais  Royal  trip.  He  found  her  seated 
on  Madame's  sofa,  pale,  but  with  the  wonted  sweetness  in  her 
smile.  He  kissed  and  caressed  her  with  manj-  tender  words. 
I  dare  say  he  told  her  there  was  nothing  in  the  world  he  loved 
so  much  as  his  Charlotte.  He  would  never  willingl}-  do  any- 
thing to  give  her  pain,  never!  She  had  been  his  good  girl, 
and  his  blessing,  all  his  life !  Ah !  that  is  a  prettier  little 
pictui'e  to  imagine  —  that  repentant  man,  and  his  ohild  cling- 


58  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

ing  to  liim  —  than  the  tableau  overhead,  viz.,  Mrs.  Baj^nes 
looking  at  her  old  bonnet.  Not  one  word  was  said  about  Philip 
in  the  talli  between  Bajnies  and  his  daughter,  but  those  tender 
paternal  looks  and  caresses  carried  hope  into  Charlotte's  heart ; 
and  when  her  papa  went  away  (she  said  afterwards  to  a  female 
friend),  "I  got  up  and  followed  him,  intending  to  show  him 
Philip's  letter.  But  at  the  door  I  saw  mamma  coming  down 
the  stairs  ;  and  she  looked  so  dreadful,  and  frightened  me  so,' 
that  I  went  back."  There  are  some  mothers  I  have  heard  of, 
who  won't  allow  their  daughters  to  read  the  works  of  this  hum- 
ble homilist,  lest  thej^  should  imbibe  "  dangerous"  notions,  &c. 
&c.  My  good  ladies,  give  them  "Goody  Twoshoes"if  j'ou 
lilte,  or  whatever  work,  combining  instruction  and  amusement, 
you  think  most  appropriate  to  their  juvenile  understandings  ; 
but  I  beseech  j'ou  to  be  gentle  with  them.  I  never  saw  people 
on  better  terms  with  each  other,  more  frank,  affectionate,  and 
cordial,  than  the  parents  and  the  grown-up  young  folks  in  the 
United  States.  And  why?  Because  the  children  were  spoiled, 
to  be  sure  !  I  say  to  you,  get  the  confidence  of  yours  —  before 
the  day  comes  of  revolt  and  independence,  after  which  love  re- 
turneth  not. 

Now,  when  Mrs.  Baj-nes  went  in  to  her  daughter,  who 
had  been  sitting  pretty  comfortably  kissing  her  father  on  the 
sofa  in  Madame's  chamber,  all  those  soft  tremulous  smiles  and 
twinkling  dew-drops  of  compassion  and  forgiveness  w-hich  anon 
had  come  to  soothe  the  little  maid,  fled  from  cheek  and  eyes. 
They  began  to  flash  again  with  their  febrile  brightness,  and  her 
heart  to  throb  with  dangerous  rapidit}'.  "  How  are  you  now?  " 
asks  mamma,  with  her  deep  voice.  "I  am  much  the  same," 
says  the  girl,  beginning  to  tremble.  "Leave  the  child;  ^'ou 
agitate  her,  madam,"  cries  the  mistress  of  the  house,  coming 
in  after  Mrs.  Baynes.  That  sad,  humiliated,  deserted  mother 
goes  out  from  her  daughter's  presence,  hanging  her  head.  She 
put  on  the  poor  old  bonnet,  and  had  a  walk  that  evening  on 
the  Champs  Elysees  with  her  little  ones,  and  showed  them 
(ruignol :  she  gave  a  penny  to  Guignol's  man.  It  is  my  belief 
that  she  saw  no  more  of  the  performance  than  her  husband  had 
seen  of  the  ballet  the  night  previous,  when  Taglioni,  and  Noblet, 
and  Duvernay,  danced  before  his  hot  eyes.  But  then,  you  see, 
the  hot  e^'es  had  been  washed  with  a  refreshing  water  since, 
which  enabled  them  to  view  the  world  much  more  cheerfully 
and  brightly.  Ah,  gracious  heaven  gives  us  eyes  to  see  our 
own  wrong,  however  dim  age  ma}^  make  them  ;  and  knees  not 
too  stiff  to  kneel,  in  spite  of  years,  cramp,  and  rheumatism ! 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  59 

That  stricken  old  woman,  then,  treated  her  children  to  the 
trivial  comedy  of  Guignol.  She  did  not  cry  out  when  the  two 
bo3's  climbed  up  the  trees  of  the  Elysian  Fields,  though  the 
guardians  bade  them  descend.  She  bought  pink  sticks  of 
barley-sugar  for  the  young  ones.  Withdrawing  the  glistening 
sweetmeats  from  their  lips,  they  pointed  to  Mrs.  Hely's  splen- 
did barouche  as  it  rolled  citywards  from  the  Bois  de  Bou- 
logne. The  grey  shades  were  falling,  and  Auguste  was  in 
the  act  of  ringing  the  first  dinner-bell  at  Madame  Smolensk's 
establishment,  when  Mrs.  General  Baynes  returned  to  her 
lodgings. 

Meanwhile,  aunt  MacWhirter  had  been  to  pay  a  visit  to 
little  Miss  Charlotte,  in  the  new  bonnet  which  the  General, 
Charlotte's  papa,  had  bought  for  her.  This  elegant  article  had 
furnished  a  subject  of  pleasing  conversation  between  niece  and 
aunt,  who  held  each  other  in  very  kindly  regard,  and  all  the 
details  of  the  bonnet,  the  blue  flowers,  scarlet  flowers,  grapes, 
sheaves  of  corn,  lace,  &c.,  were  examined  and  admired  in 
detail.  Charlotte  remembered  the  dowdy  old  English  thing 
v/hich  aunt  Mac  wore  when  she  went  out?  Charlotte  did  re- 
member the  bonnet,  and  laughed  when  Mrs.  Mac  described 
how  papa,  in  the  hackney  coach  on  their  return  hom^e,  insisted 
upon  taking  the  old  wretch  of  a  bonnet,  and  flinging  it  out  of 
the  coach-window  into  the  road,  where  an  old  chittbnier  passing 
picked  it  up  with  his  iron  hook,  put  it  on  his  own  head,  and 
walked  away  grinning.  I  declare,  at  the  recital  of  this  narra- 
tive, Charlotte  laughed  as  pleasantly  and  happily  as  in  former 
days  ;  and,  no  doubt,  there  were  more  kisses  between  this  poor 
little  maid  and  her  aunt. 

Now,  you  will  remark,  that  the  General  and  his  party, 
though  they  returned  from  the  Palais  Royal  in  a  hackney 
coach,  went  thither  on  foot,  two  and  two  —  viz.,  Major  Mac- 
Whirter leading,  and  giving  his  arm  to  Mrs.  Bunch,  (who,  I 
promise  3'ou,  knew  the  shops  in  the  Palais  Ro3'al  well,)  and  the 
General  following  at  some  distance,  with  his  sister-in-law  for  a 
partner. 

In  that  walk  a  conversation  very  important  to  Charlotte's 
interests  took  place  between  her  aunt  and  her  father. 

"  Ah,  Baynes  !  this  is  a  sad  business  about  dearest  Char," 
Mrs.  Mac  broke  out  with  a  sigh. 

"  It  is,  indeed,  Emily,"  says  the  General,  with  a  very  sad 
groan  on  his  part. 

"  It  goes  to  my  heart  to  see  you,  Baynes  ;  it  goes  to  Mac's 
heart.     We  talked  about  it  ever  so  late  last  night.     You  were 


60  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

suffering  dreadfully ;  and  all  the  brandy-pawnee  in  the  world 
won't  cure  you,  Charles." 

"  No,  faith,"  says  the  General,  with  a  dismal  screw  of  the 
raouth.  "  You  see,  Emily,  to  see  that  child  suffer  tears  my 
heart  out  —  by  George,  it  does.  She  has  been  the  best  child, 
and  the  most  gentle,  and  the  merriest,  and  the  most  obedient, 
and  I  never  had  a  word  of  fault  to-  find  with  her ;  and  — 
poo-ooh  !  "  Here  the  General's  e^'es,  which  have  been  winking 
with  extreme  rapidit}'^,  give  way ;  and  at  the  signal  pooh ! 
there  issue  out  from  them  two  streams  of  that  eye-water  which 
we  have  said  is  sometimes  so  good  for  the  sight. 

"  M}'  dear  kind  Charles,  you  were  always  a  good  creature," 
says  Emil}',  patting  the  arm  on  which  hers  rests.  Meanwhile 
Major-General  Baynes,  C.B.,  puts  his  bamboo  cane  under  his 
disengaged  arm,  extracts  from-  his  hind  pocket  a  fine  large 
yellow  bandanna  pocket-handkerchief,  and  performs  a  pro- 
digious loud  obligato — just  under  the  spray  of  the  Rond-point 
fountain,  opposite  the  Bridge  of  the  Invalides,  over  which  poor 
Philip  has  tramped  many  and  many  a  day  and  night  to  see  his 
little  maid. 

"Have  a  care  with  your  cane,  then,  old  imbecile!"  cries 
An  approaching  foot-passenger,  whom  the  General  meets  and 
charges  with  his  iron  ferule. 

"  Mille  pardong,  mosoo ;  je  vous  demande  nille  pardong," 
3ays  the  old  man,  quite  meekl3\ 

"You  are  a  good  soul,  Charles,"  the  lady  continues,  "  and 
my  little  Char  is  a  darling.  You  never  would  have  done  this 
of  your  own  accord.  Mercy  !  And  see  what  it  was  coming  to  ! 
Mac  only  told  me  last  night.  You  horrid,  bloodthirsty  crea- 
ture !  Two  challenges  —  and  dearest  Mac  as  hot  as  pepper ! 
Oh,  Charles  Baynes,  I  tremble  when  I  think  of  the  danger  from 
which  you  have"  all  been  rescued  !  Suppose  you  brought  home 
to  Eliza  —  suppose  dearest  Mac  brought  home  to  me  killed  by 
this  arm  on  which  I  am  leaning.  Oh,  it  is  dreadful,  dreadful ! 
We  are  sinners  all,  that  we  are,  Baynes  !  " 

"I  humbly  ask  pardon  for  having  thought  of  a  great  crime. 
1  ask  pardon,"  says  the  General,  very  pale  and  solemn. 

"  If  you  had  killed  dear  Mac,  would  you  ever  have  had  rest 
again,  Charles?" 

"  No ;  I  think  not.  I  should  not  deserve  it,"  answers  the 
contrite  Barnes. 

"  Tou  have  a  good  heart.  It  was  not  you  who  did  this.  I 
know  who  it  was.  She  always  had  a  dreadful  temper.  The 
way  in  which  she  used  to  torture  our  poor  dear  Louisa  who  is 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  61 

dead,  I  can  hardly  forgive  now,  Baynes.  Poor  suffering  angel ! 
Eliza  was  at  her  bedside  nagging  and  torturing  her  up  to  the 
very  last  day.  Did  3-ou  ever  see  her  with  nurses  and  servants 
in  India?     The  wa}'  in  which  she  treated  them  was  —  " 

"Don't  say  any  more.  I  am  aware  of  my  wife's  faults  of 
temper.  Heaven  knows  it  has  made  me  suffer  enough  !  "  says 
the  General,  hanging  his  head  down. 

"  Why,  man  —  do  3'ou  intend  to  give  way  to  her  altogether? 
I  said  to  Mac  last  night,  '  Mac,  does  he  intend  to  give  way  to 
her  altogether?  The  "  Army  List "  doesn't  contain  the  name 
of  a  braver  man  than  Charles  Baynes,  and  is  my  sister  Eliza  to 
rule  him  entirely,  Mac  !  '  I  said.  No,  if  you  stand  up  to  Eliza, 
I  know  from  experience  she  will  give  w-ay.  We  have  had  quar- 
rels, scores  and  hundreds,  as  you  know,  Ba3-nes." 

"  Faith,  I  do,"  owns  the  General,  with  a  sad  smile  on  his 
countenance. 

"  And  sometimes  she  has  had  the  best  and  sometimes  I  have 
had  the  best,  Baynes.  But  I  never  yielded,  as  you  do,  without 
a  fight  for  my  own.  No,  never,  Baynes  !  And  me  and  Mac 
are  shocked,  I  tell  you  fairly,  when  we  see  the  way  in  which 
you  give  up  to  her !  " 

"  Come,  come  !  I  think  you  have  told  me  often  enough  that 
I  am  henpecked,"  says  the  General. 

"  And  you  give  up  not  3'ourself  only,  Charles,  but  your  dear, 
dear  child  —  poor  little  suffering  love  !  " 

''  The  young  man's  a  beggar  !  "  cries  the  General,  biting  his 
lips. 

"  What  were  you,  what  was  Mac  and  me  when  we  married? 
We  hadn't  much  beside  our  pay,  had  we  ?  we  rubbed  on  through 
bad  weather  and  good,  managing  as  best  we  could,  loving  each 
other,  God  be  praised  !  And  here  we  are,  owing  nobody  an}^- 
thing,  and  me  going  to  have  a  new  bonnet !  "  and  she  tossed  up 
her  head,  and  gave  her  companion  a  good-natured  look  through 
her  twinkling  eyes. 

"  Emily,  you  have  a  good  heart !  that's  the  truth,"  says  the 
General. 

"And  you  have  a  good  heart,  Charles,  as  sure  as  my 
name's  MacWhirter ;  and  I  want  you  to  act  upon  it,  and  I 
propose  —  " 

"What?" 

"  Well,  I  propose  that  —  "  But  now 'they  have  reached  the 
Tuiledes  garden  gates,  and  pass  through,  and  continue  their 
conversation  in  the  midst  of  such  a  hubbub  tliat  we  cannot 
overhear  them.     They  cross   the  garden,   and  so  make  their 


62  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

way  into  the  Palais  Royal,  and  the  purchase  of  the  bonnet  tabes 
place  ;  and  in  the  midst  of  the  excitement  occasioned  by  that 
event,  of  course,  all  discussion  of  domestic  affairs  becomes 
uninteresting. 

But  the  gist  of  Baynes's  talk  with  his  sister-in-law  may  be 
divined  from  the  conversation  which  presently  occurred  between 
Charlotte  and  her  aunt.  Charlotte  did  not  come  in  to  the  pub- 
lic dinner.  She  was  too  weak  for  that ;  and  "  un  hon  bouillon  " 
and  a  wing  of  fowl  were  served  to  her  in  the  private  apartment, 
where  she  had  been  reclining  all  dvcy.  At  dessert,  however, 
Mrs.  MacWhirter  took  a  fine  bunch  of  grapes  and  a  plump  rosy 
peach  from  the  table,  and  carried  them  to  the  little  maid,  and 
their  interview  ma}^  be  described  with  sufficient  accuracy,  though 
it  passed  without  other  witnesses. 

From  the  outbreak  on  the  night  of  quarrels,  Charlotte  knew 
that  her  aunt  was  her  friend.  The  glances  of  Mrs.  Mac- 
Whirter's  ej-es,  and  the  expression  of  her  bonny,  homelj'  face, 
told  her  sympathy  to  the  girl.  There  were  no  pallors  now,  no 
angry  glances,  no  heart-beating.  Miss  Char  could  even  make 
a  little -joke  when  her  aunt  appeared,  and  say,  "  AVhat  beautiful 
grapes  !  WI13',  aunt,  you  must  have  taken  them  out  of  the  new 
bonnet." 

"  You  should  have  had  the  bird  of  paradise,  too,  dear,  only 
I  see  you  have  not  eaten  your  chicken.  She  is  a  kind  woman, 
Madame  Smolensk.  I  like  her.  She  gives  very  nice  dinners. 
I  can't  think  how  she  does  it  for  the  mone3%  I  am  sure !  " 

"  She  has  been  very,  ver3'  kind  to  me  ;  and  I  love  her  with 
all  m}'  heart!"  cries  Charlotte. 

"Poor  darling!  We  have  all  our  trials,  and  yours  have 
begun,  ni}'  love  !  " 

"Yes,  indeed,  aunt!"  whimpers  the  young  person;  upon 
which  osculation  possibl}^  takes  place. 

"  My  dear  !  when  your  papa  took  me  to  buy  the  bonnet,  vre 
tiad  a  long  talk,  and  it  was  about  you." 

"  About  me,  aunt?"  warbles  Miss  Charlotte. 

"  He  would  not  take  mamma  ;  he  would  only  go  with  me, 
alone.  I  knew  he  wanted  to  sa}'  something  about  you  ;  and 
>f hat  do  you  think  it  was  ?  My  dear,  3'ou  have  been  very  much 
agitated  here.  You  and  your  poor  mamma  are  likel}'  to  dis- 
agree for  some  time.  She  will  drag  you  to  those  balls  and  fine 
parties,  and  bring  3-ou  those  fine  partners.^' 

"Oh,  I  hate  them  !  "  cries  Charlotte.  Poor  little  Walsing- 
ham  Hely,  what  had  he  done  to  be  hated? 

"  Well.     It  is  not  for  me  to  speak  of  a  mother  to  her  own 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WOELD.  63 

daughter.  But  you  know  mamma  has  a  way  with  her.  She 
expects  to  be  obeyed.  She  will  give  3'ou  no  peace.  She  will 
come  back  to  her  point  again  and  again.  You  know  how  she 
speaks  of  some  one  —  a  certain  gentleman  ?  If  ever  she  sees 
him,  she  will  be  rude  to  him.  Mamma  can  be  rude  at  times  — 
that  I  must  sa}'  of  my  own  sister.  As  long  as  you  remain 
here  —  " 

"Oh,  aunt,  aunt!  Don't  take  me  awa}',  don't  take  me 
away!"  cries  Charlotte. 

"  M}'  dearest,  are  3'ou  afraid  of  your  old  aunt,  and  3'our 
uncle  Mac,  who  is  so  kind,  and  has  always  loved  you?  Major 
MacWhirter  has  a  will  of  his  own,  too,  though  of  course  I  make 
no  allusions.  We  know  how  admirably  somebodj'  has  behaved 
to  3'our  famil}'.  Somebody  who  has  been  most  ungratefully 
treated,  though  of  course  I  make  no  allusions.  If  you  have 
given  away  your  heart  to  your  father's  greatest  benefactor,  do 
you  suppose  I  and  uncle  Mac  will  quarrel  with  3'ou  ?  When 
Eliza  married  Baynes  (your  father  was  a  penniless  subaltern, 
then,  m}'  dear,  —  and  my  sister  was  certainly  neither  a  fortune 
nor  a  beauty,)  didn't  she  go  dead  against  the  wishes  of  our 
father?  Certainl}^  she  did  I  But  she  said  she  was  of  age  — 
that  she  was,  and  a  great  deal  more,  too  —  and  she  would  do 
as  she  liked,  and  she  made  Baynes  marry  her.  Why  should 
you  be  afraid  of  coming  to  us,  love?  You  are  nearer  somebody 
here,  but  can  you  see  him  ?  Your  mamma  will  never  let  3'ou 
go  out,  but  she  will  follow  you  like  a  shadow.  You  may  write 
to  him.  Don't  tell  me,  child.  Haven't  I  been  young  myself; 
and  when  there  was  a  difficulty  between  Mac  and  poor  papa, 
didn't  Mac  write  to  me,  though  he  hates  letters,  poor  dear,  and 
certainl}'  is  a  stick  at  them?  And,  though  we  were  forbidden, 
had  we  not  twent}'  ways  of  telegraphing  to  each  other?  Law  ! 
your  poor  dear  grandfather  was  in  such  a  rage  with  me  once, 
when  he  found  one,  that  he  took  down  his  great  buggy  whip  to 
me,  a  grown  girl !  " 

Charlotte,  who  has  plenty  of  humor,  would  have  laughed  at 
this  confession  some  other  time,  but  now  she  was  too  much 
agitated  by  that  invitation  to  quit  Paris,  which  her  aunt  had 
just  given  her.  Quit  Paris?  Lose  the  chance  of  seeing  her 
dearest  friend,  her  protector?  If  he  was  not  with  her,  was  he 
not  near  her?  Yes,  near  her  always  !  On  that  horrible  night, 
when  all  was  so  desperate,  did  not  her  champion  burst  forward 
to  her  rescue?  Oh,  the  dearest  and  bravest!  Oh,  the  tender 
and  true  I 

"  Y'ou  ai-e  not  listening,  you  poor  child!"  said  aunt  Mac, 


64  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

«urve3'ing  her  niece  with  looks  of  kindness.  "  Now  listen  to 
me  once  more.  Whisper !  "  And  sitting  down  on  the  settee 
by  Charlotte's  side,  aunt  Emily  first  kissed  the  girl's  round 
cheek,  and  then  whispered  into  her  ear. 

NeA'cr,  I  declare,  was  medicine  so  efficacious,  or  rapid  of 
effect,  as  that  wondrous  distilment  which  aunt  Emily  poured 
into  her  niece's  ear  !  "  Oh,  you  goose  !  "  she  began  by  saying, 
and  the  rest  of  the  charm  she  whispered  into  that  pearly  little 
pink  shell  round  which  Miss  Charlotte's  soft  brown  ringlets 
clustered.  Such  a  sweet  blush  rose  straightway  to  the  cheek  ! 
Such  sweet  hps  began  to  cry,  "  Oh,  you  dear,  dear  aunt,"  and 
then  began  to  kiss  aunt's  kind  face,  that,  I  declare,  if  I  knew 
the  spell,  I  would  like  to  pronounce  it  right  off,  with  such  a 
sweet  young  patient  to  practise  on. 

"  When  do  we  go?  To-morrow,  aunt,  n'est-ce  pas?  Oh,  I 
am  quite  strong !  never  felt  so  well  in  my  life  !  I'll  go  and 
pack  up  this  instant"  cries  the  young  person. 

"  Doucement !  Papa  knows  of  the  plan.  Indeed,  it  was 
he  who  proposed  it." 

"  Dearest,  best  father  !  "  ejaculates  Miss  Charlotte, 

"But  mamma  does  not;  and  if  you  show  yourself  very 
eager,  Charlotte,  she  may  object,  you  know.  Heaven  forbid 
that /should  counsel  dissimulation  to  a  child;  but  under  the 
circumstances,  my  love  —  At  least  I  own  what  happened  be- 
tween Mac  and  me.  Law !  /  didn't  care  for  papa's  buggy 
whip !  I  knew  it  would  not  hurt ;  and  as  for  Baynes,  I  am 
sure  he  would  not  hurt  a  fly.  Never  was  man  more  sorry  for 
what  he  has  done.  He  told  me  so  whilst  we  walked  away  from 
the  bonnet-shop,  whilst  he  was  carrying  mj'  old  yellow.  We 
met  somebody  near  the  Bourse.  How  sad  he  looked,  and  how 
handsome,  too!  /bowed  to  him,  and  kissed  my  hand  to  him, 
that  is,  the  knob  of  m}'  parasol.  Papa  couldn't  shake  hands 
with  him,  because  of  my  bonnet,  you  know,  in  the  brown-paper 
bag.  He  has  a  grand  beard,  indeed !  He  looked  like  a 
wounded  lion.  I  said  so  to  papa.  And  I  said,  '  It  is  you  who 
wound  him,  Charles  Baynes  ! '  'I  know  that,'  papa  said.  '  I 
have  been  thinking  of  it.  I  can't  sleep  at  night  for  thinking 
about  it :  and  it  makes  me  dee'd  unhappy.'  You  know  what 
papa  sometimes  says  ?  Dear  me  !  You  should  have  heard 
them,  when  Eliza  and  I  joined  the  armj',  years  and  years 
ago !  " 

For  once,  Charlotte  Baynes  was  happy  at  her  father's  being 
unhappy.  The  little  maiden's  heart  had  been  wounded  to  think 
that  her  father  could  do  his  Charlotte  a  wrong.      Ah!  take 


The  Poor  helping  the  Poor. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  65 

warning  by  him,  ye  graj^beards  !  And  however  old  and  tooth- 
less, if  you  have  done  wrong,  own  that  3'ou  have  done  so  ;  and 
sit  down  and  sa}'  grace,  and  mumble  ^'our  humble  pie  ! 

The  General,  then,  did  not  shake  hands  with  Philip  ;  but 
Major  MacWhirter  went  up  in  the  most  marked  way,  and  gave 
the  wounded  lion  his  own  paw,_  and  said,  "  Mr.  Firmin,  glad  to 
see  you !  If  ever  you  come  to  Tours,  mind,  don't  forget  my 
wife  and  me.  Fine  day.  Little  patient  much  better !  Bou 
courage,  as  they  say  !  " 

I  wonder  what  sort  of  a  bungle  Philip  made  of  his  corre- 
spondence with  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  that  night  ?  Every  man 
who  lives  by  his  pen,  if  by  chance  he  looks  back  at  his  writings 
of  former  3'ears,  lives  in  the  past  again.  Our  griefs,  our  pleas- 
ures, our  youth,  our  sorrows,  our  dear,  dear  friends,  resusci- 
tate. How  we  tingle  with  shame  over  some  of  those  fine 
passages  !  How  dreary  are  those  disinterred  jokes  !  It  was 
Wednesday  night.  Philip  was  writing  off  at  home,  in  his  inn, 
one  of  his  grand  tirades,  dated  "Paris,  Thursday"  —  so  as 
to  be  in  time,  you  understand,  for  the  post  of  Saturday,  when 
the  little  waiter  comes  and  says,  winking,  "Again  that  lady, 
Monsieur  Philippe ! " 

"  What  lady?"  asks  our  own  intelhgent  correspondent. 

"  That  old  lad}'  who  came  the  other  day,  you  know." 

"  C'est  moi,  mon  ami!"  cries  Madame  Smolensk's  well- 
known  grave  voice.  "  Here  is  a  letter,  d'abord.  But  that  says 
nothing.  It  was  written  before  the  grande  nouvelle  —  the 
great  news  —  the  good  news  !  " 

"  What  good  news?"  asks  the  gentleman. 

"  In  two  da3-s  miss  goes  to  Tours  with  her  aunt  and  uncle  — 
this  good  Macvirterre.  They  have  taken  their  places  by  the 
diligence  of  Lafitte  and  Caillard.  They  are  thy  friends.  Papa 
encourages  her  going.  Here  is  their  card  of  visit.  Go  thou 
also  ;  they  will  receive  thee  with  open  arms.  What  hast  thou, 
my  son  ? " 

Philip  looked  dreadfully  sad.  An  injured  and  unfortunate 
gentleman  at  New  York  had  drawn  upon  him,  and  he  had  paid 
away  everything  he  had  but  four  francs,  and  he  was  living  on 
credit  until  his  next  remittance  arrived. 

"  Thou  hast  no  monc}- !  I  have  thought  of  it.  Behold  of  it ! 
Let  him  wait  —  the  proprietor  !  "  And  she  takes  out  a  bank- 
note, which  she  puts  in  the  young  man's  hand. 

"  Tiens,  11  I'erabrasse  encor  c'te  vieille !  "  says  the  little 
kuiife-boy.     "  J'aimerai  pas  9a,  moi,  par  examp  ! " 

80 


66  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


CHAPTER  VI. 

in  the  departments  op  seine,  loire,  and  styx 
(inferieur)  . 

Our  dear  friend  Mrs.  Bavnes  was  sufferins;  under  the  in- 
fluence  of  one  of  those  panics  which  sometimes  seized  her,  and 
during  which  she  remained  her  husband's  most  obedient  Eliza 
and  vassal.  AVhen  Ba3-nes  wore  a  certain  expression  of  counte- 
nance, we  have  said  that  his  wife  knew  resistance  to  be  useless. 
That  expression,  I  suppose,  he  assumed,  when  he  announced 
Charlotte's  departure  to  her  mother,  and  ordered  Mrs.  General 
Baynes  to  make  the  necessary"  preparations  for  the  girl.  "  She 
might  stay  some  time  with  her  aunt,"  Baynes  stated.  "A 
change  of  air  would  do  the  child  a  great  deal  of  good.  Let 
everything  necessary  in  the  shape  of  hats,  bonnets,  winter 
clothes,  and  so  forth,  be  got  ready."  "Was  Char,  then,  to 
stay  away  so  long?  "  asked  Mrs.  B.  "  She  has  been  so  happy 
here  that  you  want  to  keep  her,  and  fancy  she  can't  be  happy 
without  3'ou  !  "  I  can  fancy  the  General  grimly  replying  to  the 
partner  of  his  existence.  Hanging  down  her  withered  head, 
with  a  tear  mayhap  trickling  down  her  cheek,  I  can  fancy  the 
old  woman  silently  departing  to  do  the  bidding  of  her  lord. 
She  selects  a  trunk  out  of  the  store  of  Baj-nes's  baggage.  A 
3'oung  ladj's  trunk  was  a  trunk  in  those  days.  Now  it  is  a 
two  or  three  storied  edifice  of  wood,  in  which  two  or  three  full- 
grown  bodies  of  3"0ung  ladies  (without  crinoline)  might  be 
packed.  I  saw  a  little  old  country- woman  at  the  Folkestone 
station  last  year  with  her  travelling  baggage  contained  in  a 
band-box  tied  up  in  an  old  cotton  handkerchief  hanging  on  her 
arm  ;  and  she  surve3'ed  Lady  Knightsbridge's  twenty-three  black 
trunks,  each  wellnigh  as  large  as  her  lad3'ship's  opera-box. 
Before  these  great  edifices  that  old  woman  stood  wondering 
dumbly.  That  old  lad}^  and  I  had  lived  in  a  time  when  crino- 
line was  not ;  and  yet,  I  think,  women  looked  even  prettier  in 
that  time  than  they  do  now.  Well,  a  trunk  and  a  band-box 
were  fetched  out  of  the  baggage  heap  for  little  Charlotte,  and 
I  dare  say  her  little  brothers  jumped  and  danced  on  the  box 
with  much  energy  to  make  the  lid  shut,  and  the  General  brought 
out  his  hammer  and  nails,  and  nailed  a  card  on  the  box  with 
"Mademoiselle  Baynes"  thereon  printed.     And  mamma  had 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  67 

to  look  on  and  witness  those  preparations.  And  Walsingham 
Hely  had  called ;  and  he  wouldn't  call  again,  she  knew ;  and 
that  fair  chance  for  the  establishment  of  her  child  was  lost  by 
the  obstinacy  of  her  self-willed,  reckless  husband.  That  woman 
had  to  water  her  soup  with  her  furtive  tears,  to  sit  of  nights 
behind  hearts  and  spades,  and  brood  over  her  crushed  hopes. 
If  I  contemplate  that  wretched  old  Niobe  much  longer,  I  shall 
begin  to  pity  her.  Away  softness  !  Take  out  thy  arrows,  the 
poisoned,  the  barbed,  the  rankling,  and  prod  me  the  old  creature 
well,  god  of  the  silver  bow !  Eliza  Baynes  had  to  look  on, 
then,  and  see  the  trunks  packed  ;  to  see  her  own  authority 
over  her  own  daughter  wrested  away  from  her;  to  see  the 
undutiful  girl  prepare  with  perfect  delight  and  alacrity  to  go 
away,  without  feeling  a  pang  at  leaving  a  mother  who  had 
nursed  her  through  adverse  illnesses,  who  had  scolded  her  for 
seventeen  years. 

The  General  accompanied  the  party  to  the  diligence  office. 
Little  Char  was  very  pale  and  melancholy  indeed  when  she  took 
her  place  in  the  coupe.  "  She  should  have  a  corner  :  she  had 
been  ill,  and  ought  to  have  a  corner,"  uncle  Mac  said,  and  cheer- 
full}'  consented  to  be  bodkin.  Our  three  special  friends  are 
seated.  Theother  passengers  clamber  into  their  places.  Awa}" 
goes  the  clattering  team,  as  the  General  waves  an  adieu  to  his 
friends.  "  Monstrous  fine  horses  those  gray  Normans  ;  famous 
breed,  indeed,"  he  remarks  to  his  wife  on  his  return. 

"  Indeed,"  she  echoes.  "  Pray,  in  what  part  of  the  carriage 
was  Mr.  Firmin?"  she  presently  asks. 

"  In  no  part  of  the  carriage  at  all !  "  Baj'nes  answers  fiercely, 
turning  beet-root  red.  And  thus,  though  she  had  been  silent, 
obedient,  hanging  her  head,  the  woman  showed  that  she  was 
aware  of  her  master's  schemes,  and  why  her  girl  had  been  taken 
away.  She  knew ;  but  she  was  beaten.  It  remained  for  her 
but  to  be  silent  and  bow  her  head.  I  dare  say  she  did  not  sleep 
one  wink  that  night.  She  followed  the  diligence  in  its  journe3\ 
"  Char  is  gone,"  she  thought.  "  Yes  ;  in  due  time  he  will  take 
from  me  the  obedience  of  my  other  children,  and  tear  them  out 
of  my  lap."  He —  that  is,  the  General  —  was  sleeping  mean- 
while. He  had  had  in  the  last  few  days  four  awful  battles  — 
with  his  child,  with  his  friends,  with  his  wife  —  in  which  latter 
combat  he  had  been  conqueror.  No  wonder  Ba}- nes  was  tired, 
and  needed  rest.  Any  one  of  those  engagements  was  enough 
to  wear}'  the  veteran. 

If  we  take  the  liberty  of  looking  into  double-bedded  rooms, 
and  peering  into  the  thoughts  which  are  passing  under  private 


68  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

nightcaps,  maj^we  not  examine  the  coupe  of  a  jingling  diligence 
with  an  open  window,  in  which  a  young  lady  sits  wide  awake  by 
tlie  side  of  her  uncle  and  aunt  ?  These  perhaps  are  asleep  ;  but 
she  is  not.  Ah  !  she  is  thinking  of  another  journey  !  that  bliss- 
ful one  from  Boulgne,  when  he  was  there  3'onder  in  the  imperial, 
by  the  side  of  the  conductor.  When  the  MacWhirter  party 
had  come  to  the  diligence  office,  how  her  little  heart  had  beat ! 
How  she  had  looked  under  the  lamps  at  all  the  people  lounging  . 
about  the  court !  How  she  had  listened  when  the  clerk  called 
out  the  names  of  the  passengers  ;  and,  merc3^  what  a  fright  she 
had  been  in,  lest  he  should  be  there  after  all,  while  she  stood 
yet  leaning  on  her  father's  arm!  But  there  was  no — well, 
names,  I  think,  need  scarcely  be  mentioned.  There  was  no 
sign  of  the  individual  in  question.  Papa  kissed  her,  and  sadly 
said  good-by.  Good  Madame  Smolensk  came  with  an  adieu 
and  an  embrace  for  her  dear  Miss,  and  whispered,  "  Courage, 
mon  enfant,"  and  then  said,  "  Hold,  I  have  brought  3'ou  some 
bonbons."  There  they  were  in  a  little  packet.  Little  Char- 
lotte put  the  packet  into  her  little  basket.  Away  goes  the  dili- 
gence, but  the  individual  had  made  no  sign. 

Away  goes  the  diligence  ;  and  every  now  and  then  Charlotte 
feels  the  little  packet  in  her  little  basket.     What  does  it  contain 

—  oh,  what?  If  Charlotte  could  but  read  with  her  heart,  she 
would  see  in  that  little  packet  —  the  sweetest  bonbon  of  all  per- 
haps it  might  be,  or,  ah  me  !  the  bitterest  almond  !  Through 
the  night  goes  the  diligence,  passing  relay  after  relay.  Uncle 
Mac  sleeps.  I  think  I  have  said  he  snored.  Aunt  Mac  is  quite 
silent,  and  Char  sits  plaintively  with  her  lonely  thoughts  and  her 
bonbons,  as  miles,  hours,  relays  pass. 

"These  ladies  will  they  descend  and  take  a  cup  of  coffee, 
a  cup  of  bouillon?"  at  last  cries  a  waiter  at  the  coupe  door,  as 
the  carriage  stops  in  Orleans.  "  By  all  means  a  cup  of  coffee," 
says  aunt  Mac.  "  The  little  Orleans  wine  is  good,"  cries  uncle 
Mac.  "  Descendons  !  "  "  This  way,  madame,"  saj-s  the  waiter. 
"  Charlotte  my  love,  some  coffee?  " 

' '  I  will  —  I  will  sta}'  in  the  carriage.  I  don't  want  anj'thing, 
thank  you,"  says  Miss  Charlotte.  And  the  instant  her  relations 
are  gone,  entering  the  gate  of  the  "  Lion  Noir,"  where,  you 
know,  are  the  Bureaux  des  Messageries  Lafitte,  Caillard  et  C* 

—  I  sa}',  on  the  ver}-  instant  when  her  relations  have  disap- 
peared, what  do  3'ou  think  Miss  Charlotte  does? 

She  opens  that  packet  of  bonbons  with  fingers  that  tremble 

—  tremble  so,  I  wonder  how  she  could  undo  the  knot  of  the 
string  (or  do   you  think  she  had  untied  that  knot  under  her 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  69 

shawl  in  the  dark  ?  I  can't  say.  We  never  shall  know).  Well; 
she  opens  the  packet.  She  does  not  care  one  fig  for  the  lolli- 
pops, ahnonds,  and  so  forth.  She  pounces  on  a  little  scrap  of 
paper,  and  is  going  to  read  it  by  the  light  of  the  steaming  stable 
lanterns,  when  —  oh,  what  made  her  start  so?  — 

In  those  old  da3-s  there  used  to  be  two  diligences  which  trav- 
elled nightlj-  to  Tours,  setting  out  at  the  same  hour,  and  stop- 
ping at  almost  the  same  relays.  The  diligence  of  Lafitte  and 
Caillard  supped  at  the  "  Lion  Noir"  at  Orleans  —  the  diligence 
of  the  Messageries  Roj^ales  stopped  at  the  "Ecu  de  France," 
hard  by. 

Well,  as  the  Messageries  Royales  are  supping  at  the  "Ecu 
de  France,"  a  passenger  strolls  over  from  that  coach,  and  strolls 
and  strolls  until  he  comes  to  the  coach  of  Lafitte,  Caillard,  and 
Company,  and  to  the  coupe  window  where  Miss  Baynes  is  trying 
to  decipher  her  bonbon. 

He  comes  up  —  and  as  the  night-lamps  fall  on  his  face  and 
beard — his  rosj*  face,  his  yellow  beard  —  oh!  —  What  means 
that  scream  of  the  3'oung  lad}'  in  the  coupe  of  Lafitte,  Caillard 
et  Compagnie  !  I  declare  she  has  dropped  the  letter  which  she 
was  about  to  read.  It  has  dropped  into  a  pool  of  mud  under 
the  diligence  off  fore-wheel.  And  he  with  the  yellow  beard, 
and  a  sweet  happy  laugh,  and  a  tremble  in  his  deep  voice,  sajs, 
"You  need  not  read  it.  It  was  onl}'  to  tell  you  what  you 
know." 

Then  the  coupe  window  says,  "  Oh,  Philip  !  Oh,  my  — " 

My  what?  You  cannot  hear  the  words,  because  the  gray 
Norman  horses  come  squealing  and  clattering  up  to  their  coach- 
pole  with  such  accompanying  cries  and  imprecations  from  the 
horsekeepers  and  postilions,  that  no  wonder  the  little  warble  is 
lost.  It  was  not  intended  for  jou  and  me  to  hear  ;  but  perhaps 
you  can  guess  the  purport  of  the  words.  Perhaps  in  quite  old, 
old  days,  you  may  remember  having  heard  such  little  whispers, 
in  a  time  when  the  song  birds  in  3'our  grove  carolled  that  kind 
of  song  very  pleasantl}-  and  freel}'.  But  this,  my  good  madam, 
is  written  in  Februar}-.  The  birds  are  gone  :  tlie  branches  are 
bare  :  tlie  gardener  has  actually'  swept  the  leaves  off"  the  walks  : 
and  the  whole  affair  is  an  aflTair  of  a  past  .year,  you  understand. 
Well!  carpe  diem,fngithora,  &c.  &c.  There,  for  one  minute, 
for  two  minutes,  stands  Philip  over  the  diligence  off  fore-wheel, 
talking  to  Charlotte  at  the  window,  and  their  heads  are  quite 
close  —  quite  close.  What  are  those  two  pairs  of  lips  warbling, 
whispering?  "Hi!  Gare  !  Ohe  !  "  The  horsekeepers,  I  say, 
quite  prevent  3'ou  from  hearing  ;  and  here  come  the  passengers 


70  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

out  of  the  "  Lion  Noir,"  aunt  Mac  still  munching  a  great  slice 
of  bread-and-butter.  Charlotte  is  quite  comfortable,  and  does 
not  want  anything,  dear  aunt,  thank  you.  I  hope  she  nestles 
in  her  corner,  and  has  a  sweet  slumber.  On  the  journey  the 
twin  diligences  pass  and  repass  each  other.  Perhaps  Charlotte 
looks  out  of  her  window  sometimes  and  towards  the  other  car-* 
riage.  I  don't  know.  It  is  a  long  time  ago.  What  used  you 
to  do  in  old  days,  ere  railroads  were,  and  when  diligences  ran?i 
The}'  were  slow  enough  :  but  they  have  got  to  their  journey's  end 
somehow.  The}-  were  tight,  hot,  dust}',  dear,  stuffy,  and  uncom- 
fortable ;  but,  for  all  that,  travelling  was  good  sport  sometimes. 
And  if  the  world  would  have  the  kindness  to  go  back  for  five- 
and-twent}'  or  thirty  years,  some  of  us  who  have  travelled  on 
the  Tours  and  Orleans  Railway  very  comfortably  would  like  to 
take  the  diligence  journe}^  now. 

Having  myself  seen  the  city  of  Tours  only  last  year,  of 
course  I  don't  remember  much  about  it.  A  man  remembers 
boyhood,  and  the  first  sight  of  Calais,  and  so  forth.  But  after 
much  travel  or  converse  with  the  world,  to  see  a  new  town  is  to 
be  introduced  to  Jones.  He  is  like  Brown  ;  he  is  not  unlike 
Smith.  In  a  little  while  j'ou  hash  him  up  with  Thompson.  I 
dare  not  be  particular,  then,  regarding  Mr.  Firmin's  life  at 
Tours,  lest  I  should  make  topographical  errors,  for  which  the 
critical  schoolmaster  would  justl}'  inflict  chastisement.  In  the 
last  novel  I  read  about  Tours,  there  were  blunders  from  the  effect 
of  which  you  know  the  wretched  author  never  recovered.  It 
was  b}'  one  fScott,  and  had  3'oung  Quentin  Durward  for  a  hero, 
and  Isabel  de  Croye  for  a  heroine  ;  and  she  sat  in  her  hostel, 
and  sang,  "  Ah,  Count}'  Guy,  the  hour  is  nigh."  A  pretty  bal- 
lad enough  :  but  what  ignorance,  my  dear  sir  !  What  descrip- 
tions of  Tours,  of  Liege,  are  in  that  fallacious  story  !  Yes,  so 
fallacious  and  misleading,  that  I  remember  I  was  sorry,  not 
because  the  description  was  unlike  Tours,  but  because  Tours 
was  unlike  the  description. 

So  Quentin  Firmin  went  and  put  up  at  the  snug  little  hostel 
of  the  "  Faisan  ;  "  and  Isabel  de  Baynes  took  up  her  abode 
with  her  uncle  the  Sire  de  MacWhirter ;  and  I  believe  Master 
Firmin  had  no  more  money  in  his  poc-ket  than  the  Master  Dur- 
ward whose  story  the  Scottish  novelist  told  some  forty  years 
since.  And  I  cannot  promise  you  that  our  young  English 
adventurer  shall  marry  a  noble  heiress  of  vast  property,  and 
engage  the  Boar  of  Ardennes  in  a  hand-to-hand  combat ;  that 
sort  of  Boar,  madam,  does  not  appear  in  our  modern  drawing- 
room  histories.     Of  others,  not  wild,  there  be  plenty.     They 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


71 


gore  3'ou  in  clubs.  Thej'  seize  3'ou  b}'  the  doublet,  and  pin  3'ou 
against  posts  in  public  streets.  They  run  at  3'Ou  in  parks.  I 
have  seen  them  sit  at  bay  after  dinner,  ripping,  gashing,  tossing, 
a  whole  company.  These  our  3'oung  adventurer  had  in  good 
sooth  to  encounter,  as  is  the  case  with  most  knights.  Who 
escapes  them  ?  I  remember  an  eminent  person  talking  to  me 
about  bores  for  two  hours  once.  Oh,  you  stupid  eminent  per- 
son !  You  never  knew  that  you  3'ourself  had  tusks,  little  eyes 
in  your  hure ;  a  bristly  mane  to  cut  into  tooth-brushes ;  and  a 
curl}'  tail !  I  have  a  notion  that  the  multitude  of  bores  is 
enormous  in  the  world.  If  a  man  is  a  bore  himself,  when  he 
is  bored  —  and  you  can't  denj-  this  statement  —  then  what  am 
I,  what  are  3'ou,  what  your  father,  grandfather,  sou  —  all  your 
amiable  acquaintance,  in  a  word  ?  Of  this  I  am  sure.  Major 
and  Mrs.  MacWhirter  were  not  brilliant  in  conversation.  What 
would  you  and  I  do,  or  say,  if  we  listen  to  the  tittle-tattle  of 
Tours.  How  the  clergyman  was  certainly  too  fond  of  cards, 
and  going  to  the  cafe ;  how  the  dinners  those  Popjoys  gave 
were  too  absurdly  ostentatious  ;  and  Popjoy,  we  know,  in  the 
Bench  last  j-ear.  How  Mrs.  Flights,  going  on  with  that  Major 
of  French  Carabiniers,  was  reall}-  too  &c.  &c.  "  How  could  I 
endure  those  people  ? "  Philip  would  ask  himself,  when  talking 
of  that  personage  in  after  days,  as  he  loved,  and  loves  to  do. 
"How  could  I  endure  them,  I  sa}'?  Mac  was  a  good  man; 
but  I  knew  secretly  in  my  heart,  sir,  that  he  was  a  bore.  Well : 
I  loved  him.  I  liked  his  old  stories.  I  liked  his  bad  old  din- 
ners :  there  is  a  very  comfortable  Touraine  wine,  by  the  way  — 
a  ver}^  warming  little  wine,  sir.  Mrs.  Mac  3'ou  never  saw,  my 
good  Mrs.  Pendennis.  Be  sure  of  this,  3-ou  never  would  have 
liked  her.  Well,  I  did.  I  liked  her  house,  though  it  was 
damp,  in  a  damp  garden,  frequented  b}-  dull  people.  I  should 
like  to  go  and  see  that  old  house  now.  I  am  perfectl3'  h^PPJ 
with  my  wife,  but  I  sometimes  go  away  from  her  to  enjo}'  the 
luxur}'  of  living  over  our  old  da3's  again.  With  nothing  in  the 
world  but  an  allowance  which  was  precarious,  and  had  been 
spent  in  advance  ;  with  no  particular  plans  for  the  future,  and 
a  few  five-franc  pieces  for  the  present,  —  by  Jove,  sir,  how  did 
I  dare  to  be  so  happ3-?  What  idiots  we  were,  m3'  love,  to  be 
happ3'  at  all !  We  were  mad  to  many.  Don't  tell  me  :  with  a 
purse  which  didn't  contain  three  months'  consumption,  would 
we  dare  to  marr3^  now  ?  We  should  be  put  into  the  mad  ward 
of  the  workhouse  :  that  would  be  the  only  place  for  us.  Talk 
about  trusting  in  heaven.  Stuff  and  nonsense,  ma'am !  I 
have  as  good  a  right  to  go  and  buy  a  house  in  Belgrave  Square, 


72  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

and  trust  to  heaven  for  the  payment,  as  I  had  to  many  when  1 
did.  We  were  paupers,  Mrs.  Char,  and  j^ou  know  that  very 
well!" 

"  Oh,  3'es,  We  were  ver^^  wrong :  ver}^ !  "  sa3's  Mrs.  Char- 
lotte, lookmg  up  to  her  chandelier  (which,  by  the  way,  is  of  very 
handsome  Venetian  old  glass).  "We  were  ver^'  wrong,  were 
not  we,  m}'  dearest?  "  And  herewith  she  will  begin  to  kiss  and 
fondle  two  or  more  babies  that  disport  in  her  room  —  as  if  two 
or  more  babies  had  anything  to  do  with  Philip's  argument,  that 
a  man  has  no  right  to  marr}'  who  has  no  pretty  well-assured 
means  of  keeping  a  wife. 

Here,  then,  by  the  banks  of  Loire,  although  Philip  had  but 
a  very  few  francs  in  his  pocket,  and  was  obliged  to  keep  a  sharp 
look-out  on  his  expenses  at  the  Hotel  of  the  "Golden  Pheasant," 
he  passed  a  fortnight  of  such  happiness  as  I,  for  ni}'  part,  wish 
to  all  young  folks  who  read  his  veracious  history.  Though  he 
was  so  poor,  and  ate  and  drank  so  modestly  in  the  house,  the 
maids,  waiters,  the  landlady  of  the  "  Pheasant,"  were  as  civil 
to  him  — yes,  as  civil  as  they  were  to  the  gouty  old  IMarchioness 
of  Carabas  herself,  who  sta^-ed  here  on  her  way  to  the  south, 
occupied  the  grand  apartments,  quarrelled  with  her  lodging, 
dinner,  breakfast,  bread-and-butter  in  general,  insulted  the 
landlady  in  bad  French,  and  only  paid  her  bill  under  com- 
pulsion. Philip's  was  a  little  bill,  but  he  paid  it  eheerfull}-. 
He  gave  onl}'  a  small  gratuit}'  to  the  servants,  but  he  was  kind 
and  heart}',  and  they  knew  he  was  poor.  He  was  kind  and 
hearty,  I  suppose,  because  he  was  so  happy.  I  have  known 
the  gentleman  to  be  by  no  means  civil ;  and  have  heard  him 
storm,  and  hector,  and  browbeat  landlord  and  waiters,  as 
fiercely  as  the  Marquis  of  Carabas  himself.  But  now  Philip 
the  Bear  was  the  most  gentle  of  bears,  because  his  little  Char- 
lotte was  leading  him. 

Away  with  trouble  and  doubt,  with  squeamish  pride  and 
gloomy  care  !  Philip  had  enough  money  for  a  fortnight,  during 
which  Tom  Glazier,  of  the  Monitor,  promised  to  supply  Philip's 
letters  for  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette.  All  the  designs  of  France, 
Spain,  Russia,  gave  that  idle  "own  correspondent"  not  the 
slightest  anxiety.  In  the  morning  it  was  Miss  Baynes  ;  iu  the 
afternoon  it  was  Miss  Baj'ues.  At  six  it  was  dinner  and 
Charlotte  ;  at  nine  it  was  Charlotte  and  tea.  "  Anyhow,  love- 
making  does  hot  spoil  his  appetite,"  Major  MacWhirter  cor- 
rectly remarked.  Indeed,  Philip  had  a  glorious  appetite  ;  and 
health  bloomed  in  Miss  Charlotte's  cheek,  and  beamed  in  her 
happy  little  heart.     Dr.  Firmin,  in  the  height  of  his  practice, 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  73 

never  completed    a  cure  more  skilfullj-  than  that  which  was 
performed  bj  Dr.  Firmin,  junior. 

"I  ran  the  thing  so  close,  sir,"  I  remember  Phihp  bawling 
out,  in  his  usual  energetic  way,  whilst  describing  this  period  ol 
his  life's  greatest  happiness  to  his  biographer,  "  that  I  came 
back  to  Paris  outside  the  diligence,  and  had  not  money  enough 
to  dine  on  the  road.  But  I  bought  a  sausage,  sir,  and  a  bit  of 
bread  —  and  a  brutal  sausage  it  was,  sir  —  and  I  reached  my 
lodgings  with  exactly  two  sous  in  my  pocket."  Roger  Bontemps 
himself  was  not  more  content  than  our  easy  philosopher. 

So  Philip  and  Charlotte  ratified  and  sealed  a  treaty  of  Tours, 
which  they  determined  should  never  be  broken  by  either  partN'. 
Marr^' without  papa's  consent?  Oh,  never!  Marry  anybod}- 
but  Philip?  Oh,  never  —  never!  Not  if  she  lived  to  be  a 
hundred,  when  Philip  would  in  consequence  be  in  his  hundred 
and  ninth  or  tenth  3'ear,  would  this  young  Joan  have  an}-  but 
her  present  Darby.  Aunt  Mac,  though  she  may  not  have  been 
the  most  accomplished  or  highly-bred  of  ladies,  was  a  warm- 
hearted and  affectionate  aunt  Mac.  She  caught  in  a  mild  form 
the  fever  from  these  young  people.  She  had  not  much  to  leave,, 
and  Mac's  relations  would  want  all  he  could  spare  when  he  was 
gone.  But  Charlotte  should  have  her  garnets,  and  her  teapot,, 
and  her  India  shawl  —  that  she  should.*  And  with  many  bless- 
ings this  enthusiastic  old  lady  took  leave  of  her  future  nephew- 
in-law  when  he  returned  to  Paris  and  dut3\  Crack  your  whip, 
and  scream  your  hi!  and  be  off  quick,  postilion  and  diligence  ! 
I  am  glad  we  have  taken  Mr.  Firmin  out  of  that  dangerous, 
lazy,  love-making  place.  Nothing  is  to  me  so  sweet  as  senti- 
mental writing.  I  could  have  written  hundreds  of  pages  de- 
scribing Philip  and  Charlotte,  Charlotte  and  Philip.  But  a  stern 
sense  of  dut}-  intervenes.  M3'  modest  Muse  puts  a  finger  on 
her  lip,  and  says,  "Hush  about  that  business!"  Ah,  m}' 
worthy  friends,  you  little  know  what  soft-hearted  people  those 
c^'uics  are  !  If  you  could  have  come  on  Diogenes  b}'  surprise, 
I  dare  say  j-ou  might  have  found  him  reading  sentimental  novels 
and  whimpering  in  his  tub.  Philip  shall  leave  his  sweetheart 
and  go  back  to  his  business,  and  we  will  not  have  one  word 
about  tears,  promises,  raptures,  parting.  Never  mind  about 
these  sentimentalities,  but  please,  rather,  to  depict  to  ^-ourself 

*  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  in  later  clays,  after  Mrs.  Major  MacWhirter's 
decease,  it  was  found  that  slie  liad  promised  tliese  treasures  in  uriting  to 
several  members  of  her  husband's  family,  and  that  much  heart-burning 
arose  in  consequence.  But  our  story  has  nothing  to  do  with  these  painful 
disputes. 


74  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

our  young  fellow  so  poor  that  when  the  coach  stops  for  dinner 
at  Orleans  he  can  only  afford  to  purchase  a  penny-loaf  and  a 
sausage  for  his  own  hungiy  cheek.  When  he  reached  the  "  Hotel 
Poussin,"  with  his  meagre  carpet-bag,  they  served  him  a  supper 
which  he  ate  to  the  admiration  of  all  beholders  in  the  little 
coffee-room.  He  was  in  great  spirits  and  g&jetj.  He  did  not 
care  to  make  any  secret  of  his  povert}',  and  how  he  had  been 
unable  to  afford  to  pay  for  dinner.  Most  of  the  guests  at 
"  Plotel  Poussin  "  knew  what  it  was  to  be  poor.  Often  and  often 
they  had  dined  on  credit  when  they  put  back  their  napkins  into 
their  respective  pigeon-holes.  But  my  landlord  knew  his  guests. 
They  were  poor  men  —  honest  men.  They  paid  him  in  the  end, 
and  each  could  help  his  neighbor  in  a  strait. 

After  Mr.  Firmin's  return  to  Paris,  he  did  not  care  for"^ 
while  to  go  to  the  Elj'sian  Fields.  The}"  were  not  Elj-sian  for 
him,  except  in  Miss  Charlotte's  compan}'.  He  resumed  his 
newspaper  correspondence,  which  occupied  but  a  day  in  each 
week,  and  he  had  the  other  six  —  na}',  he  scribbled  on  the 
seventh  da}'  likewise,  and  covered  immense  sheets  of  letter- 
paper  with  remarks  upon  all  manner  of  subjects,  addressed  to 
a  certain  Mademoiselle,  Mademoiselle  Baynes,  chez  M.  le  Ma- 
jor Mac,  &c.  On  these  sheets  of  paper  Mr.  Firmin  could  talk 
so  long,  so  loudly,  so  ferventl}',  so  eloquentlj'  to  Miss  Ba3'nes, 
that  she  was  never  tired  of  hearing,  or  he  of  holding  forth.  He 
began  imparting  his  dreams  and  his  earliest  sensations  to  his 
beloved  before  breakfast.  At  noon-day  he  gave  her  his  opinion 
of  the  contents  of  the  morning  papers.  His  packet  was  ordina- 
rily full  and  brimming  over  b}'  post-time,  so  that  his  expres- 
sions of  love  and  fidelity  leaked  from  under  the  cover,  or  were 
squeezed  into  the  queerest  corners,  where,  no  doubt,  it  was  a 
delightful  task  for  Miss  Baynes  to  trace  out  and  detect  those 
little  Cupids  w^hich  a  faithful  lover  despatched  to  her.  It  would 
be,  "  I  have  found  this  little  corner  unoccupied.  Do  you  know 
what  I  have  to  sa}'  in  it?  Oh,  Charlotte,  I,"  &c.  &c.  M}' 
sweet  young  lad}',  you  can  guess,  or  will  one  day  guess,  the 
rest ;  and  will  receive  such  dear,  delightful,  nonsensical  double 
letters,  and  will  answer  them  with  that  elegant  propriety  which 
I  have  no  doul)t  Miss  Baynes  showed  in  her  replies.  Ah !  if 
all  who  are  writing  and  receiving  such  letters,  or  who  have 
written  aud  received  such,  or  who  remember  writing  and  re- 
ceiving such  letters,  would  order  a  copy  of  this  novel  from  the 
publishers,  what  reams,  and  piles,  and  pyramids  of  paper  our 
ink  would  have  to  blacken !  Since  Charlotte  and  Philip  had 
been  engaged  to  each  other,  he  had  scarcely,  except  in  those 


ON  HTS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.     75 

dreadful,  ghastly  days  of  quarrel,  enjoyed  the  luxury  of  absence 
from  his  soul's  blessing  —  the  exquisite  delights  of  writing  to 
her.  He  could  do  few  things  in  moderation,  this  man  —  and  of 
this  delightful  privilege  of  writing  to  Charlotte  he  now  enjo3'cd 
his  heart's  fill. 

After  brief  enjoyment  of  the  weeks  of  this  rapture,  when 
winter  was  come  on  Paris,  and  icicles  hung  on  the  bough,  how 
did  it  happen  that  one  day,  two  days,  three  days  passed,  and 
the  postman  brought  no  little  letter  in  the  well-known  little 
handwriting  for  Monsieur,  Monsieur  Philip  Firmin,  a  Paris? 
Three  days,  four  days,  and  no  letter.  O  torture,  could  she  be 
ill?  Could  her  aunt  and  uncle  have  turned  against  her,  and 
forbidden  her  to  write,  as  her  father  and  mother  had  done  be- 
fore ?  0  grief,  and  sorrow,  and  rage  !  As  for  jealousy,  our 
leonine  friend  never  knew  such  a  passion.  It  never  entered 
into  his  lordly  heart  to  doubt  of  his  little  maiden's  love.  But 
still  four,  five  days  have  passed,  and  not  one  word  has  come 
from  Tours.  The  little  "  Hotel  Poussin  "  was  in  a  commotion. 
I  have  said  that  when  our  friend  ■  felt  any  passion  veiy  strongly 
he  was  sure  to  speak  of  it.  Did  Don  Quixote  lose  any  oppor- 
tunit}'  of  declaring  to  the  world  that  Dulcinea  del  Toboso  was 
peerless  among  women?  Did  not  Antar  bawl  out  in  battle,  ''  I 
am  the  lover  of  Ibla?  "  Our  knight  had  taken  all  the  people  of 
the  hotel  into  his  confidence  somehow.  Tliey  all  knew  of  his 
condition  —  all,  the  painter,  the  poet,  the  half-pay  Polish  offi- 
cer, the  landlord,  the  hostess,  down  to  the  little  knife-bo}'  who 
used  to  come  in  wnth,  "  The  factor  comes  of  to  pass  —  no  letter 
this  morning." 

No  doubt  Philip's  political  letters  became,  under  this  out- 
ward pressure,  verj'  desponding  and  gloomy.  One  day,  as  he 
sat  gnawing  his  moustaches  at  his  desk,  the  little  Anatole  en- 
ters his  apartment  and  cries,  "  Tenez,  M.  Philippe.  That  lady 
again  !  "  And  the  faithful,  the  watchful,  the  active  Madame 
Smolensk  once  more  made  her  appearance  in  his  chamber. 

Phihp  blushed  and  hung  his  head  for  shame.  "  Ungrateful 
brute  that  I  am,"  he  thought;  "I  have  been  back  more  than 
a  week,  and  never  thought  a  bit  about  that  good,  kind  soul  who 
came  to  my  succor.  I  am  an  awful  egotist.  Love  is  always 
so." 

As  he  rose  up  to  greet  his  friend,  she  looked  so  grave,  and 
pale,  and  sad,  that  he  could  not  but  note  her  demeanor.  "  Bon 
Dieu  !  had  anything  happened?" 

"  Ce  pauvre  General  is  ill,  very  ill,  Philip,"  Smolensk  said, 
in  her  grave  voice. 


76  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

He  was  so  gravely  ill,  Madame  said,  that  his  daughter  had 
been  sent  for. 

"  Had  she  come?  "  asked  Philip,  with  a  start. 

"You  think  bnt  of  her  —  you  care  not  for  the  poor  old 
man.  You  are  all  the  same,  you  men.  All  egotists  —  all. 
Go !  I  know  you !  I  never  knew  one  that  was  not,"  said 
Madame. 

Philip  has  his  little  faults :  perhaps  egotism  is  one  of  his 
defects.     Perhaps  it  is  yours,  or  even  mine. 

' '  You  have  been  here  a  week  since  Thursday  last,  and  you 
have  never  written  or  sent  to  a  woman  who  loves  you  well. 
Go  !     It  was  not  well,  Monsieur  Phihppe." 

As  soon  as  he  saw  her,  Philip  felt  that  he  had  been  neglect- 
ful and  ungrateful.  We  have  owned  so  much  already.  But 
how  should  Madame  know  that  he  had  returned  on  Thursday 
week  ?  When  they  looked  up  after  her  reproof,  his  eager  eyes 
seemed  to  ask  this  question. 

"  Could  she  not  write  to  me  and  tell  me  that  you  were  come 
back?  Perhaps  she  knew  that  3"ou  would  not  do  so  yourself. 
A  woman's  heart  teaches  her  these  experiences  early,"  contin- 
ued the  lad}',  sadly;  then  she  added:  "I  tell  3'ou,  you  are 
good-for-nothings,  all  of  you !  And  I  repent  me,  see  3-ou,  of 
having  had  the  betise  to  pity  you  !  " 

"  I  shall  have  my  quarter's  pay  on  Saturday.  I  was  coming 
to  3'ou  then,"  said  Philip. 

"  Was  it  that  I  was  speaking  of?  What !  3'Ou  are  all  cow- 
ards, men  all !  Oh,  that  I  have  been  beast,  beast,  to  think  at 
last  I  had  found  a  man  of  heart !  " 

How  much  or  how  oftevi  this  poor  Ariadne  had  trusted  and 
been  forsaken,  I  have  no  means  of  knowing,  or  desire  of  in- 
quiring. Perhaps  it  is  as  well  for  the  polite  reader,  who  is 
taken  into  my  entire  confidence,  that  we  should  not  know  Ma- 
dame de  Smolensk's  history  from  the  first  page  to  the  last. 
Granted  that  Ariadne  was  deceived  by  Theseus  :  but  then  she 
consoled  herself,  as  we  ma}'  all  read  in  "  Smith's  Dictionar}- ;  " 
and  then  she  must  have  deceived  her  father  in  order  to  run 
away  with  Theseus.  I  suspect  —  I  suspect,  I  say,  that  these 
women  who  are  so  vet-y  much  betrayed,  are  —  but  we  are  specu- 
lating on  this  French  lad3''s  antecedents,  when  Charlotte,  her 
lover,  and  her  family  are  the  persons  with  whom  we  have 
mainly  to  do. 

These  two,  I  suppose,  forgot  self,  about  which  each  for  a 
moment  had  been  bus}',  and  Madame  resumed:  —  "Yes,  you 
have  reason ;  Miss  is  here.     It  was  time.     Hold !     Here  is  a 


ox  HIS  WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  77 

note  from  her."  And  Philip's  kind  messenger  once  more  put 
a  paper  into  his  hands. 

'•  M}'  dearest  father  is  ver}^,  ver}^  ill.  Oh,  Philip  !  I  am  so 
unhappy ;  and  he  is  so  good,  and  gentle,  and  kind,  and  loves 
me  so." 

"It  is  true,"  Madame  resumed.  "Before  Charlotte  came, 
he  thought  onh'  of  her.  When  his  wife  comes  up  to  him,  he 
turns  from  her.  I  have  not  loved  her  much,  that  lady,  that  is 
true.  But  to  see  her  now,  it  is  navrant.  He  will  take  no  medi- 
cine from  her.  He  pushes  her  away.  Before  Charlotte  came, 
he  sent  for  me,  and  spoke  as  well  as  his  poor  throat  would  let 
him,  this  poor  General!  His  daughter's  arrival  seemed  to 
comfort  him.  But  he  sa^'s,  '  Not  my  wife  !  not  my  wife  ! ' 
And  the  poor  thing  has  to  go  away  and  cry  in  the  chamber  at 
the  side.  He  says  —  in  his  French,  you  know  —  he  has  never 
been  well  since  Charlotte  went  away.  He  has  often  been  out. 
He  has  dined  but  rarel}-  at  our  table,  and  there  has  always  beeu 
a  silence  between  him  and  Madame  la  Generale.  Last  week  he 
had  a  great  imflammation  of  the  chest.  Then  he  took  to  bed, 
and  Monsieur  the  Docteur  came  —  the  little  doctor  whom  30U 
know.  Then  a  quinsy  has  declared  itself,  and  he  now  is  scarce 
able  to  speak.  His  condition  is  most  grave.  He  lies  suffering, 
dying,  perhaps  —  3'es,  dying,  do  j^ou  hear?  And  you  are 
thinking  of  your  little  school-girl !  Men  are  all  the  same. 
Monsters  !     Go  !  " 

Philip,  who,  I  have  said,  is  very  fond  of  talking  about  Philip, 
survey's  his  own  faults  with  great  magnanimity  and  good-humor, 
and  acknowledges  them  without  the  least  intention  to  correct 
them.  "  How  selfish  we  are  !  "  I  can  hear  him  say,  looking  at 
himself  in  the  glass.  "  B}'  George!  sir,  when  1  heard  simul- 
taneously the  news  of  that  poor  old  man's  illness,  and  of  Char- 
lotte's return,  I  felt  that  I  wanted  to  see  her  that  instant.  I 
must  go  to  her,  and  speak  to  her.  The  old  man  and  his  suffer- 
ing did  not  seem  to  affect  me.  It  is  humiliating  to  have  to  own 
that  we  are  selfish  beasts.  But  we  are,  sir  —  we  are  brutes,  b}- 
George  !  and  nothing  else."  —  And  he  gives  a  finishing  twist 
to  the  ends  of  his  flaming  moustaches  as  he  survey's  them  in 
the  glass. 

Poor  little  Charlotte  was  in  such  affliction  that  of  course  she 
must  have  Philip  to  console  her  at  once.  No  time  was  to  be 
lost.  Quick  !  a  cab  this  moment :  and,  coachman,  3'ou  shall 
have  an  extra  for  drink  if  3'ou  go  quick  to  the  Avenue  de  Valmy  ! 
Madame  puts  herself  into  the  carriage,  and  as  the}'  go  along, 
tells  Philip  more  at  length  of  the  gloom}'  occurrences  of  the  last 


78  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

few  days.  Four  clays  since  the  poor  General  was  so  bad  with  his 
quinsy  that  he  thought  he  should  not  recover,  and  Charlotte 
was  sent  for.  He  was  a  little  better  on  the  day  of  her  arrival ; 
but  yesterday  the  inflammation  had  increased ;  he  could  not 
swallow  ;  he  could  not  speak  audibly  ;  he  was  in  very  great  suf- 
fering and  danger.  He  turned  awav  from  his  wife.  The  un- 
happ}'  Generaless  had  been  to  Madame  Bunch  in  her  tears  and 
grief,  complaining  that  after  twenty  years'  fidelit}-  and  attach- 
ment her  husband  had  withdrawn  his  regard  from  her.  Baynes 
attributed  even  his  illness  to  his  wife  ;  and  at  other  times  said  it 
was  a  just  punishment  for  his  wicked  conduct  in  breaking  his 
word  to  Philip  and  Charlotte.  If  he  did  not  see  his  dear  child 
again  he  must  beg  her  forgiveness  for  having  made  her  suffer  so. 
He  had  acted  wickedly-  and  ungratefully,  and  his  wife  had  forced 
him  to  do  what  he  did.  He  pra3-ed  that  heaven  might  pardon 
him.  And  he  had  behaved  with  wicked  injustice  towards  Philip, 
who  had  acted  most  generously  towards  his  famil}-.  And  he 
had  been  a  scoundrel  —  he  knew  he  had  —  and  Bunch,  and  Mac- 
Whirter,  and  the  Doctor  all  said  so  —  and  it  was  that  woman's 
doing.  And  he  pointed  to  the  scared  wife  as  he  painfully  hissed 
out  these  words  of  anger  and  contrition  :  ^  "  When  I  saw  that 
child  ill,  and  almost  made  mad,  because  I  broke  my  word,  I 
felt  I  was  a  scoundrel,  Martin  ;  and  I  was  ;  and  that  woman 
made  me  so  ;  and  1  deserve  to  be  shot ;  and  I  shan't  recover ;  I 
tell  you  I  shan't."  Dr.  Martin,  who  attended  the  General,  thus 
described  his  patient's  last  talk  and  behavior  to  Philip. 

It  was  the  doctor  who  sent  Madame  in  quest  of  the  3'oung 
man.  He  found  poor  Mrs.  Baynes  with  hot,  tearless  e3'es  and 
livid  face,  a  wretched  sentinel  outside  the  sick-chamber.  "  You 
will  find  General  Baynes  very  ill,  sir,"  she  said  to  Philip  with 
a  ghastl}'  calmness,  and  a  gaze  he  could  scarcely'  face.  "  M}' 
daughter  is  in  the  room  with  him.  It  appears  I  have  off'ended 
him,  and  he  refuses  to  see  me."  And  she  squeezed  a  dry 
handkerchief  which  she  held,  and  put  on  her  spectacles  again, 
and  tried  again  to  read  the  Bible  in  her  lap. 

Philip  hard!}'  knew  the  meaning  of  Mrs.  Baynes's  words  as 
yet.  He  was  agitated  by  the  thought  of  the  General's  illness, 
perhaps  by  the  notion  that  the  beloved  was  so  near.  Her  hand 
was  in  his  a  moment  afterwards  ;  and,  even  in  that  sad  chamber, 
each  could  give  the  other  a  soft  pressure,  a  fond,  silent  signal 
of  mutual  love  and  faith. 

The  poor  man  laid  the  hands  of  the  3^oung  people  together, 
and  his  own  upon  them.  The  suffering  to  which  he  had  put  his 
daughter  seemed  to  be  the  crime  which  specially  affected  him. 


At  the  Sick  Man's  Door. 


ON   HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  79 

He  thanked  heaven  he  was  able  to  see  he  was  wrong.  He 
whispered  to  his  little  maid  a  prayer  for  pardon  in  one  or  two 
words,  which  caused  poor  Charlotte  to  sink  on  her  knees  and 
cover  his  fevered  hand  with  tears  and  kisses.  Out  of  all  her 
heart  she  forgave  him.  She  had  felt  that  the  parent  she  loved 
and  was  accustomed  to  honor  had  been  mercenary  and  cruel. 
It  had  wounded  her  pure  heart  to  be  obliged  to  think  that  her 
father  could  be  other  than  generous,  and  just,  and  good.  That 
he  should  humble  himself  before  her,  smote  her  with  the  keenest 
pang  of  tender  commiseration.  I  do  not  care  to  pursue  this 
last  scene.  Let  us  close  the  door  as  the  children  kneel  by  the 
sufferer's  bedside,  and  to  the  old  man's  petition  for  forgiveness, 
and  to  the  3'oung  girl's  sobbing  vows  of  love  and  fondness,  say 
a  reverent  Amen. 

By  the  following  letter,  which  he  wrote  a  few  da3's  before  the 
fatal  termination  of  his  illness,  the  worthy  General,  it  would 
appear,  had  already  despaired  of  his  recovery:  —  "My  dear 
Mac,  —  I  speak  and  breathe  with  such  difficult}'  as  1  write  this 
from  my  bed,  that. I  doubt  whether  I  shall  ever  leave  it.  I  do 
not  wish  to  vex  poor  Eliza,  and  in  my  state  cannot  enter  into 
disputes  which  I  know  would  ensue  regarding  settlement  of 
propert3^  When  I  left  England  there  was  a  claim  hanging 
over  me  (young  Firmin's)  at  which  I  was  needlessly  frightened, 
as  having  to  satisfy'  it  would  swallow  up  much  more  than  every- 
thing I  possessed  in  the  loorld.  Hence  made  arrangements  for 
leaving  everything  in  Eliza's  name  and  the  children  after.  Will 
with  Smith  and  Thompson,  Raymond  Buildings,  Gray's  Inn. 
Think  Char  won't  be  happy  for  a  long  time  with  her  mother.  To 
break  from  F.,  who  has  been  most  generous  to  us,  will  break 
her  heart.  Will  you  and  Emily  keep  her  for  a  little  ?  I  gave 
F.  my  promise.  As  you  told  me,  I  have  acted  ill  by  him,  which 
I  own  and  deeply  lament.  If  Char  marries,  she  ought  to  have 
her  share.  May  God  bless  her,  her  father  prays,  in  case  he 
should  not  see  her  again.  And  with  best  love  to  Emily,  am 
yours,  dear  Mac,  sincerely,  —  Charles  Baynes." 

On  the  receipt  of  this  letter,  Charlotte  disobeyed  her  father's 
wish,  and  set  forth  from  Tours  instantlj',  under  her  worthy 
uncle's  guardianship.  The  old  soldier  was  in  his  comrade's 
room  when  the  General  put  the  hands  of  Charlotte  and  her  lover 
together.  He  confessed  his  fault,  though  it  is  hard  for  those 
who  expect  love  and  reverence  to  have  to  own  to  wrong  and  to 
ask  pardon.  Old  knees  are  stiff  to  bend  :  brother  reader,  young 
or  old,  when  our  last  hour  comes,  maj'  ours  have  grace  to 
do  so. 


80  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


CHAPTER  VII. 

RETURNS   TO   OLD    FRIENDS. 

The  three  old  comrades  and  Philip  formed  the  little  mourn- 
ing procession  which  followed  the  General  to  his  place  of  rest 
at  Montmartre.  When  the  service  has  been  read,  and  the  last 
volley  has  been  fired  over  the  buried  soldier,  the  troops  march 
to  quarters  with  a  quick  step,  and  to  a  lively  tune.  Our  vet- 
eran has  been  laid  in  the  grave  with  brief  ceremonies.  We  do 
not  even  prolong  his  obsequies  with  a  sermon.  His  place  knows 
him  no  longer.  There  are  a  few  w^ho  remember  him  :  a  very, 
very  few  wlio  grieve  for  him  —  so  few  that  to  think  of  them  is 
a  humiliation  almost.  The  sun  sets  on  the  earth,  and  our  dear 
brother  has  departed  off  its  face.  Stars  twinkle ;  dew^s  fall ; 
children  go  to  sleep  in  awe  and  ma^'be  tears ;  the  sun  rises  on 
a  new  day,  which  he  has  never  seen,  and  children  wake  hungry'. 
They  are  interested  about  their  new  black  clothes,  perhaps. 
The}'  are  presently  at  their  work,  plays,  quarrels.  The}'  are 
looking  forward  to  the  day  when  the  holidays  will  be  over,  and 
the  eyes  which  shone  here  j^esterday  so  kindly  are  gone,  gone, 
gone.  A  drive  to  the  cemetery,  followed  b}'  a  coach  with  four 
acquaintances  dressed  in  decorous  black,  who  sepai'ate  and  go 
to  their  homes  or  clubs,  and  wear  3'our  crape  for  a  few  days 
after  —  can  most  of  us  expect  much  more  ?  The  thought  is  not 
ennobling  or  exhilarating,  worthy  sir.  And,  pray,  wh}-  should 
we  be  proud  of  ourselves  ?  Is  it  because  we  have  been  so  good, 
or  are  so  wise  and  great,  that  we  expect  to  be  beloved,  la- 
mented, remembered?  Why,  great  Xerxes  or  blustering  Boba- 
dil  must  know  in  that  last  hour  and  resting-place  how  abject, 
how  small,  how  low,  how  lonely  the}-  are,  and  what  a  little  dust 
will  cover  them.  Quick,  drums  and  fifes,  a  lively  tune  !  Whip 
the  black  team,  coachman,  and  trot  back  to  town  again — to 
the  world,  and  to  business,  and  duty  ! 

I  am  for  sajing  no  single  unkindness  of  General  Ba3"nes 
which  is  not  forced  upon  me  by  my  story-teller's  office.  We 
know  from  Marlborough's  story  that  the  l^ravest  man  and  great- 
est military  genius  is  not  always  brave  or  successful  in  his  bat- 
tles with  his  wife ;  that  some  of  the  greatest  warriors  have 
committed  errors  in  accounts  and  the  distribution  of  meum  and 
tuum.     We  can't  disguise  from  ourselves  the  fact  that  Bayues 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WOULD.  81 

permitted  himself  to  be  misled,  and  had  weaknesses  not  quite 
consistent  with  the  highest  virtue. 

When  he  became  aware  that  his  carelessness  in  the  matter 
of  Mrs.  Firmin's  trust-money  had  placed  him  in  her  son's 
power,  we  have  seen  how  the  old  General,  in  order  to  avoid 
being  called  to  account,  fled  across  the  water  with  his  family 
and  all  his  little  fortune,  and  how  terrified  he  was  on  landing 
on  a  foreign  shore  to  find  himself  face  to  face  with  this  dread- 
ful creditor.  Philip's  renunciation  of  all  claims  against  Baynes 
soothed  and  pleased  the  old  man  wonderfully-.  But  Philip 
might  change  his  mind,  an  adviser  at  Ba3'nes's  side  repeatedly 
urged.  To  live  abroad  was  cheaper  and  safer  than  to  live  at 
home.  Accordingly  Baynes,  his  wife,  family-,  and  money,  all 
went  into  exile,  and  remained  there. 

What  savings  the  old  man  had  I  don't  accurately  know. 
He  and  his  wife  were  A-ery  dark  upon  this  subject  with  Philip  : 
and  when  the  General  died,  his  widow  declared  herself  to  be 
almost  a  pauper  !  It  was  impossible  that  Baynes  should  have 
left  much  money ;  but  that  Charlotte's  share  should  have 
amounted  to  —  that  sum  which  ma}-  or  maj'  not  presently  be 
stated  —  was  a  little  too  absurd!  You  see  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fir- 
min  are  travelling  abroad  just  now.  When  I  wrote  to  Firmin, 
to  ask  if  I  might  mention  the  amount  of  his  wife's  fortune,  he 
gave  me  no  answer ;  nor  do  I  like  to  enter  upon  these  matters 
of  calculation  without  his  explicit  permission.  He  is  of  a  hot 
tem])er ;  he  might,  on  his  return,  grow  angry  with  the  friend 
of  his  youth,  and  say,  "Sir,  how  dare  you  to  talk  about  my 
private  affairs?  and  what  has  the  public  to  do  with  Mrs.  Fir- 
min's private  fortune  ?  " 

W^hen,  the  last  rites  over,  good-natured  uncle  Mac  proposed 
to  take  Charlotte  back  to  Tours  her  mother  made  no  objection. 
The  widow  had  tried  to  do  the  girl  such  an  injury,  that  perhaps 
the  latter  felt  forgiveness  was  impossible.  Little  Char  loved 
Philip  with  all  her  heart  and  strength  ;  had  been  authorized 
and  encouraged  to  do  so,  as  we  have  seen.  To  give  him  up 
now,  because  a  richer  suitor  presented  himself,  was  an  act  of 
treason  from  which  her  faithful  heart  revolted,  and  she  never 
could  pardon  the  instigator.  You  see,  in  this  simple  stor}',  I 
scarcely  care  even  to  have  reticence  or  secrets.  I  don't  want 
3-ou  to  understand  for  a  moment  that  Walsingham  Hely  was 
still  crying  his  e3'es  out  about  Charlotte,  Goodness  bless  you  ! 
It  was  two  or  three  weeks  ago  —  four  or  five  weeks  ago,  that 
he  was  in  love  with  her!  He  had  not  seen  the  Duchesse  d'lvry 
then,  about  whom  you  niav  remember  he  had  the  quarrel  with 

31 


82  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

Podichon,  at  the  club  in  the  Rue  de  Grammont.  (He  and  the 
Duchesse  wrote  poems  to  each  other,  each  in  the  other's  native 
language.)  The  Charlotte  had  long  passed  out  of  the  young 
fellow's  mind.  That  butterti}'  had  fluttered  oflf  from  our  Eng- 
hsh  rosebud,  and  had  settled  on  tlie  other  elderly  flower !  I 
don't  know  that  Mrs.  Baj-nes  was  aware  of  young  Hely's 
fickleness  at  this  present  time  of  which  we  are  writing  ;  but  his 
visits  had  ceased,  and  she  was  angry  and  disappointed  ;  and 
not  the  less  angry  because  her  labor  had  been  in  vain.  On  her 
part,  Charlotte  could  also  be  resolutely  unforgiving.  Take  her 
Philip  from  her !  Never,  never !  Her  mother  force  her  to 
give  up  the  man  Avhom  she  had  been  encouraged  to  love? 
Mamma  should  have  defended  Philip,  not  betrayed  him !  If 
I  command  m^'  son  to  steal  a  spoon,  shall  he  obey  me?  And 
if  he  do  obey  and  steal,  and  be  transported,  will  he  love  me 
afterwards  ?  I  think  I  can  hardly  ask  for  so  much  filial  afiec- 
tion . 

So  there  was  strife  between  mother  and  daughter  ;  and  anger 
not  the  less  bitter,  on  Mrs.  Baynes's  part,  because  her  husband, 
Avhose  cupidity  or  fear  had,  at  first,  induced  him  to  take  her  side, 
had  deserted  her  and  gone  over  to  her  daughter.  In  the  anger 
of  that  controversy  Baynes  died,  leaving  the  victor}^  and  right 
with  Charlotte.  He  shrank  from  his  wife  :  would  not  speak  to 
her  in  his  last  moments.  The  widow  had  these  injuiies  against 
her  daughter  and  Philip  :  and  thus  neither  side  forgave  the 
other.  8he  was  not  averse  to  the  child's  going  away  to  her 
uncle :  put  a  lean,  hungry  face  against  Charlotte's  lip,  and 
received  a  kiss  which  I  fear  had  but  little  love  in  it.  I  don't 
envy  those  children  who  remain  under  the  widow's  lonely  com- 
mand ;  or  poor  Madame  Smolensk,  who  has  to  endure  the  arro- 
gance, the  grief,  the  avarice  of  that  grim  woman.  Nor  did 
Madame  suffer  under  this  tyranny  long.  Galignani's  Messenger 
very  soon  announced  that  she  had  lodgings  to  let,  and  I  re- 
member being  edified  b}^  reading  one  day  in  the  Pall  Mall  Ga- 
zette that  elegant  apartments,  select  societ}^  and  an  excellent 
table  were  to  be  found  in  one  of  the  most  airy  and  fashionable 

quarters  of  Paris.     Inquire  of  Madame  la  Baronne  de  S sk. 

Avenue  de  Valmy,  Champs  Eiysees. 

We  guessed  without  difficult}^  how  this  advertisement  found 
its  wa}^  to  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  ;  and  very  soon  after  its  appear- 
ance Madame  de  Smolensk's  friend,  Mr.  Philip,  made  his  ap- 
pearance at  our  tea-table  in  London.  He  was  alwa3's  welcome 
amongst  us  elders  and  children.  He  wore  a  crape  on  his  hat. 
As  soon  as  the  young  ones  were  gone,  you  may  be  sm'e  he 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  83 

poured  his  story  out ;  and  enlarged  upon  the  death,  the  burial, 
the  quarrels,  the  loves,  the  partings  we  have  narrated.  How 
could  he  be  put  in  a  way  to  earn  three  or  four  hundred  a  year? 
That  was  the  present  question.  Ere  he  came  to  see  us,  he  had 
alread}^  been  totting  up  ways  and  means.  He  had  been  with 
our  friend  Mrs.  Brandon  :  was  sta3"ing  with  her.  The  Little 
Sister  thought  three  hundred  would  be  sufficient.  They  could 
have  her  second  floor —  not  for  nothing ;  no,  no,  but  at  a  mod- 
erate price,  which  would  pay  her.  The}'  could  have  attics,  if 
more  rooms  were  needed.  They  could  have  her  kitchen  fire, 
and  one  maid,  for  the  present,  would  do  all  their  work.  Poor 
little  thing !  She  was  ver^^  young.  She  would  be  past  eigh- 
teen by  the  time  she  could  marry  ;  the  Little  Sister  was  for 
early  marriages,  against  long  courtships.  "Heaven  helps 
those  as  helps  themselves,"  she  said.  And  Mr.  Philip  thought 
this  excellent  advice,  and  Mr.  Philip's  friend,  when  asked  for 
his  opinion  —  "Candidly  now,  what's  your  opinion?"  —  said, 
"  Is  she  in  the  next  room?  Of  course  you  mean  3'ou  are  mar- 
ried alread}^" 

Philip  roared  one  of  his  great  laughs.  No,  he  was  not  mar- 
ried already.  Had  he  not  said  that  Miss  Baynes  was  gone 
away  to  Tours  to  her  aunt  and  uncle  ?  But  that  he  wanted  to 
be  married  ;  but  that  he  could  never  settle  down  to  work  till  he 
married ;  but  that  he  could  have  no  rest,  peace,  health  till  he 
married  that  angel,  he  was  ready  to  confess.  Read}'?  All 
the  street  might  hear  him  calling  out  the  name  and  expatiating 
on  the  angelic  charms  and  goodness  of  his  Charlotte.  He 
spoke  so  loud  and  long  on  this  subject  that  my  wife  grew  a 
little  tired  ;  and  my  wife  always  likes  to  hear  other  women 
praised,  that  (she  sa^'s)  I  know  she  does.  But  when  a  man 
goes  on  roaring  for  an  hour  about  Dulcinea?  You  know  such 
talk  becomes  fulsome  at  last ;  and,  in  fine,  when  he  was  gone, 
my  wife  said,  "  W^ell,  he  is  very  much  in  love  ;  so  were  you  — 
I  mean  long  before  my  time,  sir ;  but  does  love  pay  the  house- 
keeping bills,  pray?" 

"  No,  my  dear.  And  love  is  always  controlled  b}' other 
people's  advice  :  —  always,"  says  Philip's  friend  ;  who,  I  hope, 
you  will  perceive  was  speaking  ironicalh'. 

Philip's  friends  had  listened  not  impatiently  to  Philip's  talk 
about  Philip.  Almost  all  women  will  give  a  sympathizing 
hearing  to  men  who  are  in  love.  Be  they  ever  so  old,  they 
grow  young  again  with  that  conversation,  and  renew  their  own 
early  times.  Men  are  not  quite  so  generous  :  Tityrus  tires  of 
hearing  Corydon  discourse  endlessly  on  the  charms  of  his  shop- 


8-i  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

herdess.  And  3'et  egotism  is  good  talk.  Even  dull  autobiogra- 
phies are  pleasant  to  read:  and  if  to  read,  why  not  to  hear? 
Had  Master  Philip  not  been  such  an  egotist,  he  would  not  have 
been  so  pleasant  a  companion.  Can't  ^'ou  like  a  man  at  whom 
you  laugh  a  little  ?  I  had  rather  such  an  open-mouthed  conver- 
sationist than  your  cautious  jaws  that  never  unlock  without  a 
careful  application  of  the  key.  As  for  the  entrance  to  Mr. 
Philip's  mind,  that  door  was  always  open  when  he  vras  awake, 
or  not  hungry,  or-in  a  friend's  company-.  Besides  his  love,  and 
his  prospects  in  life,  his  poverty,  &c.,  Phihp  had  other  favorite 
topics  of  conversation.  His  friend  the  Little  Sister  was  a 
great  theme  with  him ;  his  father  was  another  favorite  subject 
of  his  talk.  By  the  wa}^  his  father  had  written  to  the  Little 
Sister.  The  doctor  said  he  was  sure  to  prosper  in  his  newly 
adopted  country'.  He  and  another  physician  had  invented  a 
new  medicine,  which  was  to  efiect  wonders,  and  in  a  few  years 
would  assuredly  make  the  fortune  of  both  of  them.  Lie  was 
never  without  one  scheme  or  another  for  making  that  fortune 
which  never  came.  Whenever  he  drew  upon  poor  Philip  for 
little  sums,  his  letters  were  sure  to  be  especiall}'  magniloquent 
and  hopeful.  ' '  Whenever  the  doctor  says  he  has  invented  the 
philosopher's  stone,"  said  poor  Philip,  "I  am  sure  there  will 
be  a  postscript  to  say  that  a  little  bill  will  be  presented  for  so 
much,  at  so  many  da3's'  date." 

Had  he  drawn  on  Philip  lately?  Philip  told  us  when,  and 
how  often.  We  gave  him  all  the  benefit  of  our  virtuous  indig- 
nation. As  for  my  wife's  eyes,  they  gleamed  with  anger.  What 
a  man  :  what  a  father  !  Oh,  he  was  incorrigible  !  "  Yes,  I  am 
afraid  he  is,"  sa^'s  poor  Phil,  comicalh-,  with  his  hands  roaming 
at  ease  in  his  pockets.  The}'  contained  little  else  than  those 
big  hands.  "My  father  is  of  a  hopeful  turn.  His  views  re- 
garding property  are  peculiar.  It  is  a  comfort  to  have  such  a. 
distinguished  parent,  isn't  it?  I  am  always  surprised  to  hear 
that  he  is  not  married  again.  I  sigh  for  a  mother-in-law," 
Philip  continued. 

"Oh,  don't,  Philip!"  cried  Mrs.  Laura,  in  a  pet.  "Be 
generous  :  be  forgiving :  be  noble  :  be  Christian !  Don't  be 
C3'nical,  and  imitating  —  you  know  whom  !  " 

Whom  could  she  possibty  mean,  I  wonder?  After  flashes, 
there  came  showers  in  this  lady's  ej'es.  From  long  habit  I  can 
understand  her  tlioughts,  although  she  does  not  utter  them. 
She  was  thinking  of  those  poor,  noble,  simple,  friendless  young 
people  ;  and  asking  heaven's  protection  for  them.  I  am  not 
in  the  habit  of  over-praising  my  friends,  goodness  knows.     The 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  85 

foibles  of  this  one  I  have  described  honestly'  enough.  But  if  I 
wi'ite  down  here  that  he  was  courageous,  cheerful  in  adversit}', 
generous,  simple,  truth-loving,  above  a  scheme — after  having 
said  that  he  was  a  noble  young  fellow  —  dixi.  ;  and  1  won't  can- 
cel the  words. 

Ardent  lover  as  he  was,  our  friend  was  glad  to  be  back  in 
the  midst  of  the  London  smoke,  and  wealth,  and  bustle.  The 
fog  agreed  with  his  lungs,  he  said.  He  breathed  more  freely 
in  our  great  city  than  in  that  little  English  village  in  the  centre 
of  Paris  which  he  had  been  inhabiting.  In  his  hotel,  and  at 
his  cafe  (where  he  composed  his  eloquent '' own  correspond- 
ence"), he  had  occasion  to  speak  a  httle  French,  but  it  never 
came  very  trippingly  from  his  stout  English  tongue.  "You 
don't  suppose  I  would  like  to  be  taken  for  a  Frenchman,"  he 
would  say,  with  much  gravity.  I  wonder  who  ever  thought  of 
mistaking  friend  Philip  for  a  Frenchmfln? 

As  for  that  faithful  Little  Sister,  her  house  and  heart  were 
still  at  the  young  man's  service.  We  have  not  visited  Thorn- 
haugh  Street  for  some  time.  Mr.  Philip,  whom  we  have  been 
bound  to  attend,  has  been  too  much  occupied  with  his  love- 
making  to  bestow  much  thought  on  his  affectionate  little  friend. 
She  has  been  trudging  meanwhile  on  her  humble  course  of  life, 
cheerful,  modest,  laborious,  doing  her  dut}',  with  a  helping  little 
hand  ready  to  relieve  many  a  fallen  wayfarer  on  her  road.  She 
had  a  room  vacant  in  her  house  when  Philip  came  :  —  a  room 
indeed !  Would  she  not  have  had  a  house  vacant,  if  Philip 
wanted  it?  But  in  tlie  interval  since  we  saw  her  last,  the  Little 
Sister,  too,  has  had  to  assume  black  robes.  Her  father,  the 
old  Captain,  has  gone  to  his  rest.  His  place  is  vacant  in  the 
little  parlor :  his  bedroom  is  read}'  for  Philip,  as  long  as  Philip 
will  stay.  She  did  not  profess  to  feel  much  affliction  for  the 
loss  of  the  Captain.  She  talked  of  him  constantly  as  though 
he  were  present ;  and  made  a  supper  for  Philip,  and  seated  him 
in  her  Pa's  chair.  How  she  bustled  al^out  on  the  night  when 
Philip  arrived  !  What  a  beaming  welcome  there  was  in  her 
kind  eyes  !  Her  modest  hair  was  touched  with  silver  now  ;  but 
her  cheeks  were  like  apples  ;  her  little  figure  was  neat,  and 
light,  and  active  :  and  her  voice,  with  its  gentle  laugh,  and 
little  sweet  bad  grammar,  has  always  seemed  one  of  the  sweet- 
est of  voices  to  me. 

Ver}^  soon  after  Philip's  arrival  in  London,  Mrs.  Brandon 
paid  a  visit  to  the  wife  of  Mr.  Firmin's  humble  servant  and 
biographer,  and  the  two  women  had  a  fine  sentimental  con- 
sultation.    All  good  women,  3'ou  know,  are  sentimental.     The 


86  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

idea  of  3'oung  lovers,  of  match-making,  of  amiable  poverty, 
tenderly  excites  and  interests  them.  My  wife,  at  this  time, 
began  to  pour  off  fine  long  letters  to  Miss  Baynes,  to  which  the 
latter  modestly  and  dutifully  replied,  with  many  expressions 
of  fervor  and  gratitude  for  the  interest  Avhich  her  friend  in 
London  was  pleased  to  take  in  the  little  maid.  I  saw  by  these 
answers  that  Charlotte's  union  with  Philip  was  taken  as  a 
received  point  b}'  these  two  ladies.  The}'  discussed  the  wa3's 
and  means.  They  did  not  talk  about  broughams,  settlements, 
town  and  country  houses,  pin-mone3-s,  trousseaux  :  and  mj' 
wife,  in  computing  their  sources  of  income,  alwa^'s  pointed  out 
that  Miss  Charlotte's  fortune,  though  certainly''  small,  would 
give  a  ver}^  useful  addition  to  the  young  couple's  income. 
"  Fift}'  pounds  a  year  not  much!  Let  me  tell  3'ou,  sir,  that 
fifty  pounds  a  year  is  a  very  prett}'  little  sum  :  if  Philip  can 
but  make  three  hundred'  a  3'ear  himself,  Mrs.  Brandon  sa3-s 
they  ought  to  be  able  to  live  quite  nice!}'."  You  ask,  my  gen- 
teel friend,  is  it  possible  that  people  can  live  for  four  hundred 
a  3'ear?  How  do  they  manage,  ces  pauvres  gens'?  The3'^  eat, 
they  drink,  the3'  are  clothed,  the3'  are  warmed,  they  have  roofs 
over  their  heads,  and  glass  in  their  windows  ;  and  some  of 
them  are  as  good,  happ3%  and  well-bred  as  their  neighbors  who 
are  ten  times  as  rich.  Then,  besides  this  calculation  of  mone3', 
there  is  the  fond  woman's  firm  belief  that  the  da3'  will  bring  its 
dail3'  bread  for  those  who  work  for  it  and  ask  for  it  in  the 
proper  quarter ;  against  which  reasoning  man3'  a  man  knows 
it  is  in  vain  to  argue.  As  to  m3'  own  little  objections  and 
doubts,  my  wife  met  them  by  reference  to  Philip's  former  love- 
affair  with  his  cousin.  Miss  Tw3'sden.  "  You  had  no  objection 
in  that  case,  sir,"  this  logician  would  say.  "You  would  have 
had  him  take  a  creature  without  a  heart.  You  would  cheerfull}' 
have  seen  him  made  miserable  for  life,  because  3'ou  thought 
there  was  money  enough  and  a  genteel  connection.  Money 
indeed !  Very  happy  Mrs.  Woolcomb  is  with  her  mone3'. 
Very  creditably  to  all  sides  has  that  marriage  turned  out !  " 
I  need  scarcely  remind  m3'  readers  of  the  unfortunate  result 
of  that  marriage.  Wool  comb's  behavior  to  his  wife  was  the 
agreeable  talk  of  London  society  and  of  the  London  clubs  very 
soon  after  the  pair  were  joined  together  in  holy  matrimony. 
Do  we  not  all  remember  how  Woolcomb  was  accused  of  striking 
his  wife,  of  starving  his  wdfe,  and  how  she  took  refuge  at  home 
and  came  to  her  father's  house  with  a  black  e3'e?  The  two 
Tw3'sdens  were  so  ashamed  of  this  transaetion,  that  father  and 
son  left  off"  coming  to  "  Ba^'s's,"  where  I  never  heard  their 


ON   HIS   WAY  THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  87 

absence  regretted  but  b}-  one  man,  who  said  that  Talbot  owed 
him  money  for  losses  at  whist  for  which  he  could  get  no  settle- 
ment. 

Should  Mr.  Firmin  go  and  see  his  aunt  in  her  misfortune  ? 
Bygones  might  be  bygones,  some  of  Philip's  advisers  thought. 
Now,  Mrs.  Twysden  was  unhapp^y,  her  heart  might  relent  to 
Philip,  whom  she  certainly  had  loved  as  a  boy.     Philip  had  the 
magnanimity  to  call  upon  her ;  and  found  her  carriage  waiting 
at  the  door.     But  a  servant,  after  keeping  the  gentleman  wait- 
ing in  the  dreary,  well-remembered  hall,  brought  him  word  that 
his  mistress  was  out,  smiled  in  his  face  with  an  engaging  inso- 
lence,  and  proceeded  to  put  cloaks,   court-guides,   and"  other 
female  gear  into  the   carriage   in   the  presence   of  this   poor 
deserted  nephew.     This  visit  it  must  be  owned  was  one  of  Mrs. 
Laura's  romantic  efforts  at  reconciling  enemies  :  as  if,  my  good 
creature,  the  Twysdens  ever  let  a  man  into  their  house  who 
was  poor  or  out  of  fashion  !     They  lived  in  a  constant  dread 
lest  Philip  should  call  to  borrow  money  of  them.     As  if  they 
ever  lent  money  to  a  man  who  was  in  need  !     If  they  ask  the 
respected  reader  to  their  house,  depend  upon  it  they  think  he 
is  well  to  do.     On  the  other  hand,  the  Twysdens  made  a  very 
handsome  entertainment  for   the  new  Lord  of  Whipham  and 
Rmgwood  who  now  reigned  after  his  kinsman's  death.     The}' 
affably  went  and  passed  Christmas  with  him  in  the  country  ; 
and  they  cringed  and  bowed  before  Sir  John  Ringwood  as  the}^ 
had  bowed  and  cringed  before  the  earl  in  his  time.     The  old 
eai'l  had  been  a  Tor}- in  his  latter  days,  when  Talbot Tw3sden's 
views  were  also  very  conservative.     The  present  Lord  of  Ring- 
wood  was  a  Whig.     It  is  surprising  how  liberal  the  Twysdens 
grew  in  the  course  of  a  fortnight's  after-dinner  conversation 
and  pheasant-shooting  talk   at  Ringwood.      "Hang  it!    you 
know,"  3'oung  Tw3'sden  said,  in  his  office  afterwards,  "  a  fellow 
must  go  with  the  politics  of  his  familj',  you  know !  "  and  he 
bragged  about  the  dinners,  wines,  splendors,  cooks,  and  pre- 
serves of  Ringwood  as  freely  as  in  the  time  of  his  noble  grand- 
uncle.     Any  one  who  has  kept  a  house-dog  in  London,  which 
licks  3'our  boots  and  your  platter,  and  fawns  for  the  bones  in 
your  dish,  knows  how  the  animal  barks  and  flies  at  the  poor 
who  come  to  the  door.     The  Twysdens,  father  and  son,  were 
of  this  canine  species :  and  there  are  vast  packs  of  such  dogs 
here  and  elsewhere. 

If  Philip  opened  his  heart  to  us,  and  talked  unreservedl}'- 
regarding  his  hopes  and  his  plans,  you  ma^^  be  sure  he  had  his 
little  friend,  Mrs.  Brandon,  also  in  his  confidence,  and  that  no 


88  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

person  in  the  world  was  more  eager  to  serve  him.  "Whilst  we 
were  talking  about  what  was  to  be  done,  this  little  lady  was 
also  at  work  in  her  favorite's  behalf.  She  had  a  firm  all}'  in 
Mrs.  Mugford,  the  proprietor's  lady  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette. 
Mrs.  Mugford  had  long  been  interested  in  Philip,  his  misfor- 
tunes and  his  love-affairs.  These  two  good  women  had  made 
a  sentimental  hero  of  him.  Ah  !  that  they  could  devise  some 
feasible  scheme  to  help  him !  And  such  a  chance  actually  did 
ver}'  soon  present  itself  to  these  delighted  women. 

In  almost  all  the  papers  of  the  new  3'ear  appeared  a  brilliant 
advertisement,  announcing  the  speed}'  appearance  in  Dublin 
of  a  new  paper.  It  was  to  be  called  The  Shajirock,  and  its 
first  number  was  to  be  issued  on  the  ensuing  St.  Patrick's  day. 
I  need  not  quote  at  length  the  advertisement  which  heralded 
the  advent  of  this  new  periodical.  The  most  famous  pens  of 
the  national  part}-  in  Ireland  were,  of  course,  engaged  to  con- 
tribute to  its  columns.  Those  pens  would  be  hammered  into 
steel  of  a  different  shape  when  the  opportunity  should  ofl^'er. 
Beloved  prelates,  authors  of  world-wide  fame,  bards,  the  bold 
strings  of  whose  lyres  had  rung  through  the  isle  already,  and 
made  millions  of  noble  hearts  to  beat,  and,  by  consequence, 
double  the  number  of  eyes  to  fill ;  philosophers,  renowned  for 
science ;  and  illustrious  advocates,  whose  manly  voices  had 
ever  spoken  the  language  of  hope  and  freedom  to  an  &c.  &c., 
would  be  found  rall3'ing  round  the  journal,  and  proud  to  wear 
the  symbol  of  The  Shamrock.  Finall}-,  Michael  Cassid}', 
Esq.,  was  chosen  to  be  the  editor  of  this  new  journal. 

This  was  the  M.  Cassid}-,  Esq.,  who  appeared,  I  think,  at 
Mr.  Firmin's  call-supper ;  and  who  had  long  been  the  sub- 
editor of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette.  If  Michael  went  to  Dame 
Street,  wh}'  should  not  Philip  be  sub-editor  at  Pall  Mall  ?  Mrs. 
Brandon  argued.  Of  course  there  would  be  a  score  of  candi- 
dates for  Michael's  office.  The  editor  would  like  the  patronage. 
Barnet,  Mugford's  partner  in  the  Gazette^  would  wish  to  ap- 
point his  man.  Cassidy,  before  retiring,  would  assuredl}'  inti- 
mate his  approaching  resignation  to  scores  of  gentlemen  of  his 
nation,  who  would  not  object  to  take  the  Saxon's  pay  until 
they  finall}'  shook  his  3'oke  off,  and  would  eat  his  bread  until 
the  happy  moment  arrived  when  they  could  knock  out  his  brains 
in  fair  battle.  As  soon  as  Mrs.  Brandon  heard  of  the  vacant 
place,  that  moment  she  determined  that  Philip  shoukl  have  it. 
It  was  surprising  what  a  quantit}'  of  information  our  little  friend 
possessed  about  artists,  and  pressmen,  and  their  lives,  families, 
ways  and  means.     Many  gentlemen  of  both  professions  came 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  89 

to  Mr.  Ridley's  chambers,  and  called  on  the  Little  Sister  on 
their  way  to  and  fro.  How  Tom  Smith  had  left  the  Herald., 
and  gone  to  the  Post ;  what  price  Jack  Jones  had  for  his  pic- 
ture, and  who  sat  for  the  principal  figures.  —  I  promise  you 
Madam  Brandon  had  all  these  interesting  details  by  heart; 
and  I  think  I  have  described  this  Uttle  person  very  inadequately 
if  I  have  not  made  you  understand  that  she  was  as  intrepid  a 
little  jobber  as  ever  lived,  and  never  scrupled  to  go  any  length 
to  serve  a  friend.  To  be  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  to  be 
professor  of  Hebrew,  to  be  teacher  of  a  dancing-school,  to  be 
organist  for  a  church:  for  any  conceivable  place  or  function 
this  little  person  would  have  asserted  Philip's  capability. 
"  Don't  tell  me!  H.e  can  dance  or  preach  (as  the  case  may 
be),  or  write  beautiful!  And  as  for  being  unfit  to  be  a  sub- 
editor, I  want  to  know,  has  he  not  as  good  a  head  and  as  good 
an  education  as  that  Cassidy,  indeed?  And  is  not  Cambridge 
College  the  best  college  in  the  world  ?  It  is,  I  say.  And  he 
went  there  ever  so  long.  And  he  might  have  taken  the  very 
best  prize,  only  money  was  no  object  to  him  then,  dear  fellow, 
and  he  did  not  hke  to  keep  the  poor  out  of  what  he  didn't 
want ! " 

Mrs.  Mugford  had  always  considered  the  young  man  as  very 
haughty,  but  quite  the  gentleman,  and  speedil}^  was  infected  by 
her  gossip's  enthusiasm  about  him.  My  wife  hired  a  fly,  packed 
several  of  the  children  into  it,  called  upon  Mrs.  Mugford,  and 
chose  to  be  delighted  with  that  lady's  garden,  with  that  lady's 
nursery  —  with  everything  that  bore  the  name  of  Mugford.  It 
was  a  curiosit}'  to  remark  in  what  a  flurr}-  of  excitement  these 
women  plunged,  and  how  the}'  schemed,  and  coaxed,  and  ca- 
balled, in  order  to  get  this  place  for  their  protege.  My  wife 
thought  —  she  merely  happened  to  surmise  —  nothing  more  of 
course  —  that  Mrs.  Mugford's  fond  desire  was  to  shine  in  the 
world.  "Could  we  not  ask  some  people — with  —  with  what 
you  call  handles  to  their  names,  —  I  think  I  before  heard  you 
use  some  such  term,  sir,  —  to  meet  the  Mugfords  ?  Some  of 
Philip's  old  friends,  who  I  am  sure  would  be  very  happj'  to 
serve  him."  Some  such  artifice  was,  I  own,  practised.  We 
coaxed,  cajoled,  fondled  the  Mugfords  for  Philip's  sake,  and 
heaven  forgive  Mrs.  Laura  her  hypocrisy-.  We  had  an  enter- 
tainment then,  I  own.  AVe  asked  our  finest  conipan}',  and  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Mugford  to  meet  them :  and  we  praj-ed  that  unlucky 
Philip  to  be  on  his  best  behavior  to  all  persons  who  were  in- 
vited to  the  feast. 

Before  my  wife  this  lion  of  a  Firmin  was  as  a  lamb.    Eough, 


90  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

captious,  and  overbearing  in  gefieral  societj',  with  tliose  whom 
he  loved  and  esteemed  Philip  was  of  all  men  the  most  modest 
and  humble.  He  would  never  tire  of  playing  with  our  children, 
joining  in  their  games,  laughing  and  roaring  at  their  little 
sports.  I  have  never  had  such  a  laugher  at  mj'  jokes  as  Philip 
Plrmin.  I  think  my  wife  liked  him  for  that  noble  guffaw  with 
which  he  used  to  salute  those  pieces  of  wit.  Pie  arrived  a  little 
late  sometimes  with  his  laughing  chorus,  but  ten  people  at 
table  were  not  so  loud  as  this  faithful  friend.  On  the  contrary', 
when  those  people  for  whom  he  has  no  liking  venture  on  a  pun 
or  other  pleasantry,  I  am  bound  to  own  that  Philip's  acknowl- 
edgment of  their  waggery  must  be  an^'thing  but  pleasant  or 
flattering  to  them.  Now,  on  occasion  Qf  this  important  din- 
ner, I  enjoined  him  to  be  very  kind,  and  ver}-  civil,  and  very 
much  pleased  with  everybody,  and  to  stamp  upon  nobody's 
corns,  as,  indeed,  why  should  he,  in  life?  Who  was  he  to 
be  censor  7norum  ?  And  it  has  been  said  that  no  man  could 
admit  his  own  faults  with  a  more  engaging  candor  than  our 
friend. 

We  invited,  then,  Mugford,  the  proprietor  of  the  Pall  Mall 
Gazette^  and  his  wife  ;  and  Bickerton,  the  editor  of  that  period- 
ical ;  Lord  Egham,  Philip's  old  college  friend ;  and  one  or  two 
more  gentlemen.  Our  invitations  to  the  ladies  were  not  so  for- 
tunate. Some  were  engaged,  others  awa}^  in  the  country  keep- 
ing Christmas.  In  fine,  we  considered  ourselves  rather  lucky 
in  securing  old  Lady  Ilixie,  who  lives  hard  b}'  in  Westminster, 
and  who  wall  pass  for  a  lad}^  of  fashion  when  no  person  of  greater 
note  is  present.  M}^  wife  told  her  that  the  object  of  the  dinner 
was  to  make  our  friend  Firmin  acquainted  with  the  editor  and 
proprietor  of  the  Pall  3Iall  Gazette,  with  whom  it  was  important 
that  he  should  be  on  the  most  amicable  footing.  Oh !  very 
well.  Lady  Plixie  promised  to  be  quite  gracious  to  the  news- 
paper gentleman  and  his  wife  ;  and  kept  her  promise  most 
graciously  during  the  evening.  Our  good  friend  Mrs.  Mugford 
was  the  first  of  our  guests  to  arrive.  She  drove  "  in  her  trap  " 
from  her  villa  in  the  suburbs  ;  and  after  putting  up  his  carriage 
at  a  neighboring  liver3'-stable,  her  groom  volunteered  to  help 
our  servants  in  waiting  at  dinner.  His  zeal  and  activity  were 
remarkable.  China  smashed  and  dish-covers  clanged  in  the 
passage.  Mrs.  Mugford  said  that  "  Sam  was  at  his  old  tricks  ; " 
and  I  hope  the  hostess  showed  she  was  mistress  of  herself 
amidst  that  fall  of  china.  Mrs.  Mugford  came  before  the  ap- 
pointed hour,  she  said,  in  order  to  see  our  children.  "With 
our  late  London  dinner-hours,"  she  remarked,  "children  was 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  91 

never  seen  now."  At  Hampstead,  hers  always  appeared  at  the 
dessert,  and  enlivened  the  table  with  their  innocent  outcries  for 
oranges  and  struggles  for  sweetmeats.  In  the  nursery,  where 
one  little  maid,  in  her  crisp  long  night-gown,  was  saying  her 
prayers  ;  where  another  little  person,  in  the  most  air^^  costume, 
was  standing  before  the  great  barred  fire  ;  where  a  third  Lili- 
putian  was  sitting  up  in  its  nightcap  and  surplice,  surveying  the 
scene  below  from  its  crib;  —  the  ladies  found  our  dear  Little 
Sister  installed.  She  had  come  to  see  her  little  pets  (she  had 
known  two  or  three  of  them  from  the  very  earliest  times).  She 
was  a  great  favorite  amongst  them  all;  and,  I  believe,  con- 
spired with  the  coolv  down  below  in  preparing  certain  delicacies 
for  the  table.  A  fine  conversation  then  ensued  about  our  chil- 
dren, about  the  Mugford  children,  about  babies  in  general. 
And  then  the  artful  women  (the  house-mistress  and  the  Little 
Sister)  brought  Philip  on  the  tapis^  and  discoursed,  a  qui  mieux^ 
about  his  virtues,  his  misfortunes,  his  engagement,  and  that 
dear  little  creature  to  whom  he  was  betrothed.  This  conversa- 
tion went  on  until  carriage-wheels  were  heard  in  the  square, 
and  the  knocker  (there  were  actually  knockers  in  that  old-fash- 
ioned place  and  time)  began  to  peal.  "Oh,  bother!  There's 
the  company  a-corain',"  Mrs.  Mugford  said  ;  and  arranging  her 
cap  and  flounces,  with  neat-handed  Mrs.  Brandon's  aid,  came 
down  stairs,  after  taking  a  tender  leave  of  the  little  people, 
to  whom  she  sent  a  present  next  da}'  of  a  pile  of  fine  Christmas 
books,  which  had  come  to  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  for  review. 
The  kind  woman  had  been  coaxed,  wheedled,  and  won  over 
to  our  side,  to  Philip's  side.  He  had  her  vote  for  the  sub- 
editorship,  whatever  might  ensue. 

Most  of  our  guests  had  already  arrived,  when  at  length  Mrs. 
Mugford  was  announced.  I  am  bound  to  sa}'  that  she  pre- 
sented a  remarkable  appearance,  and  that  the  splendor  of  her 
attire  was  such  as  is  seldom  beheld. 

Bickerton  and  Philip  were  presented  to  one  another,  and 
had  a  talk  about  French  politics  before  dinner,  during  which 
conversation  Philip  behaved  with  perfect  discretion  and  polite- 
ness. Bickerton  had  happened  to  hear  Philip's  letters  well 
spoken  of —  in  a  good  quarter,  mind  ;  and  his  cordiality  in- 
creased when  Lord  Egham  entered,  called  Philip  by  his  sur- 
name, and  entered  into  a  perfectly'  free  conversation  with  him. 
Old  Lady  Hixie  went  into  perfect!}'  good  society,  Bickerton 
condescended  to  acknowledge.  "As  for  Mrs.  Mugford,"  says 
he,  with  a  glance  of  wondering  compassion  at  that  lady,  "of 
course,   I   need  not  tell  you  that  she  is  seen  nowhere  —  no- 


92  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

where,"  This  said,  Mr.  Bickerton  stepped  forward,  and  cahiily 
patronized  my  wife,  gave  me  a  good-natured  nod  for  my  own 
part,  reminded  Lord  Egham  that  he  had  had  the  pleasure  of 
meeting  him  at  Egham  ;  and  then  fixed  on  Tom  Page,  of  the 
Bread-and-Butter  Office  (wlio,  I  own,  is  one  of  our  most  genteel 
o-uests),  with  whom  he  entered  into  a  discussion  of  some  politi- 
cal matter  of  that  day  —  I  forget  what :  but  the  main  point  was 
that  he  named  two  or  three  leading  public  men  with  whom  he 
had  discussed  the  question,  whatever  it  might  be.  He  named 
very  great  names,  and  led  us  to  understand  that  with  the  pro- 
prietors of  those  very  great  names  he  was  on  the  most  intimate 
and  confidential  footing.  With  his  owners  —  with  the  proprie- 
tor of  the  PaJl  3MI  Gazette,  he  was  on  the  most  distant  terms, 
and  indeed  I  am  afraid  that  his  behavior  to  myself  and  my  wife 
was  scai-cely  respectful.  I  fancied  I  saw  Philip's  brow  gather- 
ing wrinkles  as  his  eye  followed  this  man  strutting  from  one 
person  to  another,  and  patronizing  each.  The  dinner  was  a 
little  late,  from  some  reason  best  known  in  the  lower  regions. 
"  I  take  it,"  says  Bickerton,  winking  at  Phihp,  in  a  pause  of 
the  conversation,  ' '  that  our  good  friend  and  host  is  not  much 
used  to  giving  dinners.  The  mistress  of  the  house  is  evidently 
in  a  state  of  perturbation."  Philip  gave  such  a  horrible  grimace 
that  the  other  at  first  thought  he  was  in  pain. 

"  You,  who  have  hved  a  great  deal  with  old  Ringwood, 
know  what  a  good  dinner  is,"  Bickerton  continued,  giving  Firmin 
a  knowing  look. 

"Any  dinner  is  good  which  is  accompanied  with  such  a 
welcome  as  I  get  here,"  said  Philip. 

"Oh!  very  good  people,  very  good  people,  of  course!" 
cries  Bickerton. 

I  need  not  say  he  thinks  he  has  perfectly  succeeded  in  adopt- 
ing the  air  of  a  man  of  the  world.  He  went  off  to  Lady  Hixie 
and  talked  with  her  about  the  last  great  party  at  which  he  had 
met  her ;  and  then  he  turned  to  the  host,  and  remarked  that 
my  friend,  the  doctor's  son,  was  a  fierce-looking  fellow.  In 
five  minutes  he  had  the  good  fortune  to  make  himself  hated  by 
Mr.  Firmin.  He  walks  through  the  world  patronizing  his  bet- 
ters. ' '  Our  good  friend  is  not  much  used  to  giving  dinners,"  — 
isn't  he  ?  I  say,  what  do  you  mean  by  continuing  to  endure 
this  man?  Tom  Page,  of  the  Bread-and-Butter  office,  is  a 
well-known  diner-out ;  Lord  Egham  is  a  peer ;  Bickerton,  in  a 
pretty  loud  voice,  talked  to  one  or  other  of  these  during  dinner 
and  across  the  table.  He  sat  next  to  Mrs.  Mugford,  but  he 
turned  his  back  on  that  bewildered  woman,  and  never  conde- 


\ 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.     93 

scended  to  address  a  word  to  her  personally.  "  Of  course,  I 
understand  you,  m}'  dear  fellow,"  he  said  to  me  when,  on  the 
retreat  of  the  ladies,  we  approached  within  whispering  distance. 
"  You  have  these  people  at  dinner  for  reasons  of  state.  You 
have  a  book  coming  out,  and  want  to  have  it  noticed  in  tlie 
paper.  I  make  a  point  of  keeping  these  people  at  a  distance  — 
the  only  way  of  dealing  with  them,  I  give  3'ou  m}'  word." 

Not  one  offensive  word  had  Philip  said  to  the  chief  writer 
of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  ;  and  I  began  to  congratulate  m3^self 
that  our  dinner  would  pass  without  an}-  mishap,  when  some  one 
unluckily  happening  to  praise  the  wine,  a  fresh  supply  was 
ordered.  "  Very  good  claret.  Who  is  your  wine-merchant? 
Upon  my  word,  I  get  better  claret  here  than  I  do  in  Paris  — 
don't  vou  think  so,  Mr.  Fermor?  Where  do  3-ou  generall}-  dine 
at  Paris  ?  " 

"  I  generally  dine  for  thirt}^  sous,  and  three  francs  on  grand 
days,  Mr.  Beckerton,"  growls  Philip. 

"  My  name  is  Bickerton."  ("What  a  \-ulgar  thing  for  a 
fellow  to  talk  about  his  thirty-sous  dinners  !  "  murmured  mj'' 
neighbor  to  me.)  "Well,  there  is  no  accounting  for  tastes! 
When  I  go  to  Paris,  I  dine  at  the  '  Trois  Freres.'  Give  me  the 
Burgund}'  at  the  '  Trois  Freres.'" 

"  That  is  because  you  gi-eat  leader-writers  are  paid  better 
than  poor  correspondents.  I  shall  be  dehghted  to  be  able  to 
dine  better."  And  with  this  Mr.  Fh-min  smiles  at  Mr.  Mug- 
ford,  his  master  and  owner. 

"  Nothing  so  vulgar  as  talking  shop,"  says  Bickerton,  rather 
loud. 

"  I  am  not  ashamed  of  the  shop  I  keep.  Are  you  of  3'ours, 
Mr.  Bickerton  ?  "  growls  Phihp. 

"  F.  had  him  there,"  says  Mr.  Mugford. 

Mr.  Bickerton  got  up  from  table,  turning  quite  pale.  "  Do 
you  mean  to  be  offensive,  sir?  "  he  asked. 

"  Offensive,  sir?  No,  sir.  Some  men  are  offensive  without 
meaning  it.  You  have  been  several  times  to-night !  "  says  Lord 
Philip. 

"  I  don't  see  that  I  am  called  upon  to  bear  this  kind  of  thing 
at  any  man's  table!"  cried  Mr.  Bickerton.  "Lord  Egham, 
I  wish  you  good-night !  " 

"  I  say,  old  boy,  what's  the  row  about?"  asked  his  lordship. 
And  we  were  all  astonished  as  my  guest  rose  and  left  the  table 
in  great  wrath. 

"  Serve  him  right,  Firmin,  I  say  !  "  said  Mr.  Mugford,  again 
drinking  off  a  glass. 


94  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

"  Why,  don't  you  know? "  says  Tom  Page.  "  His  father 
keeps  a  haberdasher's  shop  at  Cambridge,  and  sent  him  to  Ox- 
ford, where  he  took  a  good  degree." 

And  this  had  come  of  a  dinner  of  conciliation  —  a  dinner 
which  was  to  advance  Philip's  interest  in  life ! 

"  Hit  him  again,  I  say,"  cried  Mugford,  whom  wine  had 
rendered  eloquent.  "  He's  a  supercilious  beast,  that  Bickerton 
is,  and  I  hate  him,  and  so  does  Mrs.  M." 


CHAPTER  Vin. 

NARRATES   THAT   FAMOUS   JOKE    ABOUT   JHSS    GRIGSBT. 

For  once  Phihp  found  that  he  had  offended  without  giving 
general  offence.  In  the  confidence  of  female  intercourse,  Mrs. 
Mugford  had  already,  in  her  own  artless  but  powerful  lan- 
guage, confirmed  her  husband's  statement  regarding  Mr.  Bick- 
erton, and  declared  that  B.  was  a  beast,  and  she  was  only 
sorry  that  Mr.  F.  had  not  hit  him  a  little  harder.  So  different 
are  the  opinions  which  different  individuals  entertain  of  the 
same  event !  I  happen  to  know  that  Bickerton,  on  his  side, 
went  away,  averring  that  we  were  quarrelsome,  underbred  peo- 
ple ;  and  that  a  man  of  any  refinement  had  best  avoid  that 
kind  of  society.  He  does  really  and  seriously  believe  himself 
our  superior,  and  will  lecture  almost  any  gentleman  on  the  art 
of  being  one.  This  assurance  is  not  at  all  uncommon  with  3-our 
parventf.  Proud  of  his  newly  acquired  knowledge  of  the  art  of 
exhausting  the  contents  of  an  egg,  the  well-known  little  boy  of 
the  apologue  rushed  to  impart  his  knowledge  to  his  grand- 
motlier,  who  had  been  for  man^'  j-ears  familiar  with  the  process 
Avhich  the  child  had  just  discovered.  Which  of  us  has  not  met 
with  some  such  instructors?  I  know  men  who  would  be  ready 
to  step  forward  and  teach  Taglioni  how  to  dance,  Tom  Sa3'ers 
how  to  box,  or  tlie  Chevalier  Bayard  how  to  be  a  gentleman. 
We  most  of  us  know  such  men,  and  undergo,  from  time  to  time, 
the  ineffable  benefit  of  their  patronage. 

Mugford  went  away  from  our  little  entertainment  vowing, 
b}'-  George,  that  Philip  shouldn't  want  for  a  friend  at  the  proper 
season ;  and  this  proper  season  very  speedily  arrived.  I 
laughed  one  day  on  going  to  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  ofiice,  to  find 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  95 

Philip  installed  in  the  sub-editor's  room,  with  a  provision  of 
scissors,  wafers,  and  paste-pots,  snipping  paragi-aphs  from  this 
paper  and  that,  altering,  condensing,  giving  titles,  and  so 
forth ;  and,  in  a  word,  in  regular  harness.  The  three-headed 
calves,  the  gi-eat  prize  gooseberries,  the  old  maiden  ladies 
of  wonderful  ages  who  at  length  died  in  country  places  —  it 
was  wonderful  (considering  his  little  experience)  how  Firmin 
hunted  out  these.  He  entered  into  all  the  spirit  of  his  busi- 
ness. He  prided  himself  on  the  clever  titles  which  he  found 
for  his  paragraphs.  When  his  paper  was  completed  at  the 
week's  end,  he  survej'ed  it  fondl}'  —  not  the  leading  articles, 
or  those  profound  and  j'et  brilliant  literary  essa3's  which  ap- 
peared in  the  Gazette  —  but  the  births,  deaths,  marriages,  mar- 
kets, trials,  and  what  not.  As  a  shop-bo}',  having  decorated 
his  master's  window,  goes  into  the  street,  and  pleased  surveys 
his  work  ;  so  the  fair  face  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  rejoiced  Mr. 
Firmin,  and  Mr.  Bince,  the  printer  of  the  paper.  They  looked 
with  an  honest  pride  upon  the  result  of  their  joint  labors.  Nor 
did  Firmin  relish  pleasantry  on  the  subject.  Did  his  friends 
allude  to  it,  and  ask  if  he  had  shot  any  especially  fine  canard 
that  week?  Mr.  Philip's  brow  would  corrugate  and  his  cheeks 
redden.  He  did  not  lilce  jokes  to  be  made  at  his  expense : 
was  not  his  a  singular  antipathy  ? 

In  his  capacity  of  sub-editor,  the  good  fellow  had  the  priv- 
ilege of  taking  and  giving  awa}'  countless  theatre  orders,  and 
panorama  and  diorama  tickets  :  the  Pall  Hall  Gazette  was  not 
above  accepting  such  little  bribes  in  those  da^'s,  and  Mrs. 
Mugford's  familiarit}'  with  the  names  of  opera  singers,  and 
splendid  appearance  in  an  opera-box,  was  quite  remarkable. 
Friend  Philip  would  bear  away  a  heap  of  these  cards  of  ad- 
mission, delighted  to  carr}'  off  our  3'oung  folks  to  one  exhibi- 
tion or  another.  But  once  at  the  diorama,  where  our  young 
people  sat  in  the  darkness,  ver}'  much  frightened  as  usual,  a 
voice  from  out  the  midnight  gloom  cried  out:  "  TF/?o  has 
come  in  with  orders  from  the  Pall  Hall  Gazette?"  A  lady,  two 
scared  children,  and  Mr.  Sub-editor  Philip,  all  trembled  at  this 
dreadful  summons.  I  think  I  should  not  c^are  to  print  the 
story  eA^en  ii6w,  did  I  not  know  that  Mr.  Firmin  was  travelling 
abroad.  It  was  a  blessing  the  place  was  dark,  so  that  none 
could  see  the  poor  sub-editor's  blushes.  Rather  than  cause 
any  mortification  to  this  lady,  I  am  sure  Philip  would  have 
submitted  to  rack  and  torture.  But,  indeed,  her  anno^-ance 
was  very  slight,  except  in  seeing  her  friend  annoj'cd.  The 
humor  of  the  scene  surpassed  the  annoyance  in  the  lady's  mind, 


96  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

and  caused  her  to  laugh  at  the  mishap ;  but  I  own  our  httle 
bo}"  (who  is  of  an  aristocratic  turn,  and  rather  too  sensitive  to 
ridicule  from  his  schoolfellows)  was  not  at  all  anxious  to  talk 
upou  the  subject,  or  to  let  the  world  know  that  he  went  to  a 
place  of  public  amusement  "  with- an  order." 

As  for  Philip's  landlady,  the  Little  Sister,  she,  you  know, 
had  been  familiar  with  the  press,  and  pressmen,  and  orders  for 
the  play  for  ^-ears  past.  She  looked  quite  young  and  pretty, 
with  her  kind  smiling  face  and  neat  tight  black  dress,  as  she 
came  to  the  theatre  —  it  was  to  an  Easter  piece  —  on  Philip's 
arm,  one  evening.  Our  children  saw  her  from  their  cab,  as 
they,  too,  were  driving  to  the  same  performance.  It  was 
"  Look,  mamma  !  There's  PhiUp  and  the  Little  Sister  !  "  And 
then  came  such  smiles,  and  nods,  and  delighted  recognitions  from 
the  cab  to  the  two  friends  on  foot !  Of  course  I  have  forgotten 
what  was  the  piece  which  we  all  saw  on  that  Easter  evening. 
But  those  children  will  never  forget ;  no,  though  they  live  to  be 
a  hundred  years  old,  and  though  their  attention  was  distracted 
from  the  piece  by  constant  observation  of  Philip  and  his  com- 
panion in  the  public  boxes  opposite. 

Mr.  Firmin's  work  and  pay  were  both  light,  and  he  accepted 
both  very   cheerfully.     lie   saved  mone}'  out  of  his  little  sti- 
pend.    It  was  surprising  how  economically  he  could  live  with 
his  little   landlady's  aid  and  counsel.     He  would  come  to  us, 
recounting   his  feats  of  parsimony  -with  a  childish  delight :  he 
loved  to  contemplate  his  sovereigns,  as  week  by  week  the  little 
pile  accumulated.     He  kept  a  sharp  eye  upon  sales,  and  pur- 
chased now  and  again  articles  of  furniture.     In  this  way  he 
brought  home  a  piano  to  his  lodgings,  on  which  he  could  no 
more  pla}'  than  he  could  on  the  tight-rope  ;  but  he  was  given 
to  understand  that  it  was  a  ver}'  fine  instrument ;  and  my  wife 
pla3'ed  on  it  one  day  when  we  went  to  visit  him,  and  he  sat 
listening,  with  his  great  hands  on  his  knees,  in  ecstasies.     He 
was  thinking  how  one  day,  please  heaven,  he  should  see  other 
hands  touching  the  kej's  —  and  plaj'er  and  instrument  disap- 
peared in  a  mist  before  his  happy  eyes.     Llis  purchases  were 
not  all  alwaj-s  luck}'.     For  example,  he  was  sadl}'  taken  in  at 
an  auction  about  a  little  pearl  ornament.     Some  artful  Llebrews 
at  the  sale  conspired  and  "  ran  him  up,"  as  the  phrase  is,  to  a 
price  more  than  equal  to  the  value  of  the  trinket.     "  But  ^-ou 
know  who  it  was  for,  ma'am,"  one  of  Philip's  apologists  said. 
"  If  she  would  like  to  wear  his  ten  fingers  he  would  cut  'em  off 
and  send  'em  to  her.     But  he  keeps  'em  to  write  her  letters 
and  verses  —  and  most  beautiful  they  are,  too." 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  97 

"  And  the  dear  fellow,  who  was  bred  up  in  splendor  and 
luxury,  Mrs.  Mugford,  as  3'ou,  ma'am,  know  too  well  —  he 
won't  drink  no  wine  now.  A  little  whiske}-  and  a  glass  of  beer 
is  all  he  takes.  And  his  clothes  —  he  who  used  to  be  so  grand 
—  you  see  how  he  is  now,  ma'am.  Always  the  gentleman, 
and,  indeed,  a  finer  or  grander  looking  gentleman  never  entered 
a  room  ;  but  he  is  saving  —  j-ou  know  for  what,  ma'am." 

And,  indeed,  Mi's.  Mugford  did  know ;  and  so  did  Mrs. 
Pendennis  and  Mrs.  Brandon.  And  these  three  women  worked 
themselves  into  a  perfect  fever,  intei-esting  themselves  for  Mr. 
Firmin.  And  Mugford,  in  his  rough,  funny  wa_y,  used  to  sa}', 
"  Mr.  P.,  a  certain  Mr.  Heff  has  come  and  put  our  noses  out 
of  joint.  He  has,  as  sure  as  my  name  is  Hem.  And  I  am 
getting  quite  jealous  of  our  sub-editor,  and  that  is  the  long  and 
short  of  it.  But  it's  good  to  see  him  haw-haw  Bickerton  if 
ever  they  meet  in  the  office,  that  it-  is  !  Bickerton  won't  bully 
him  any  more,  I  promise  3-ou  !  " 

The  conclaves  and  conspiracies  of  these  women  were  endless 
in  Philip's  behalf.  One  day,  I  let  the  Little  Sister  out  of  my 
house  with  a  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  and  in  a  great  state  of 
flurr}'  and  excitement,  which  perhaps  communicates  itself  to 
the  gentleman  who  passes  her  at  his  own  door.  The  gentle- 
man's wife  is,  on  her  part,  not  a  little  moved  and  excited. 
"What  do  you'  think  Mrs.  Brandon  savs?  Philip  is  learning 
shorthand.  He  says  he  does  not  think  he  is  clever  enough 
to  be  a  writer  of  any  mark ;  —  but  he  can  be  a  reporter,  and 
with  this,  and  his  place  at  Mr.  Mugford's,  he  thinks  he  can 
earn  enough  to  —  Oh,  he  is  a  fine  fellow ! "  I  suppose 
feminine  emotion  stopped  the  completion  of  this  speech.  But 
when  Mr.  Philip  slouched  in  to  dinner  that  day,  his  hostess  did 
homage  before  him  ;  she  loved  him  ;  she  treated  him  with  a 
tender  respect  and  S3'mpathy  which  her  like  are  ever  wont  to 
bestow  upon  brave  and  honest  men  in  misfortune. 

Why  should  not  Mr.  Philip  Firmin,  barrister-at-law,  bethink 
him  that  he  belonged  to  a  profession  which  has  helped  very 
many  men  to  competence,  and  not  a  few  to  wealth  and  honors? 
A  barrister  might  surelj'  hope  for  as  good  earnings  as  could 
be  made  by  a  newspaper  reporter.  We  all  know  instances  of 
men  who,  having  commenced  their  careers  as  writers  for  the 
press,  had  carried  on  the  legal  profession  simultaneously,  and 
attained  the  greatest  honors  of  the  bar  and  the  bench.  "  Can 
I  sit  in  a  Pump  Court  garret  waiting  for  attorneys  ? "  asked 
poor  Phil;  "I  shall  break  my  heart  before  they  come.  My 
brains  are  not  worth  much ;   I  should  addle  them  altogether  in 

32 


98  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

poring  over  law  books.  I  am  not  at  all  a  clever  fellow  you 
see ;  and  I  haven't  the  ambition  and  obstinate  will  to  succeed 
which  carr}'  on  many  a  man  with  no  greater  capacity  than  my 
own.  I  may  have  as  good  brains  as  Bickerton,  for  example  : 
but  I  am  not  so  bumptious  as  he  is.  By  claiming  the  first  place 
whercA'er  he  goes,  he  gets  it  very  often.  My  dear  friends,  don't 
3'ou  see  how  modest  I  am  ?  There  never  was  a  man  less  likely 
to  get  on  than  myself —  ^-ou  must  own  that ;  and  I  tell  you 
that  Charlotte  and  I  must  look  forward  to  a  life  of  poverty,  of 
cheese-parings,  and  second-floor  lodgings  at  Pentonville  or 
Islington.  That's  about  my  mark.  I  would  let  her  off,  onh'  I 
know  she  would  not  take  me  at  my  word  —  the  dear  little  thing  ! 
She  has  set  her  heart  upon  a  htilking  pauper :  that's  the  truth. 
And  I  tell  3'ou  what  I  am  going  to  do.  I  am  going  seriously  to 
learn  the  profession  of  povert}-,  and  make  myself  master  of  it. 
What's  the  price  of  cow-heel  and  tripe  ?  You  don't  know.  I 
do  ;  and  the  right  place  to  buy  'em.  I  am  as  good  a  judge  of 
sprats  as  any  man  in  London.  M}^  tap  in  life  is  to  be  small 
beer  henceforth,  and  I  am  growing  quite  to  like  it,  and  think  it 
is  brisk,  and  pleasant,  and  wholesome."  There  was  not  a  little 
truth  in  Philip's  account  of  himself,  and  his  capacities  and  in- 
capacities. Doubtless,  he  was  not  born  to  make  a  great  name 
for  himself  in  the  world.  But  do  we  like  those  only  who  are 
famous  ?  As  well  sa^'  we  will  only  give  our  regard  to  men  who 
have  ten  thousand  a  3'ear,  or  are  more  than  six  feet  high. 

While  of  his  three  female  friends  and  advisers,  my  wife  ad- 
mired Philip's  humilit}',  Mrs.  Brandon  and  Mrs.  Mugford  were 
rather  disappointed  at  his  want  of  spirit,  and  to  think  that  he 
aimed  so  low.  I  shall  not  say  which  side  Firmin's  biographer 
took  in  this  matter.  Was  it  my  business  to  applaud  or  rebuke 
him  for  being  humble-minded,  or  was  I  called  upon  to  advise 
at  all?  M}^  amial)le  reader,  acknowledge  that  you  and  I  in 
life  pretty  much  go  our  own  way.  We  eat  the  dishes  we 
like  because  we  like  them,  not  because  oiu'  neighbor  relishes 
them.  We  rise  early,  or  sit  up  late  ;  we  work,  idle,  smoke,  or 
what  not,  because  we  choose  so  to  do,  not  because  the  doctor 
orders.  Philip,  then,  was  like  you  and  me,  who  will  have  our 
own  way  when  we  can.  Will  we  not?  If  3'Ou  won't,  you  do 
not  deserve  it.  Instead  of  hungering  after  a  stalled  ox,  he 
was  accustoming  himself  to  be  content  with  a  dinner  of  herbs. 
Instead  of  braving  the  tempest,  he  chose  to  take  in  sail,  ci'eep 
along  shore,  and  wait  for  calmer  weather. 

So,  on  Tuesday  of  every  week  let  us  say,  it  was  this  modest 
sub-editor's  duty  to  begin  snipping  and  pasting  paragraphs  for 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  99 

the  ensuing  Saturday's  issue.  He  cut  down  the  parliamentary 
speeches,  giving  due  favoritism  to  the  orators  of  the  Pall  Mail 
Gazette  party,  and  meagre  outUnes  of  their  opponent's  dis- 
courses. If  the  leading  public  men  on  the  side  of  the  Pall 
Mall  Gazette  gave  entertainments,  you  may  be  sure  they  _ were 
duly  chronicled  in  the  fashionable  intelligence;  if  one  of  their 
party  wrote  a  book,  it  was  pretty  sure  to  get  praise  from  the 
critic.  I  am  speaking  of  simple  old  days,  3'ou  understand. 
Of  course  there  is  no  puffing,  or  jobbing,  or  false  praise,  or  un- 
fair censure  now.  Every  critic  knows  what  he  is  writing  about, 
and  writes  with  no  aim  but  Lo  tell  truth. 

Thus  Philip,  the  dandy  of  two  years  back,  was  content  to 
wear  the  shabbiest  old  coat ;  Philip,  the  Philippus  of  one-and- 
twenty,  who  rode  showy  horses,  and  rejoiced  to  display  his 
horse  and  person  in  the  Park,  now  humbly  took  his  place  in 
an  omnibus,  and  only  on  occasions  indulged  in  a  cab.  From 
the  roof  of  the  larger  vehicle,  he  would  salute  his  friends  with 
perfect  affability,  and  stare  down  on  his  aunt  as  she  passed  in 
her  barouche.  He  never  could  be  quite  made  to  acknowledge 
that  she  purposely  would  not  see  him ;  or  he  would  attribute 
her  blindness  to  the  quarrel  which  they  had  had,  not  to  his 
poverty  and  present  position.  As  for  his  cousin  Ringwood, 
"  That  fellow  would  commit  any  baseness,"  Philip  acknowl- 
edged ;   "  and  it  is  I  who  have  cut  him"  our  friend  averred. 

A  real  danger  was  lest  our  friend  should  in  his  poverty  be- 
come more  haughty  and  insolent  than  he  had  been  in  his  days 
of  better  fortune,  and  that  he  should  make  companions  of  men 
who  were  not  his  equals.  Whether  was  it  better  for  him  to  be 
slighted  in  a  fashionable  club,  or  to  swagger  at  the  head  of  the 
company  in  a  tavern  parlor?  This  was  the  danger  wo  might 
fear  for  Firmin.  It  was  impossible  not  to  confess  that  he 
was  choosing  to  take  a  lower  place  in  the  world  than  that  to 
which  he  had  been  born. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  Philip  is  lowered,  because  he  is  poor?" 
asked  an  angry  lady,  to  whom  this  remark  was  made  by  her 
husband  —  man  and  wife  being  both  very  good  friends  to  Mr. 
Firmin. 

"My  dear,"  replies  the  worldling  of  a  husband,  "suppose 
Philip  were  to  take  a  fancy  to  buy  a  donkey  and  sell  cabbages  ? 
He  would  be  doing  no  harm  ;  but  there  is  no  doubt  he  would 
lower  himself  in  the  world's  estimation." 

"Lower  himself!"  says  the  lady,  with  a  toss  of  her  head. 
"  No  man  lowers  himself  by  pursuing  an  honest  calling.  No 
man ! " 


100  THE  ADVENTURES  OE  PHILIP 

"Very  good.  There  is  Grundsell,  the  greengrocer,  out  of 
Tuthill  Street,  who  waits  at  our  dinners.  Instead  of  asking 
him  to  wait,  we  should  beg  him  to  sit  down  at  table ;  or  per- 
haps we  should  wait,  and  stand  with  a  napkin  behind  Grund- 
sell." 

"  Nonsense ! " 

"  Grundsell's  calling  is  strictly  honest,  unless  he  abuses  his 
oportunities,  and  smuggles  away  —  " 

' '  —  smuggles  away  stuff  and  nonsense !  " 

"Very  good;  Grundsell  is  not  a  fitting  companion,  then, 
for  us,  or  the  nine  little  Grundsells  for  our  children.  Then  why 
should  Philip  give  up  the  friends  of  his  j'outh,  and  forsake  a 
club  for  a  tavern  parlor  ?  You  can't  say  our  little  friend,  Mrs. 
Brandon,  good  as  she  is,  is  a  fitting  companion  for  him?" 

"If  he  had  a  good  little  wife,  he  would  have  a  companion 
of  his  own  degree ;  and  he  would  be  twice  as  happy ;  and  he 
would  be  out  of  all  danger  and  temptation  —  and  the  best  thing 
he  can  do  is  to  marr}^  directly ! "  cries  the  lady.  "  And,  my 
dear,  I  think  I  shall  write  to  Charlotte  and  ask  her  to  come 
and  sta}'  with  us." 

There  was  no  withstanding  this  argument.  As  long  as 
Charlotte  was  with  us  we  were  sure  that  Philip  would  be  out 
of  harm's  way,  and  seek  for  no  other  compam*.  There  was 
a  snug  little  bedroom  close  b}'  the  quarters  inhabited  by  our 
own  children.  My  wife  pleased  herself  by  adorning  this  cham- 
ber, and  uncle  Mac  happening  to  come  to  London  on  business 
about  this  time,  the  young  lady  came  over  to  us  under  his  con- 
voy, and  I  should  like  to  describe  the  meeting  between  her  and 
Mr.  Philip  in  our  parlor.  No  doubt  it  was  very  edifying. 
But  my  wife  and  I  were  not  present,  vous  congevez.  We  onlj* 
heard  one  shout  of  surprise  and  delight  from  Philip  as  he  went 
into  the  room  where  the  young  lady  was  waiting.  We  had  but 
said,  "  Go  into  the  parlor,  Philip.  You  will  find  your  old  friend 
Major  Mac  there.  He  has  come  to  London  on  business,  and 
has  news  of — "  There  was  no  need  to  speak,  for  here 
Philip  straightway  bounced  into  the  room. 

And  then  came  the  shout.  And  then  out  came  Major  Mac, 
with  such  a  droll  twinkle  in  his  ej'es  !  What  ai'tifices  and  hy- 
pocrisies had  we  not  to  practise  previouslj^,  so  as  to  keep  our 
secret  from  our  children,  who  assuredly  would  have  discovered 
it !  I  must  tell  3'ou  that  the  paterfamilias  had  guarded  against 
the  innocent  prattle  and  inquiries  of  the  children  regarding  the 
preparation  of  the  little  bedroom,  by  informing  them  that  it 
was  intended  for  Miss  Grigsby,  the  governess,  with  whose  ad- 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  101 

vent  they  had  long  been  threatened.  And  one  of  onr  girls, 
when  the  nn conscious  Phihp  arrived,  said,  "  Phihp  if^'ougo 
into  the  parlor  you  will  find  Miss  Grigsby,  the  governess,  ^there." 
And  then  Philip  entered  into  that  parlor,  and  then  arose  that 
shout,  and  then  out  came  uncle  Mac,  and  then,  &c.  &c.  And 
we  called  Charlotte  Miss  Grigsby  all  dinner-time  ;  and  we  called 
her  Miss  Grigsby  next  day ;  and  the  more  we  called  her  Miss 
Grigsb}^  the  more  we  all  laughed.  And  the  baby,  who  could  not 
speak  plain  yet,  called  her  Miss  Gibby,  and  laughed  loudest  of 
all ;  and  it  was  such  fun.  But  I  think  Pliilip  and  Cliarlotte 
had  the  best  of  the  fun,  my  dears,  though  they  may  not  have 
laughed  quite  so  loud  as  we  did. 

As  for  Mrs.  Brandon,  who,  j'ou  maj^  be  sure,  speedily  came 
to  pay  us  a  visit,  Charlotte  blushed,  and  looked  quite  Ijeantifnl 
when  she  went  up  and  kissed  the  Little  Sister.  "  He  have  told 
you  about  me,  then  !  "  she  said,  in  her  soft  little  voice,  smooth- 
ing the  young  lady's  brown  hair.  "  Should  I  have  known  him 
at  all  but  for  you,  and  did  j'ou  not  save  his  life  for  me  when 
he  was  ill?"  asked  Miss  Baynes.  "And  mayn't  I  love  every- 
body who  loves  him?"  she  asked.  And  we  "left  these  women 
alone  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  during  which  they  became  the 
most  intimate  friends  in  the  world.  And  all  our  household, 
great  and  small,  including  the  nurse,  (a  woman  of  a  most  jeal- 
ous, domineering,  and  uncomfortable  fidelity,)  thought  well  of 
our  gentle  young  guest,  and  welcomed  Miss  Grigsby. 

Charlotte,  yon  see,  is  not  so  exceedingly  handsome  as  to 
cause  other  women  to  perjure  themselves  by  protesting  that  she 
is  no  great  things  after  all.  At  the  period  with  which  we  are 
concerned,  she  certainly  had  a  lovely  complexion,  which  her 
black  dress  set  off,  perhaps.  And  when  Pliilip  used  to  come 
into  the  room,  she  had  alwa3'S  a  fine  garland  of  roses  ready 
to  offer  him,  and  growing  upon  her  cheeks,  the  moment  he 
appeared.  Her  manners  are  so  entirel}^  unaffected  and  simple 
that  they  can't  be  otherwise  than  good  :  for  is  she  not  grateful, 
truthful,  unconscious  of  self,  easily  pleased  and  interested  in 
others  ?  Is  she  very  witty  ?  I  never  said  so  —  though  that  she 
appreciated  some  men's  wit  (whose  names  need  not  be  men- 
tioned) I  cannot  doubt.  "  I  say,"  cries  Philip,  on  that  memo- 
rable first  night  of  her  arrival,  and  when  she  and  other  ladies 
had  gone  to  bed,  "  by  George  !  isn't  she  glorious,  I  say  !  What 
can  I  have  done  to  win  such  a  pure  little  heart  as  that?  JVon 
sum  dignus.  It  is  too  much  happiness  —  too  much,  by  George  ! " 
And  his  voice  breaks  behind  his  pipe,  and  he  squeezes  two  fists 
into  eyes  that  are  brimful  of  joy  and  thanks.     Where  Fortune 


102  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

bestows  such  a  bounty  as  this,  I  think  we  need  not  pity  a  man 
for  what  she  withdraws.  As  Philip  walks  awaj'  at  midnight, 
(walks  away  ?  is  turned  out  of  doors  ;  or  surely  he  would  have 
gone  on  talking  till  dawn,)  with  the  rain  beating  in  his  face,  and 
fifty  or  a  hundred  pounds  for  all  his  fortune  in  his  pocket,  I 
think  there  goes  one  of  the  happiest  of  men  —  the  happiest  and 
richest.  For  is  he  not  possessor  of  a  treasure  which  he  could 
not  buy,  or  would  not  sell,  for  all  the  wealth  of  the  world? 

My  wife  may  say  what  she  will,  but  she  assuredl}^  is  answer- 
able for  the  invitation  to  Miss  Baynes,  and  for  all  that  ensued 
in  consequence.  At  a  hint  that  she  would  be  a  welcome  guest 
in  our  house,  in  London,  where  all  her  heart  and  treasin-e  la}- , 
Charlotte  Baynes  gave  up  straightway^  her  dear  aunt  at  Tours, 
who  had  bfien  kind  to  her ;  her  dear  uncle,  her  dear  mamma, 
and  all  her  dear  brothers  —  following  that  natural  law  which 
ordains  that  a  woman,  under  certain  circumstances,  shall  resign 
home,  parents,  brothers,  sisters,  for  the  sake  of  that  one  indi- 
vidual who  is  henceforth  to  be  dearer  to  her  than  all.  Mrs. 
Ba3nes,  the  widow,  growled  a  complaint  at  her  daughter's 
ingratitude,  but  did  not  refuse  her  consent.  She  may  have 
known  that  little  Hel^-,  Charlotte's  volatile  admirer,  had  flut- 
tered off  to  another  flower  b}'  this  time,  and  that  a  pursuit  of 
that  butterfly  was  in  vain  :  or  she  may  have  heard  that  he  was 
going  to  pass  the  spring  —  the  butterfly  season  —  in  London, 
and  hoped  that  he  perchance  might  again  hght  on  her  girl. 
Howbeit,  she  was  glad  enough  that  her  daughter  should  accept 
an  invitation  to  our  house,  and  owned  that  as  yet  the  poor  child's 
share  of  this  life's  pleasures  had  been  but  small.  Charlotte's 
modest  httle  trunks  were  again  packed,  then,  and  the  poor 
child  was  sent  off,  I  won't  say  with  how  small  a  provision  of 
pocket-mone}^  by  her  mother.  But  the  thrifty  woman  had  but 
little,  and  of  it  was  determined  to  give  as  little  as  she  could. 
"Heaven  will  provide  for  my  child,"  she  would  piously  say; 
and  hence  interfered  very  little  with  those  agents  whom  heaven 
sent  to  befriend  her  children.  "Her  mother  told  Charlotte 
that  she  would  send  her  some  money  next  Tuesday,"  the  Major 
told  us;  "but,  between  ourselves,  I  doubt  whether  she  will. 
Between  ourselves,  m}^  sister-in-law  is  always  going  to  give 
money  next  Tuesday :  but  somehow  Wednesday  comes,  and 
the  mone}'  has  not  arrived.  I  could  not  let  the  little  maid  be 
without  a  few  guineas,  and  have  provided  her  out  of  a  half-pay 
purse  ;  but  mark  me,  that  pay-day  Tuesday  will  never  come." 
Shall  I  deny  or  confirm  the  worthy  Major's  statement?  Thus 
far  I  will  say,  that  Tuesda}^  most  certainly  came  ;  and  a  letter 


ox  HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  103 

from  her  mamma  to  Charlotte,  which  said  that  one  of  her  broth- 
ers ami  a  ^-oiuiger  sister  were  going  to  stay  with  Aunt  Mac ; 
and  that  as  Char  was  so  happ}'  with  her  most  hospitable  and 
kind  friends,  a  fond  widowed  mother,  who  had  given  up  all 
pleasures  for  herself,  would  not  interfere  to  prevent  a  darling 
child's  hai)[)iness. 

It  has  been  said  that  three  women,  whose  names  have  been 
given  up,  were  conspiring  in  the  behalf  of  this  3'oung  person 
and  the  young  man  her  sweetheart.  Three  days  after  Char- 
lotte's arrival  at  our  house,  my  wife  persists  in  thinking  that 
a  drive  into  the  country  would  do  the  child  good,  orders  a 
brougham,  dresses  Charlotte  in  her  best,  and  trots  away  to 
see  ]Mrs.  Mugford  at  Ilampstcad.  Mrs.  Brandon  is  at  Mrs. 
Mugford's,  of  course  quite  bj'  chance  :  and  I  feel  sure  that 
Charlotte's  friend  compliments  Mrs.  Mugford  upon  her  garden, 
upon  her  nursery,  upon  her  luncheon,  upon  everything  that  is 
hers.  "Why,  dear  me,"  says  Mrs.  Mugford  (as  the  ladies 
discourse  upon  a  certain  subject),  "  what  does  it  matter?  Me 
and  Mugford  married  on  two  pound  a  week  ;  and  on  two  pound 
a  week  in}-  dear  eldest  children  were  born.  It  was  a  hard  strug- 
gle sometimes,  but  we  were  all  the  happier  for  it ;  and  I'm  sure 
if  a  man  won't  risk  a  little  he  don't  deserve  much.  I  know  / 
would  risk,  if  I  were  a  man,  to  marry  such  a  prett}^  young  dear. 
And  I  should  take  a  young  man  to  be  but  a  mean-spirited  fel- 
low who  waited  and  went  shilly-shallying  when  he  had  but  to 
sa}'^  the  word  and  be  happy.  I  thought  Mr.  F.  was  a  brave, 
courageous  gentkiuian,  I  did,  Mrs.  Brandon.  Do  vou  want  me 
for  to  have  a  bad  opinion  of  him?  My  dear,  a  little  of  that 
cream.  It's  very  good.  We  'ad  a  dinner  yesterday,  and  a 
cook  down  from  town  on  purpose."  This  speech,  with  appro- 
priate imitations  of  voice  and  gesture,  was  repeated  to  the  pres- 
ent biographer  b^^  the  present  biographer's  wife,  and  he  now 
began  to  see  in  what  webs  and  meshes  of  conspiracy  tliese  artful 
women  had  enveloped  tlie  subject  of  the  present  biography. 

Like  Mrs.  Brandon,  and  the  other  matron,  Charlotte's  friend, 
Mrs.  Muglbrd  became  interested  in  the  gentle  young  creature, 
and  kissed  her  kindly,  and  made  her  a  present  on  going  awa}'. 
It  was  a  brooch  in  the  shape  of  a  thistle,  if  I  remember  aright, 
set  with  amethysts  and  a  lovely  Scottish  stone  called,  I  believe, 
a  cairngorm.  "  She  ain't  no  style  about  her;  and  I  confess, 
from  a  general's  daughter,  brought  up  on  the  Continent,  I  should 
have  expected  better.  But  we'll  show  her  a  little  of  the  world 
and  the  opera,  Brandon,  and  she'll  do  very  well,  of  that  I  make 
no  doubt."     And  Mrs.  Mugford  took  Miss  Baynes  to  the  opera, 


104  THE   ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

and  pointed  out  the  other  people  of  fashion  there  assembled. 
And  delighted  Charlotte  was.  I  make  no  doubt  there  was  a 
5'oung  gentleman  of  our  acquaintance  at  the  back  of  the  box 
who  was  ver}'  happ}^  too.  And  this  year,  Philip's  kinsman's 
wife,  Lady  Ringwood,  had  a  box,  in  which  Philip  saw  her  and 
her  daughters,  and  little  Ringwood  Twj^sden  paying  assiduous 
court  to  her  lad^'ship.  They  met  in  the  crush-room  bj^  chance 
again,  and  Lad}'  Ringwood  looked  hard  at  Philip  and  the  blush- 
ing 3'oung  lady  on  his  arm.  And  it  happened  that  Mrs.  Mug- 
ford's  carriage  —  the  little  one-horse  trap  which  opens  and  shuts 
so  conveniently  —  and  Lad}' Ring  wood's  tall,  emblazoned  char- 
iot of  state,  stopped  the  way  together.  And  from  the  tall 
emblazoned  chariot  the  ladies  looked  not  unkindly  at  the  trap 
which  contained  the  beloved  of  Philip's  heart :  and  the  carriages 
departed  each  on  its  way  ;  and  Ringwood  Twysden,  seeing  his 
cousin  advancing  towards  him,  turned  ver}'  pale,  and  dodged 
at  a  double  quick  down  an  arcade.  But  he  need  not  have  been 
afraid  of  Philip.  Mr.  Firmin's  heart  was  all  softness  and  be- 
nevolence at  that  time.  He  was  thinking  of  those  sweet,  sweet 
eyes  that  had  just  glanced  to  him  a  tender  good-night ;  of  that 
little  hand  which  a  moment  since  had  hung  with  fond  pressure 
on  his  arm.  Do  you  suppose  in  such  a  frame  of  mind  he  had 
leisure  to  think  of  a  nauseous  little  reptile  crawling  behind  him? 
He  was  so  happy  that  night,  that  Pliilip  was  King  Philip  again. 
And  he  went  to  the  "  Haunt,"  and  sang  his  song  of  Garryowen 
na  gloria,  and  greeted  the  boys  assembled,  and  spent  at  least 
three  shillings  over  his  supper  and  drinks.  But  the  next  day 
being  Sunday,  Mr.  Firmin  was  at  Westminster  Abbey,  listen- 
ing to  the  sweet  church  chants,  by  the  side  of  the  very  same 
3^oung  person  whom  he  had  escorted  to  the  opera  on  the  night 
before.  They  sat  together  so  close  that  one  must  have  heard 
exactly  as  well  as  the  other.  I  dare  say  it  is  edif3'ing  to  listen 
to  anthems  a  deux.  And  how  complimentary  to  the  clergj'man 
to  have  to  wish  that  the  sermon  was  longer !  Through  the 
vast  cathedral  aisles  the  organ  notes  peal  gloriously.  Ruby 
and  topaz  and  ameth3'st  blaze  from  the  great  church  windows. 
Under  the  tall  arcades  the  3'oung  people  went  together.  Hand 
in  hand  the3^  passed,  and  thought  no  ill. 

Do  gentle  readers  begin  to  tire  of  this  spectacle  of  billing 
and  cooing?  I  have  tried  to  describe  Mr.  Philip's  love-affairs 
with  as  few  words  and  in  as  modest  phrases  as  ma}'  be  —  omit- 
ting the  raptures,  the  passionate  vows,  the  reams  of  correspond- 
ence, and  the  usual  commonplaces  of  his  situation.  And  3'et, 
my  dear  madam,  though  3'ou  and  I  ma3'  be  past  the  age  of 


ON  HIS  WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  105 

billing  and  cooing,  though  your  ringlets,  which  I  remember  a 
lovely  auburn,  are  now  —  well  —  are  now  a  rich  purple  and 
green  black,  and  my  brow  may  be  as  bald  as  a  cannon-ball ;  — 
I  say,  though  we  are  old,  we  are  not  too  old  to  forget.  We 
may  not  care  about  the  pantomime  much  now,  but  we  like  to. 
take  the  young  folks,  and  see  them  rejoicing.  From  the  win- 
dow where  I  write,  I  can  look  down  into  the  garden  of  a  certain 
square.  In  that  garden  I  can  at  this  moment  see  a  young 
gentleman  and  lady  of  my  acquaintance  pacing  up  and  down. 
They  are  talking  some  such  talk  as  Milton  imagines  our  first 
parents  engaged  in  ;  and  yonder  garden  is  a  paradise  to  my 
young  friends.  Did  they  choose  to  look  outside  the  railings  of 
the  square,  or  at  any  other  objects  than  each  other's  noses,  they 
might  see  —  the  tax-gatherer  we  will  say  —  with  his  book, 
knocking  at  one  door,  the  doctor's  l)rougham  at  a  second,  a 
hatchment  over  the  windows  of  a  third  mansion,  the  baker's 
boy  discoursing  with  the  housemaid  over  the  railings  of  a  fourth. 
But  what  to  them  are  these  phenomena  of  life  ?  Arm  in  arm 
my  young  folks  go  pacing  up  and  down  their  Eden,  and  dis- 
coursing about  that  happy  time  which  I  suppose  is  now  draw- 
ing near,  about  that  charming  little  snuggery  for  which  the 
furniture  is  ordered,  and  to  which,  miss,  your  old  friend  and 
very  humble  servant  will  take  the  liberty  of  forwarding  his  best 
regards  and  a  neat  silver  teapot.  I  dare  say,  with  these  young 
people,  as  with  Mr.  Philip  and  Miss  Charlotte,  all  occurrences 
of  life  seemed  to  have  reference  to  that  event  which  forms  the 
subject  of  their  perpetual  longing  and  contemplation.  There 
is  the  doctor's  brougham  driving  awa}-,  and  Imogene  says  to 
Alonzo,  "  What  anguish  I  shall  have  if  you  are  ill!"  Then 
there  is  the  carpenter  putting  up  the  hatchment.  "  Ah,  my 
love,  if  you  were  to  die,  I  think  the}-  might  put  up  a  hatchment 
for  both  of  us,"  says  Alonzo,  with  a  killing  sigh.  Both  s^'mpa- 
thize  with  Mar}-  and  the  baker's  bo}'  whispering  over  the  rail- 
ings. Go  to,  gentle  baker's  bo}-,  we  also  know  what  it  is  to 
love  ! 

The  whole  soul  and  strength  of  Charlotte  and  Philip  being 
bent  upon  marriage,  I  take  leave  to  put  in  a  document  which 
Philip  received  at  this  time  ;  and  can  imagine  that  it  occasioned 
no  little  sensation  :  — 

"  AsTOR  House,  New  York. 

"  And  so  you  are  returned  to  the  great  city  —  to  tlie  fiimum,  the  strepi- 
tiim,  and  I  sincerely  hope  the  opes  of  our  Rome!  Your  own  letters  are  but 
brief;  but  I  have  an  occasional  correspondent  (there  are  few,  alas!  who 
remember  the  exile!)  who  keeps  me  au  couranl  of  my  Philip's  history,  and 


106  THE   ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

tells  me  that  you  are  industrious,  that  you  are  cheerful,  that  you  prosper. 
Cheerfulness  is  the  companion  of  Industry,  Prosperity  their  offspring. 
That  that  prosperity  may  attain  the  fullest  growth,  is  an  absent  fatlier's 
fondest  prayer  !  Perhaps  ere  long  I  shall  be  able  to  announce  to  you  that 
I  too  am  prospering.  I  am  engaged  in  pursuing  a  scientific  discovery  here 
•  (it  is  medical,  and  connected  with  my  own  profession),  of  which  the  results 
omiht  to  lead  to  Fortune,  unless  the  jade  has  for  ever  deserted  George 
Brand  Firmin  !  So  you  have  embarked  in  the  drudgery  of  the  press,  and 
liave  become  a  member  of  the  fourth  estate.  It  has  been  despised,  and  press- 
man and  poverty  were  for  a  long  time  supposed  to  be  synonymous.  But 
the  power,  the  wealth  of  the  press  are  daily  developing,  and  they  will  in- 
crease yet  furtlier.  I  confess  1  sliould  have  liked  to  hear  that  my  Philip 
was  pursuing  his  profession  of  the  bar,  at  which  honor,  splendid  compe- 
tence, nay,  aristocratic  rank,  are  the  prizes  of  the  bold,  the  industrious,  and  the 
deseriin;/.  Why  should  you  not? — should  I  not  still  hope  that  you  may 
gain  legal  eminence  and  position  ?  A  father  who  has  had  much  to  suffer, 
who  is  descending  the  vale  of  years  alone  and  in  a  distant  land,  would  be 
soothed  in  his  exile  if  he  thought  ins  son  would  one  day  be  able  to  repair 
the  shattered  fortunes  of  his  race.  But  it  is  not  yet,  I  fondly  tiiink,  too 
late.  You  may  yet  qualify  for  the  bar,  and  one  of  its  prizes  may  fall  to 
you.  I  confess  it  was  not  witliout  a  pang  of  grief  I  heard  from  our  kind 
little  friend  Mrs.  B.,  you  were  studying  sliorthand  in  order  to  become  a 
newspaper  reporter.  And  iias  Fortune,  then,  been  so  relentless  to  me  that 
my  son  is  to  be  compelled  to  follow  such  a  calling  ?  I  shall  try  and  be 
resigned.     I  had  hoped  higher  things  for  you  —  for  me. 

"  My  dear  boy,  with  regard  to  your  romantic  attacliment  for  Miss 
Baynes,  which  our  good  little  Brandon  narrates  to  me,  in  her  peculiar  or- 
thography, but  with  much  touching  simpliciti/,  —  I  make  it  a  rule  not  to  say  a 
word  of  comment,  of  warning,  or  remonstrance.  As  sure  as  you  are  your 
father's  son,  you  will  take  your  own  line  in  any  matter  of  attachment  to  a 
woman,  and  all  the  fathers  in  the  world  won't  stop  you.  In  PhiUp  of 
four-and-twenty  I  recognize  his  father  thirty  years  ago.  My  father 
scolded,  entreated,  quarrelled  witli  me,  never  forgave  me.  I  will  learn  to 
be  more  generous  towards  my  son.  I  may  grieve,  but  I  bear  you  no  malice. 
If  ever  I  acliieve  wealth  again,  you  shall  not  be  deprived  of  it.  I  suffered 
60  myself  from  a  harsh  father,  that  I  will  never  be  one  to  my  son  ! 

"  As  you  have  put  on  the  livery  of  the  Muses,  and  regularly  entered 
yourself  of  the  Fraternity  of  the  Press,  what  say  you  to  a  little  addition 
to  your  income  by  letters  addressed  to  my  friend,  the  editor  of  the  new 
journal,  called  here  the  Gazette  of  the  Upper  Ten  Thousand.  It  is  the  fash- 
ionable journal  published  here  ;  and  your  qualifications  are  precisely  those 
which  would  make  your  services  valuable  as  a  contributor.  Doctor  Ger- 
aldine,  the  editor,  is  not,  I  believe,  a  relative  of  the  Leinster  family,  but  a 
self-made  man,  who  arrived  in  this  country  some  years  since,  poor,  and  an 
exile  from  his  native  country.  He  advocates  Repeal  politics  in  Ireland  ; 
but  with  these  of  course  you  need  have  nothing  to  do.  And  he  is  much 
too  liberal  to  expect  these  from  his  contributors.  I  have  been  of  service 
professionally  to  Mrs.  Geraldine  and  himself.  My  friend  of  tlie  Emerald 
introduced  me  to  the  doctor.  Terrible  enemies  in  print,  in  private  they  are 
perfectly  good  friends,  and  the  little  passages  of  arms  between  the  two  jour- 
nalists serve  rather  to  amuse  than  to  irritate.  '  The  grocer's  boy  from  Or- 
mond  Quay '  (Geraldine  once,  it  appears,  engaged  in  that  useful  but  humble 
ealling),  and  the  '  miscreant  from  Cork '  —  the  editor  of  the  Emerald  comes 
from  that  city  — assail  each  other  in  public,  but  drink  whiskey -and-water 
galore  in  private.     If  you  write  for  Geraldine,  of  course  you  will  say  nothing 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  107 

disrespectful  nhoiit  grocers'  boys:.  His  dollars  are  good  silver,  of  that  you  may- 
be sure.  Dr.  G.  knows  a  part  of  your  liistory :  iie  knows  that  you  are  now 
fairly  engaged  iu  literary  pursuits ;  that  you  are  a  man  of  education,  a 
gentleman,  a  man  of  the  world,  a  man  of  courage.  I  have  answered  for 
your  possessing  all  these  qualities.  (Tlie  doctor,  in  his  droll,  humorous 
way,  said  that  if  you  were  a  chip  of  the  old  block  you  would  be  just  what 
he  called  '  the  grit.')  Political  treatises  are  not  so  nmcli  wanted  as  per- 
sonal news  regarding  the  notabilities  of  London,  and  these,  I  assured  him, 
you  were  the  very  man  to  be  able  to  furnish.  You,  who  know  everybody  ; 
who  have  lived  with  the  great  world  —  the  world  of  lawyers,  the  world  of 
artists,  the  world  of  the  university  —  have  already  had  an  experience  which 
few  gentlemen  of  the  press  can  boast  of,  and  may  turn  that  experience  to 
profit.  Suppose  you  were  to  trust  a  little  to  your  imagination  in  composing 
these  letters  ■?  there  can  be  no  harm  in  being  poetical.  Suppose  an  intelli- 
gent correspondent  writes  that  he  has  met  the  D-ke  of  W-U-ngt-n,  had  a 
private  interview  with  the  Pr-m-r,  and  so  forth,  who  is  to  say  him  nay  1 
And  this  is  the  kind  of  talk  onr  f/obeinoucMes  of  New  York  delight  in.  My 
worthy  friend,  Doctor  Geraldine,  for  example  —  between  ourselves  his 
name  is  Finnigan,  but  his  private  history  is  strictly  eiitre  nous  —  when  he 
first  came  to  New  York  astonished  the  people  by  the  copiousness  of  his 
anecdotes  regarding  the  English  aristocracy,  of  wliom  he  knows  as  much  as 
he  does  of  the  Court  of  Pekin.  He  was  smart,  ready,  sarcastic,  amusing; 
he  found  readers  :  from  one  success  he  advanced  to  another,  and  the  G'a- 
zetle  of  the  Upper  Ten  Thousand  is  likely  to  make  this  worthy  man's  fortune. 
You  really  may  be  serviceable  to  him,  and  may  justly  earn  the  liberal  re- 
muneration which  lie  offers  for  a  weekly  letter.  Anecdotes  of  men  and 
women  of  fashion  —  the  more  gay  and  lively  the  more  welcome  —  the 
guicquid  agunt  homines,  in  a  word, — should  be  the  farrago  libel! i.  Who  are 
the  reigning  beauties  of  London  ?  and  Beauty,  you  know,  has  a  rank  and 
fashion  of  its  own.  Has  any  one  lately  won  or  lost  on  the  turf  or  at  play  ? 
What  are  the  clubs  talking  about  ?  Are  there  any  duels  1  What  is  the 
last  scandal  ?  Does  the  good  old  Duke  keep  his  health  1  Is  that  affair 
over  between  the  Duchess  of  This  and  Captain  That '? 

"  Such  is  the  information  which  our  badauds  here  like  to  have,  and  for 

which  my  friend  the  doctor  will  pay  at  the  rate  of dollars  per  letter. 

Your  name  need  not  appear  at  all.  The  remuneration  is  certain.  C'est  a 
prendre  ou  «  laisser,  as  our  lively  neighbors  say.  Write  in  the  first  place  in 
confidence  to  me ;  and  in  whom  can  you  confide  more  safely  than  in  your 
father  ? 

"  You  will,  of  course,  pay  your  respects  to  your  relative  the  new  Lord 
of  Ringwood.  For  a  young  man  whose  family  is  so  powerful  as  yours, 
there  can  surely  be  no  derogation  in  entertaining  some  feudal  respect,  and 
who  knows  whether  and  how  soon  Sir- John  Ringwood  may  be  able  to  help 
his  cousin  ?  By  the  way,  Sir  John  is  a  Whig,  and  3'our  paper  is  a  Conser- 
vative. But  you  are,  above  .all,  homme  du  monde.  In  such  a  subordinate 
place  as  you  occupy  with  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  a  man's  private  politics  do 
not  surely  count  at  all.  If  Sir  John  Ringwood,  your  kinsman,  sees  any 
way  of  lielping  you,  so  much  the  better,  and  of  course  your  politics  will  be 
those  of  your  family.  I  have  no  knowledge  of  him.  He  was  a  very  quiet 
man  at  college,  where,  I  regret  to  say,  your  father's  friends  were  not  of  the 
quiet  sort  at  all.  I  trust  I  have  repented.  I  have  sown  my  wild  oats.  And 
ah!  how  pleased  I  shall  be  to  hear  that  my  Philip  has  bent  his  proud  head 
a  little,  and  is  ready  to  submit  more  than  he  used  of  old  to  the  customs  of 
the  world.  Call  upon  Sir  John,  then.  As  a  Whig  gentleman  of  large  es- 
tate, I  need  not  tell  you  that  he  will  expect  respect  from  you.     He  is  your 


108  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

kinsman ;  the  representative  of  your  grandfather's  gallant  and  noble  race. 
He  bears  the  name  your  mother  bore.  To  her  my  Philip  was  always  gen- 
tle, and  for  her  sake  you  will  comply  with  the  wishes  of 

"  Your  affectionate  father, 

"  G.  B.  F." 

"  I  have  not  said  a  word  of  compliment  to  mademoiselle.  I  wish  her  so 
well  that  I  own  I  wish  she  were  about  to  marry  a  richer  suitor  tlian  my 
dear  son.  Will  fortune  ever  permit  me  to  embrace  my  daughter-in-law, 
and  take  your  cliildren  on  my  knee  1  You  will  speak  kindly  to  tiiem  of 
their  grandfather,  will  you  not  ?  Poor  General  Baynes,  I  liave  heard, 
used  violent  and  unseemly  language  regarding  me,  which  I  most  heartily 
pardon.  I  am  grateful  when  I  think  tliat  I  never  did  General  B.  an  injiiri/  : 
grateful  and  proud  to  accept  benefits  from  my  own  son.  These  I  treasure 
up  in  my  heart ;  and  still  hope  I  shall  be  able  to  repay  with  something  more 
substantial  than  my  fondest  prayers.  Give  my  best  wishes,  then,  to  Miss 
Charlotte,  and  try  and  teach  her  to  tliink  kindly  of  her  Philip's  father." 


Miss  Charlotte  Ba3'nes,  who  kept  the  name  of  Miss  Grigsby, 
the  governess,  amongst  all  the  roguish  children  of  a  facetious 
father,  was  with  us  one  month,  and  her  mamma  expressed  great 
cheerfulness  at  her  absence,  and  at  the  thought  that  she  had 
found  such  good  friends.  After  two  months,  her  uncle,  Major 
MacWhirter,  returned  from  visiting  his  relations  in  the  North, 
and  offered  to  take  his  niece  back  to  France  again.  He  made 
this  proposition  with  the  jolliest  air  in  the  world,  and  as  if  his 
niece  would  jump  for  joy  to  go  back  to  her  mother.  But  to  the 
Major's  astonishment.  Miss  Baynes  turned  quite  pale,  ran  to 
her  hostess,  flung  herself  into  that  lad^-'s  arms,  and  then  there 
began  an  osculatory  performance  which  perfectly  astonished 
the  good  Major.  Charlotte's  friend,  holding  Miss  Ba3'nes  tight 
in  her  embrace,  looked  fiercely  at  the  Major  over  the  girl's 
shoulder,  and  defied  him  to  take  her  away  from  that  sanc- 
tuar3^ 

"Oh,  you  dear,  good  dear  friend!"  Charlotte  gurgled  out, 
and  sobbed  I  know  not  what  more  expressions  of  fondness  and 
gi'atitude. 

But  the  truth  is,  that  two  sisters,  or  mother  and  daughter, 
could  not  love  each  other  more  heartilj^  than  these  two  person- 
ages. Mother  and  daughter  forsooth  !  You  should  have  seen 
Charlotte's  piteous  look  when  sometimes  the  conviction  would 
come  on  her  that  she  ought  at  length  to  go  home  to  mamma ; 
such  a  look  as  I  can  fancy  Iphigenia  casting  on  Agamemnon, 
when,  in  obedience  to  a  painful  sense  of  duty,  he  was  about  to 
—  to  use  the  sacrificial  knife.  No,  we  all  loved  her.  The 
children  would  howl  at  the  idea  of  parting  with  their  Miss 
Grigsby.     Charlotte,  in  return,  helped  them  to  very  pretty  les- 


A  Lettek  FR03I  New  Yokk. 


02T   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  109 

sons  in  music  and  French  —  served  hot,  as  it  were,  from  her 
own  recent  studies  at  Tours  —  and  a  good  daily  governess 
operated  on  the  rest  of  their  education  to  everybody's  satis- 
faction. 

And  so  months  rolled  on  and  our  3'oung  favorite  still  re- 
mained with  us.  Mamma  fed  the  little  maid's  purse  with  occa- 
sional remittances  ;  and  begged  her  hostess  to  supply  her  with 
all  necessarj-  articles  from  the  milliner.  Afterwards,  it  is  true, 
Mrs.  General  Baynes  *  *  But  wh}- enter  upon  these  pain- 
ful family  disputes  in  a  chapter  which  has  been  devoted  to 
sentiment? 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Firmiti  received  the  letter  above  faithfully 
copied,  (with  the  exception  of  the  pecuniary  offer,  which  I  do 
not  consider  myself  at  liberty  to  divulge,)  he  hurried  down  from 
Thornhaugh  Street  to  Westminster.  He  dashed  by  Buttons, 
the  page  ;  he  took  no  notice  of  my  wondering  wife  at  the  draw- 
ing-room door ;  he  rushed  to  the  second  floor,  bursting  open  the 
schoolroom  door,  where  Charlotte  was  teaching  our  dear  third 
daughter  to  play  "  In  m}'  Cottage  near  a  Wood." 

' '  Charlotte  !  Charlotte  !  "  he  cried  out. 

"La,  Philip !  don't  3"ou  see  Miss  Grigsby  is  giving  us  les- 
sons?" said  the  children. 

But  he  would  not  listen  to  those  wags,  and  still  beckoned 
Charlotte  to  him.  That  3'oung  woman  rose  up  and  followed 
him  out  of  the  door,  as,  indeed,  she  would  have  followed  him 
out  of  the  window ;  and  there,  on  the  stairs,  they  read  Dr. 
Firmin's  letter,  with  their  heads  quite  close  together,  you 
understand. 

"Two  hundred  a  year  more,"  said  Philip,  his  heart  throb- 
bing so  that  he  could  hardly  speak  ;  ' '  and  your  fift^^  —  and  two 
hundred  the  Gazette  —  and  —  " 

"Oh,  Philip!"  was  all  Charlotte  could  sa}^,  and  then  — 
There  was  a  pretty  group  for  the  children  to  see,  and  for  an 
artist  to  draw ! 


110  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 


CHAPTER  IX. 

WAYS     AND      MEANS. 

■,  Of  course  any  man  of  the  world,  who  is  possessed  of  decent 
'prudence,  will  perceive  that  the  idea  of  niarr3ing  on  four  hun- 
dred and  fifty  pounds  a  year,  so  secured  as  was  Master  Philip's 
income,  was  preposterous  and  absurd.  In  the  first  place,  you 
can't  live  on  four  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year,  that  is  a 
certaint3\  People  do  live  on  less,  I  believe.  But  a  life  with- 
out a  brougham,  without  a  decent  house,  without  claret  for 
dinner,  and  a  footman  to  wait,  can  hari.lly  be  called  existence. 
Philip's  income  might  fail  any  da3\  He  might  not  please  the 
American  paper.  He  might  quarrel  with  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette. 
And  then  what  would  remain  to  him  ?  Onl^'  poor  little  Char- 
lotte's fift}^  pounds  a  3-ear !  So  Philip's  most  intimate  male 
friend  —  a  man  of  the  world,  and  with  a  good  deal  of  experi- 
ence—  argued.  Of  course  I  was  not  surprised  that  Philip  did 
not  choose  to  take  m3'  advice  ;  though  I  did  not  expect  he 
would  become  so  violently  angr3',  call  names  almost,  and  use 
most  rude  expressions,  when,  at  his  express  desire^  this  advice 
was  tendered  to  him.  If  he  did  not  want  it,  wh3^  did  he  ask 
for  it?  The  advice  might  be  unwelcome  to  him,  but  wh3'  did 
he  choose  to  tell  me  at  my  own  table,  over  my  own  claret,  that 
it  was  the  advice  of  a  sneak  and  a  worldling?  My  good  fellow, 
that  claret,  though  it  is  a  second  growth,  and  I  can  afford  no 
better,  costs  sevent3'-two  shillings  a  dozen.  How  much  is  six 
times  three  hundred  and  sixt3--five?  A  bottle  a  day  is  the 
least  3'ou  can  calculate  (the  fellow  would  come  to  m3'  house  and 
drink  two  bottles  to  himself,  with  the  utmost  nonchalance). 
A  bottle  per  diem  of  that  light  claret — of  that  second-growth 
stuff —  costs  one  hundred  and  four  guineas  a  3-ear,  do  3'oif 
understand?  or,  to  speak  plainl3'  with  3'ou,  one  hundred  and  nine 
pounds  four  shillings  ! 

"Well,"  says  Philip,  "apres?  We'll  do  without.  Mean- 
time I  will  take  what  I  can  get ! "  and  he  tosses  off  about  a 
pint  as  he  speaks  (these  mousseline  glasses  are  not  only  enor- 
mous, but  the3'  break  by  dozens).  He  tosses  off  a  pint  of  my 
Larose,  and  gives  a  great  roar  of  laughter,  as  if  he  had  said  a 
good  thing ! 


02T  HIS  WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  Ill 

Philip  Firmiii  ^5  coarse  and  offensive  at  times,  and  Bickerton 
in  holding  this  opinion  is  not  altogether  wrong. 

"■I'll  drink  claret  when  I  come  to  3'ou,  old  bo}',"  he  sa3's, 
grinning  ;   "  and  at  home  I  will  have  whiskej-and- water." 

"  Bnt  suppose  Charlotte  is  ordered  claret !  " 

"  Well,  she  can  have  it,"  says  this  liberal  lover  ;  "  a  bottle 
will  last  her  a  week." 

"  Don't  you  see,"  I  shriek  out,  "  that  even  a  bottle  a  week 
costs  something  like  —  six  by  fift3--two  —  eighteen  pounds  a 
year !  "  (I  own  it  is  really  only  fifteen  twelve  ;  but,  in  the 
hurr}'  of  argument,  a  man  may  stretch  a  figure  or  so.)  "  Eigh- 
teen pounds  for  Charlotte's  claret ;  as  much,  at  least,  3'ou  great 
booz}'  toper,  for  your  whiskey'  and  beer.  Why,  j'ou  actually 
want  a  tenth  part  of  3'our  income  for  the  liquor  3-ou  consume  ! 
And  then  clothes  ;  and  then  lodging  ;  and  then  coals  ;  and  then 
doctor's  bills  ;  and  then  pocket-money ;  and  then  sea-side  for 
the  little  dears.  Just  have  the  kindness  to  add  these  things 
up,  and  3"ou  will  find  that  a'ou  have  about  two-and-ninepence 
left  to  pa3'  the  grocer  and  the  butcher." 

"  What  3'ou  call  prudence,"  sa3's  Philip,  thumping  the  table, 
and,  of  course,  breaking  a  glass,  "I  call  cowardice  —  I  call 
blasphem3' !  Do  3'ou  mean,  as  a  Christian  man,  to  tell  me  that 
two  3'oung  people  and  a  famil3-,  if  it  should  please  heaven  to 
send  them  one,  cannot  subsist  upon  five  hundred  pounds  a  3'ear? 
Look  round,  sir,  at  the  m3'riads  of  God's  creatures  who  live, 
love,  are  hap])y  and  poor,  and  be  ashamed  of  the  wicked  doubt 
which  you  utter !  "  And  he  starts  up,  and  strides  up  and  down 
tlie  dining-room,  curling  his  flaming  moustache,  and  rings  the 
bell  fiercel3',  and  sa3's,  "  Johnson,  I've  broke  a  glass.  Get  me_ 
another." 

In  the  drawing-room,  mA'  wife  asks  what  we  two  were  fight- 
ing about?  And,  as  Charlotte  is  up  stairs,  telling  the  children 
stories  as  the3'  arc  put  to  bed,  or  writing  to  her  dear  mamma, 
or  what  not,  our  friend  bursts  out  with  more  rude  and  violent 
expressions  than  he  had  used  in  the  dining-room  over  mv  glasses 
which  he  was  smasliing,  tells  m3'  own  wife  that  I  am  an  atheist, 
or  at  best  a  miserable  sceptic  and  Sadducee  :  that  I  doubt  of 
the  goodness  of  heaven,  and  am  not  thankful  for  m3'  dai]3^ 
bread.  And,  with  one  of  her  kindling  looks  directed  towards 
the  3'oung  man,  of  course  my  wife  sides  with  him.  Miss  Char 
presentl3'  came  down  from  the  3'oung  folks,  and  went  to  the 
piano,  and  plaved  us  Beethoven's  "  Dream  of  Saint  Jerome," 
which  alwa3's  soothes  me,  and  charms  me,  so  that  I  fanc3'  it  is 
a  poem  of  Tenn^'son  in  music.     And  our  children,  as  thej'  sink 


112  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

off  to  sleep  overhead,  like  to  hear  soft  music,  which  soothes 
them  into  slumber,  Miss  Baynes  sa3-s.  And  Miss  Charlotte 
looks  very  pretty  at  her  piano  :  and  Philip  lies  gazing  at  her, 
with  his  great  feet  and  hands  tumbled  over  one  of  our  arm- 
chairs. And  the  music,  with  its  solemn  cheer,  makes  us  all 
very  happy  and  kind-hearted,  and  ennobles  us  somehow  as  we 
listen.  And  ray  wife  wears  her  benedictory  look  whenever  she 
turns  towards  these  young  people.  She  has  worked  herself  up 
to.  the  opinion  that  yonder  couple  ought  to  marry.  She  can 
give  chapter  and  verse  for  her  belief.  To  doubt  about  the 
matter  at  all  is  wicked  according  to  her  notions.  And  there 
are  certain  points  upon  which,  I  humbly  own,  that  I  don't  dare 
to  argue  witli  her. 

When  the  women  of  the  house  have  settled  a  matter,  is 
there  much  use  in  man's  resistance?  If  my  harem  orders  that 
I  shall  wear  a  yellow  coat  and  pink  trousers,  I  know  that,  be- 
fore three  months  are  over,  I  shall  be  walking  about  in  rose- 
tendre  and  canar3^-colored  garments.  It  is  the  perseverance 
which  conquers,  the  dail}'^  return  to  the  object  desired.  Take 
my  advice,  my  dear  sir,  when  3'ou  see  your  womankind  resolute 
about  a  matter,  give  up  at  once,  and  have  a  quiet  life.  Perhaps 
to  one  of  these  evening  entertainments,  where  Miss  Baynes 
played  the  piano,  as  she  did  very  pleasantly,  and  Mr.  Philip's 
great  clumsy  fist  turned  the  leaves,  little  Mrs.  Brandon  would 
come  tripping  in,  and  as  she  surve3'ed  the  young  couple.,  her 
remark  would  be,  "  Did  3'ou  ever  see  a  better  suited  couple?  " 
When  I  came  home  from  chambers,  and  passed  the  dining- 
room  door,  my  eldest  daughter  with  a  knowing  face  would  bar 
the  way  and  say,  "You  mustn't  go  in  there,  papa!  Miss 
Grigsby  is  there,  and  Master  Philip  is  not  to  he  disturbed  at  his 
lessons  !  "  Mrs.  Mugford  had  begun  to  arrange  marriages  be- 
tween her  young  people  and  ours  from  the  ver}"^  first  day  she 
saw  us  ;  and  Mrs.  M.'s  ch.  filly  Toddles,  rising  two  years,  and 
our  three-year  old  colt  Billyboy,  were  rehearsing  in  the  nui'sery 
the  endless  little  comedy  which  the  grown-up  young  persons 
were  performing  in  the  drawing-room. 

With  the  greatest  frankness  Mrs.  Mugford  gave  her  opinion 
that  Philip,  with  four  or  five  hundred  a  year,  would  be  no 
better  than  a  sneak  if  he  delayed  to  marr}'.  How  much  had 
she  and  Mugford  when  they  married,  she  would  like  to  know? 
"Emily  Street,  Pentonville,  was  where  we  had  apartments," 
she  remarked;  "we  were  pinched  sometimes;  but  we  owed 
nothing  :  and  our  housekeeping  books  I  can  show  3'Ou."  I  be- 
lieve Mrs.  M.  actually  brought  these  dingy  relics  of  her  hone3'- 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  113 

moon  for  my  wife's  inspection.  I  tell  you,  mj'  house  was  peopled 
with  these  friends  of  matrimony.  Flies  were  for  ever  in  requi- 
sition, and  our  boys  were  very  sulky  at  having  to  sit  for  an 
hour  at  Schoolbred's,  while  certain  ladies  lingered  there  over 
blankets,  tablecloths,  and  what  not.  Once  I  found  my  wife  and 
Charlotte  flitting  about  Wardour  Street,  the  former  lady  much 
interested  in  a  great  Dutch  cabinet,  with  a  glass  cupboard  and 
corpulent  drawers.  And  that  cabinet  was,  ere  long,  carted  off 
to  Mrs.  Brandon's,  Thornhaugh  Street ;  and  in  that  glass  cup- 
board there  was  presently  to  be  seen  a  neat  set  of  china  for  tea 
and  breakfast.  The  end  was  approaching.  That  event,  with 
which  the  third  volume  of  the  old  novels  used  to  close,  was  at 
hand.  I  am  afraid  our  .young  people  can't  drive  off  from  St. 
George's  in  a  chaise  and  four,  and  that  no  noble  relative  will 
lend  them  his  castle  for  the  hone3-moon.  Well :  some  people 
cannot  drive  to  happiness,  even  with  four  horses ;  and  other 
folks  can  reach  the  goal  on  foot.  My  venerable  Muse  stoops 
down,  unlooses  her  cothurnus  with  some  difficulty,  and  prepares 
to  fling  that  old  shoe  after  the  pair. 

Tell,  venerable  Muse !  what  were  the  marriage  gifts  which 
friendship  provided  for  Philip  and  Charlotte?  Philip's  cousin, 
Ringwood  Twysden,  came  simpering  up  to  me  at  "  Ba^'s's  Club  " 
one  afternoon,  and  said:  "  I  hear  my  precious  cousin  is  going 
to  marry.  I  think  I  shall  send  him  a  broom  to  sweep  a 
crossin'."  I  was  nearly  going  to  say,  "This  was  a  piece  of 
generosity  to  be  expected  from  your  father's  son  ;  "  but  the  fact 
is,  that  I  did  not  think  of  this  withering  repartee  until  I  was 
crossing  St.  James's  Park  on  my  way  home,  when  Twysden  of 
course  was  out  of  ear-shot.  A  great  number  of  my  best  wit- 
ticisms have  been  a  little  late  in  making  their  appearance  in  the 
world.  If  we  could  but  hear  the  wwspoken  jokes,  how  we  should 
all  laugh  ;  if  we  could  but  speak  them,  how  witty  we  should  be  ! 
When  you  have  left  the  room,  you  have  no  notion  what  clever 
things  I  was  going  to  say  when  you  balked  me  by  going  awa}-. 
Well,  then,  the  fact  is,  the  Twysden  family  gave  Philip  nothing 
on  his  marriage,  being  the  exact  sum  of  regard  which  they  pro- 
fessed to  have  for  him. 

Mrs.  Major  MacWhirter  gave  the  bride  an  Indian  brooch, 
representing  the  Taj  Mahal  at  Agra,  which  General  Ba3'nes  had 
given  to  his  sister-in-law  in  old  days.  At  a  later  period,  it  is 
true,  Mrs.  Mac  asked  Charlotte  for  the  brooch  back  again  ;  but 
this  was  when  many  family  quarrels  had  raged  between  the 
relatives  —  quarrels  which  to  describe  at  length  would  be  to  tax 
too  much  the  writer  and  the  readers  of  this  history. 

33 


114  THE   ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

Mrs.  Mdgford  presented  an  elegant  plated  coffee-pot,  six 
drawing-room  almanacs  (spoils  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette)^  and 
fourteen  richly  cut  jelly-glasses,  most  useful  for  negus  if  the 
young  couple  gave  evening-parties  ;  for  dinners  they  would  not 
be  able  to  afford. 

Mrs.  Brandon  made  an  offering  of  two  tablecloths  and  twelve 
dinner  napkins  most  beautifully  worked,  and  1  don't  know  how 
much  house  linen. 

The  Lady  of  the  Present  Writer  —  Twelve  tea-spoons  in 
buUion,  and  a  pair  of  sugar-tongs.  Mrs.  Baynes,  Philip's 
mother-in-law,  sent  him  also  a  pair  of  sugar-tongs,  of  a  light 
manufacture,  easily  broken.  He  keeps  a  tong  to  the  present 
day,  and  speaks  very  satirically  regarding  that  relic. 

Philip's  Inn  of  Court  —  A  bill  for  commons  and  Inn  taxes, 
with  the  Treasurer's  compliments. 

And  these,  I  think,  formed  the  items  of  poor  little  Charlotte's 
meagre  trousseau.  Before  Cinderella  went  to  the  ball  she  was 
almost  as  rich  as  our  little  maid.  Charlotte's  mother  sent  a 
grim  consent  to  the  child's  marriage,  but  declined  herself  to 
attend  it.  She  was  ailing  and  poor.  Her  year's  widowhood 
was  just  over.  She  had  her  other  children  to  look  after.  M}' 
impression  is  that  Mrs.  Ba3'nes  thought  that  she  would  be  out 
of  Pliilip's  power  so  long  as  she  remained  abroad,  and  that 
the  General's  savings  would  be  secure  from  him.  So  she  dele- 
gated  her  authority  to  Philip's  friends  in  London,  and  sent  her 
daughter  a  moderate  wish  for  her  happiness,  which  may  or  may 
not  have  profited  the  young  people. 

"Well,  my  dear,  you  are  rich,  compared  to  what  I  was, 
when  I  married,"  little  Mrs.  Brandon  said  to  her  young  friend. 
"  You  will  have  a  good  husband.  That  is  more  than  I  had. 
You  will  have  good  friends  ;  and  I  was  almost  alone  for  a  time, 
until  it  pleased  God  to  befriend  me."  It  was  not  without  a 
feeling  of  awe  that  we  saw  these  young  people  commence  that 
voyage  of  life  on  which  henceforth  the}^  were  to  journey  to- 
gether ;  and  I  am  sure  that  of  the  small  company  who  accom- 
panied them  to  the  silent  little  chapel  where  the^'  were  joined 
in  marriage  there  was  not  one  who  did  not  follow  them  with 
tender  good  wislies  and  heartfelt  prayers.  The}'  had  a  little 
purse  provided  for  a  montli's  holida3\  They  had  health,  hope, 
good  spirits,  good  friends.  I  have  never  learned  that  life's 
trials  were  over  after  marriage  ;  only  luck}'  is  he  who  has  a 
loving  companion  to  share  them.  As  for  the  lady  with  whom 
Charlotte  had  stayed  before  her  marriage,  she  was  in  a  state  of 
the  most  lachrymose  sentimentality.     She  sat  on  the  bed  in 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  115 

the  chamber  which  the  httle  maid  had  vacated.  Her  tears 
flowed  copiously.  She  knew  not  why,  she  could  not  tell  how 
the  girl  had  wound  herself  round  her  maternal  heart.  And  I 
think  if  heaven  had  decreed  this  young  creature  should  be 
poor,  it  had  sent  her  many  blessings  and  treasures  in  com- 
pensation. 

Every  respectable  man  and  woman  in  London  will,  of 
course,  pity  these  young  people,  and  reprobate  the  mad  risk 
which  they  were  running,  and  yet,  by  the  influence  and  exam- 
ple of  a  sentimental  wife  probably,  so  madly  sentimental  have 
I  become,  that  I  own  sometimes  I  almost  fancy  these  mis- 
guided wretches  were  to  be  envied. 

A  melancholy  little  chapel  it  is  where  they  were  married, 
and  stands  hard  by  our  house.  We  did  not  decorate  the  church 
with  flowers,  or  adorn  the  beadles  with  white  ribbons.  We 
had,  I  must  confess,  a  dreary  little  breakfast,  not  in  the  least 
enlivened  by  Mugford's  jokes,  who  would  make  a  speech  de 
circonstance^  which  was  not,  I  am  thankful  to  sa}',  reported  in 
the  Pall  Mall  Gazette.  "We  shan't  charge  you  for  advertis- 
ing the  marriage  ^Aere,  my  dear,"  Mrs.  Mugford  said.  "And 
I've  already  took  it  myself  to  Mr.  Burjoyce."  Mrs.  Mugford 
had  insisted  upon  pinning  a  large  white  favor  upon  John,  who 
drove  her  from  Hampstead  :  but  that  was  the  only  ornament 
present  at  the  nuptial  ceremony,  much  to  the  disappointment 
of  the  good  lad}'.  There  was  a  very  pretty  cake,  with  two 
doves  in  sugar,  on  the  top,  which  the  Little  Sister  made  and 
sent,  and  no  other  lymeneal  emblem.  Our  little  girls  as 
bridesmaids  appeared,  to  be  sure,  in  new  bonnets  and  dresses, 
but  everybody'  else  looked  so  quiet  and  demure,  that  when  we 
went  into  the  church,  three  or  four  street  urchins  knocking 
about  the  gate,  said,  "Look  at  'em.  They're  going  to  be 
'ung."  And  so  the  words  are  spoken,  and  the  indissolu- 
ble knot  is  tied.  Amen.  For  better,  for  worse,  for  good 
days  or  evil,  love  each  other,  cling  to  each  other,  dear  friends. 
Fulfil  your  course,  and  accomplish  your  life's  toil.  In  sorrow, 
soothe  each  other ;  in  illness,  watch  and  tend.  Cheer,  fond 
wife,  the  husband's  struggle  ;  lighten  his  gloomy  hours  with 
your  tender  smiles,  and  gladden  his  home  with  your  love. 
Husband,  father,  whatsoever  your  lot,  be  ^our  heart  pure,  your 
life  honest.  For  the  sake  of  those  who  bear  3'our  name,  let 
no  bad  action  sully  it.  As  3'ou  look  at  those  innocent  faces, 
which  ever  tenderl}'  greet  you,  be  3-ours,  too,  innocent,  and 
your  conscience  without  reproach.  As  the  3'oung  people  kneel 
before   the   altar-railing,  some   such   thoughts   as   these   pass 


116  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

through  a  friend's  mind  who  witnesses  the  ceremony  of 
their  marriage.  Is  not  all  we  hear  in  that  place  meant  to 
apply  to  ourselves,  and  to  be  can-ied  away  for  everyday 
cogitation  ? 

After  the  ceremonj-  we  sign  the  book,  and  walk  back  de- 
murely to  breakfast.  And  Mrs.  Mugford  does  not  conceal  her 
disappointment  at  the  small  preparations  made  for  the  recep- 
tion of  the  marriage  party.  "  I  call  it  shabby,  Brandon  ;  and 
I  speak  m}'  mind.  No  favors.  Only  your  cake.  No  speeches 
to  speak  of.  No  lobster-salad  :  and  wine  on  the  side-board. 
I  thought  your  Queen  Square  friends  knew  how  to  do  the  thing 
better !  When  one  of  my  gurls  is  married,  I  promise  you  we 
shan't  let  her  go  out  of  the  back-door ;  and  at  least  we  shall 
have  the  best  four  grays  that  Newman's  can  furnish.  It's  my 
belief  your  young  friend  is  getting  too  fond  of  money,  Brandon, 
and  so  I  have  told  Mugford."  But  these,  j-ou  see,  were  only 
questions  of  taste.  Good  Mrs.  Mugford's  led  her  to  a  green 
satin  dress  and  a  pink  turban,  when  other  ladies  were  in  gray 
or  quiet  colors.  The  intimac}^  between  our  two  families  dwin- 
dled immediately  after  Philip's  marriage  ;  Mrs.  M.,  I  am  sorry 
to  say,  setting  us  down  as  shabby-genteel  people,  and  she 
couldn't  bear  screwing  —  never  could! 

Well :  the  speeches  were  spoken.  The  bride  was  kissed, 
and  departed  with  her  bridegroom :  they  had  not  even  a  valet 
and  lady's-maid  to  bear  them  company.  The  route  of  the 
happy  pair  was  to  be  Canterbury,  Folkestone,  Boulogne,  Am- 
iens, Paris,  and  Italy  perhaps,  if  their  little  stock  of  pocket- 
money  would  serve  them  so  far.  But  the  ver}'  instant  when 
half  was  spent,  it  was  agreed  that  these  young  people  should 
turn  their  faces  homeward  again ;  and  meanwhile  the  printer 
and  Mugford  himself  agreed  that  they  would  do  Mr.  Sub- 
editor's duty.  How  much  had  they  in  the  little  purse  for  their 
pleasure-journey?  That  is  no  business  of  ours,  surelj^ ;  but 
with  youth,  health,  happiness,  love,  amongst  their  posses- 
sions, I  don't  think  our  young  friends  had  need  to  be  discon- 
tented. Away  then  they  drive  in  their  cab  to  the  railway 
station.  Farewell,  and  heaven  bless  you,  Charlotte  and  Philip  ! 
I  have  said  how  I  found  m3'wife  crying  in  her  favorite's  vacant 
bedroom.  The  marriage  table  did  coldly  furnish  forth  a  funeral 
kind  of  dinner.  The  cold  chicken  choked  us  all,  and  the  jelly 
was  but  a  sickl}'  compound  to  my  taste,  though  it  was  the 
Little  Sister's  most  artful  manufacture.  I  own  for  one  I  was 
quite  miserable.  I  found  no  comfort  at  clubs,  nor  could  the 
last  new  novel  fix  my  attention.     I  saw  Philip's  eyes,   and 


ON   HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  117 

heard  the  warble  of  Charlotte's  sweet  voice.  I  walked  off 
from  "  Baj-s's,"  and  through  Old  Parr  Street,  where  Philip 
had  lived,  and  his  parents  entertained  me  as  a  boy  ;  and  then 
tramped  to  Thornhaugh  Street,  rather  ashamed  of  myself. 
The  maid  said  mistress  was  in  Mr.  Philip's  rooms,  the  two 
pair,  —  and  what  was  that  I  heard  on  the  piano  as  I  entered 
the  apartment?  Mrs.  Brandon  sat  there  hemming  some  chintz 
window-curtains,  or  bed-curtains,  or  what  not :  by  her  side  sat 
my  own  eldest  girl  stitching  away  ver}'  resolutely ;  and  at  the 
piano  —  the  piano  which  Philip  had  bought  —  there  sat  mj^  own 
wife  picking  out  that  "  Dream  of  Saint  Jerome,"  of  Beethoven, 
which  Charlotte  used  to  play  so  delicatel3\  We  had  tea  out  of 
Philip's  tea-things,  and  a  nice  hot  cake,  which  consoled  some 
of  us.  But  I  have  known  few  evenings  more  melancholy  than 
that.  It  felt  like  the  first  night  at  school  after  the  holidays, 
when  we  all  used  to  trj-  and  appear  cheerful,  you  know.  But 
ah !  how  dismal  the  gayety  was  ;  and  how  drearj'  that  lying 
awake  in  the  night,  and  thinking  of  the  happy  days  just  over  ! 

The  way  in  which  we  looked  forward  for  letters  from  our 
bride  and  bridegroom  was  quite  a  curiosity.  At  length  a  letter 
arrived  from  these  personages  :  and  as  it  contains  no  secret,  I 
take  the  liberty  to  print  it  in  extenso. 


"Amiens,  Friday.     Paris,  Saturday. 

"Dearest  Friends,  —  (For  the  dearest  friends  you  are  to  us,  and  will 
continue  to  be  as  long  as  we  live) — We  perform  our  promise  of  writing  to 
you  to  say  tliat  we  are  well,  and  safe,  and  happi/ !  Philip  says  I  mustn't 
use  dashes,  but  I  can't  help  it.  He  says,  he  supposes  I  am  dashing  off  a 
letter.  You  know  his  joking  way.  Oh,  wliat  a  blessing  it  is  to  see  him  so 
happy.  And  if  he  is  happy  I  am.  I  tremble  to  think  how  happy.  He  sits 
opposite  me,  smoking  his  cigar,  looking  so  noble!  /  like  it,  and  I  went  to 
our  room  and  brought  him  this  one.  He  says,  '  Char,  if  I  were  to  say  bring 
me  your  head,  yoii  would  order  a  waiter  to  cut  it  off.'  Pray,  did  I  not 
promise  three  days  ago  to  love,  honor,  and  obey  him,  and  am  I  going  to 
break  my  promise  already  "?  I  hope  not.  I  pray  not.  All  my  life  I  hope 
I  shall  be  trying  to  keep  that  promise  of  mine.  We  liked  Canterbury 
almost  as  much  as  dear  Westminster.  We  had  an  open  carriage  and  took 
a  qlorious  drive  to  Folkestone,  and  in  the  crossing  Philip  was  ill,  and  I  wasn't. 
And  lie  looked  very  droll;  and  he  was  in  a  dreadful  bad  humor;  and  that 
was  my  first  appearance  as  nurse.  I  think  I  should  like  him  to  be  a  little 
ill  sometimes,  so  that  I  may  sit  up  and  take  care  of  him.  We  went  through 
the  cords  at  the  custom-house  at  Boulogne;  and  I  remembered  how,  two 
years  ago,  I  passed  through  those  very  cords  with  my  poor  papa,  and  he 
stood  outside,  and  saw  us  !  We  went  to  the  '  Hotel  des  Bains.'  We  walked 
about  the  town.  We  went  to  the  Tintclleries,  where  we  used  to  live,  and 
to  your  house  in  the  Haute  Ville,  where  I  remember  even/thing  as  if  it  was 
yrsterdai/.  Don't  you  remember,  as  we  were  walking  one  day,  you  said, 
'  Charlotte,  there  is  the  steamer  coming  ;  there  is  the  smoke  of  his  funnel ; ' 


118  THE  ADVENTURES  OF   PHILIP 

and  I  said,  '  What  steamer  1 '  and  you  said,  '  The  Philip,  to  be  sure.'  And 
he  came  up,  smoking  his  pipe !  We  passed  over  and  over  tlie  old  ground 
where  we  used  to  walk.  We  went  to  the  pier,  and  gave  money  to  tiie  poor 
little  hunchback  who  plays  the  guitar,  and  he  said,  '  Mcrci,  madaine.'  How 
droll  it  sounded  1  And  that  good  kind  Marie  at  the  '  Hotel  des  Eains '  re- 
membered us,  and  called  us  '  ines  enfUns.'  And  if  you  were  not  the  most 
good-natured  woman  iri  the  world,  I  think  I  should  be  ashamed  to  write  such 
nonsense. 

"  Think  of  Mrs.  Brandon  having  knitted  me  a  purse,  which  she  gave 
me  as  we  went  away  from  dear,  dear  Queen  Square ;  and  when  I  oi)ened  it, 
there  were  five  sovereigns  in  it !  Wlien  we  found  what  the  purse  contained, 
Philip  used  one  of  his  great  jurons  (as  he  always  does  when  he  is  most 
tender-hearted),  and  he  said  that  wonjan  was  an  angel,  and  that  we  would 
keep  those  five  sovereigns,  and  never  change  them.  Ah!  lam  thankful 
my  husband  has  such  friends!  I  will  love  all  who  love  him  —  you  most 
of  all.  For  were  not  you  the  means  of  bringing  this  noble  heart  to  me  ? 
I  fancy  I  have  known  hiiiger  people,  since  I  have  known  you,  and  some  of 
your  friends.  Their  talk  is  simpler,  their  thoughts  are  greater  tlian  — 
those  with  whom  I  used  to  live.  P.  says,  heaven  has  given  Mrs.  Brandon 
such  a  great  heart,  that  she  must  have  a  good  intellect.  If  loving  my 
Philip  be  wisdom,  I  know  some  one  who  will  be  very  wise ! 

"  If  I  was  not  in  a  very  great  hurry  to  see  mamma,  Philip  said  we 
might  stop  a  day  at  Amiens.  And  we  went  to  the  Cathedral,  and  to  whom 
do  you  think  it  is  dedicated  1  to  mij  saint :  to  Saint  Firmin  !  and  oh !  I 
prayed  to  heaven  to  give  me  strength  to  devote  my  life  to  mi/  s'u'nt's  service, 
to  love  him  always,  as  a  pure  true  wife:  in  sickness  to  guard  him,  in  sor- 
row to  soothe  him.  I  will  try  and  learn  and  studii,  not  to  make  my  intellect 
equal  to  his  —  very  few  women  can  hope  for  that  —  but  that  I  may  better 
comprehend  him,  and  give  him  a  companion  more  worthy  of  him.  I  wonder 
whether  there  ai"e  many  men  in  the  world  as  clever  as  our  Imsbands? 
Though  Philip  is  so  modest.  He  says  he  is  not  clever  at  all.  Yet  I  know 
he  is,  and  grander  somehow  than  other  men.  I  said  nothing,  but  I  used  to 
listen  at  Queen  Square ;  and  some  who  came  who  thought  best  of  them- 
selves, seemed  to  me  pert,  and  worldly,  and  small ;  and  some  were  like 
princes  somehow.  My  Pliilip  is  one  of  the  princes.  Ah,  dear  friend !  may 
I  not  give  thanks  where  tlianks  are  due,  that  I  am  chosen  to  be  the  wife 
of  a  true  gentleman  1  Kind,  and  brave,  and  loyal  Philip !  Honest  and 
generous,  — above  deceit  or  selfish  scheme.  Oh!  I  hope  it  is  not  wrong  to 
be  so  happy ! 

"  We  wrote  to  mamma  and  dear  Madame  Smolensk  to  say  we  were  com- 
ing. Mamma  finds  Madame  de  Valentinois'  boarding-house  even  dearer 
than  dear  Madame  Smolensk's.  I  don't  mean  a  pun  !  She  says  she  has 
found  out  that  Madame  de  Valentinois'  real  name  is  Cornichon  ;  that  she 
was  a  person  of  the  worst  character,  and  that  cheating  at  e'carte'  was  prac- 
tised at  her  house.  She  took  up  her  own  two  francs  and  another  two-franc 
piece  from  the  card-table,  saying  that  Colonel  Boulotte  was  cheating,  and 
by  rights  the  money  was  hers.  She  is  going  to  leave  Madame  de  Valen- 
tinois at  the  end  of  her  month,  or  as  soon  as  her  children,  who  have  the 
measles,  can  move.  She  desired  that  on  no  acconnt  I  would  come  to  see 
her  at  Madame  V.'s ;  and  she  brought  Philip  12^.  10s.  in  five-franc  pieces, 
which  she  laid  down  on  the  table  before  him,  and  said  it  was  my  first 
quarter's  payment.  It  is  not  due  yet,  I  know.  '  But  do  you  think  I  will 
be  beholden,'  says  she,  '  to  a  man  like  you  ! '  And  P.  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders, and  put  the  rouleau  of  silver  pieces  into  a  drawer.  He  did  not  say  a 
word,  but,  of  course,  I  saw  he  was  ill  pleased.     '  What  shall  we  do  with 


I 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  119 

your  fortune,  Char? '  he  said,  when  mamma  went  away.  And  a  part  we 
spent  at  the  opera  and  at  Ve'ry's  restaurant,  where  we  took  our  dear  kind 
Madame  Smolensk.  Ah,  how  good  tliat  woman  was  to  me !  Ah,  how  I 
suffered  in  that  house  when  mamma  wanted  to  part  me  from  Philip  !  We 
walked  by  and  saw  the  windows  of  the  room  where  that  horrible,  horrible 
tragedy  was  performed,  and  Philip  shook  his  fist  at  the  green  Jalousies. 
'Good  heavens!'  he  said:  '  how,  my  darling,  how  I  was  made  to  suffer 
there  ! '  I  bear  no  malice.  I  will  do  no  injury.  But  I  can  never  forgive : 
never!  I  can  forgive  mamma,  wlio  made  my  husband  so  unhapi)y;  but 
can  I  love  her  again  1  Indeed  and  indeed  I  have  tried.  Often  and  often 
in  my  dreams  that  horrid  tragedy  is  acted  over  again  ;  and  they  are  taking 
him  from  me,  and  I  feel  as  if  I  should  die.  When  I  was  with  you  I  used 
often  to  be  afraid  to  go  to  sleep  for  fear  of  that  dreadful  dream,  and  I 
kept  one  of  his  lettei-s  under  my  pillow  so  that  I  might  hold  it  in  the 
night.  And  now!  No  one  can  part  us!  —  oh,  no  one!  —  until  the  end 
comes  ! 

"  He  took  me  abotit  to  all  his  old  bachelor  haunts  ;  to  the  '  Hotel  Pous- 
sin,'  where  he  used  to  live,  which  is  very  dingy  but  comfortable.  And  he 
introduced  me  to  the  landlady,  in  a  Madras  handkerchief,  and  to  the  land- 
lord (in  earrings  and  with  no  coat  on),  and  to  the  little  boy  who  frottes  the 
floors.  And  he  said,  '  Tiens '  and  '  merci,  madame ! '  as  we  gave  him  a  &ve- 
iranc  piece  out  of  7)11/  fortune.  And  then  we  went  to  the  cafe  opposite  the 
Bourse,  where  Philip  used  to  write  his  letters ;  and  then  we  went  to  the 
Palais  Royal,  where  Madame  de  Smolensk  was  in  waiting  for  us.  And 
then  we  went  to  the  play.  And  then  we  went  to  Tortoni's  to  take  ices. 
And  then  we  walked  a  part  of  the  way  home  with  Madame  Smolensk  un- 
der a  hundred  million  blazing  stars  ;  and  then  we  walked  down  the  Champs 
Elyse'es  avenues,  by  which  Philip  used  to  come  to  me,  and  beside  the 
plashing  fountains  shining  under  the  silver  moon.  And,  oh,  Laura  !  I 
wonder  imder  the  silver  moon  was  anybody  so  happy  as  your  loi-iitfj  and 
grateful  C.  F." 

"  P.S."  [In  the  handwriting  of  Philip  Pirmin,  Esq.]  —  My  dear 
Friends.  —  I'm  so  jolly  that  it  seems  like  a  dream.  I  have  been  watching 
Charlotte  scribble,  scribble  for  an  hour  past ;  and  wondered  and  thought 
is  it  actually  true  7  and  gone  and  convinced  myself  of  the  truth  by  looking 
at  the  paper  and  the  dashes  which  she  will  put  tinder  the  words.  My  dear 
friends,  what  have  I  done  in  life  that  I  am  to  be  made  a  present  of  a  little 
angel  1  Once  there  was  so  much  wrong  in  me,  and  my  heart  was  so  black 
and  revengeful,  that  I  knew  not  what  might  happen  to  me.  She  came  and 
rescued  me.  The  love  of  this  creature  purifies  me — and  —  and  I  think 
that  is  all.  I  think  I  only  want  to  say  that  I  am  the  happiest  man  in 
Europe.  That  Saint  Firmin  at  Amiens  !  Didn't  it  seem  like  a  good  omen  ? 
By  St.  George !  I  never  heard  of  St.  F.  until  I  lighted  on  him  in  the  cathe- 
dral. When  shall  we  write  next  ?  Where  shall  we  tell  you  to  direct  t 
We  don't  know  where  we  are  going.  We  don't  want  letters.  But  we  are  not 
the  less  grateful  to  dear  kind  friends  ;  and  our  names  are 

"P.  andC.  F." 


120  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


CHAPTER  X. 

DESCRIBES   A     SITUATION   INTERESTING   BUT   NOT   UNEXPECTED. 

Only  very  toilful  and  sill}'  children  cry  after  the  moon.  Sen- 
sible people  vr  lo  have  shed  their  sweet  tooth  can't  be  expected 
to  be  very  much  interested  about  honey.  We  may  hope  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Philip  Firmin  enjoyed  a  pleasant  wedding  tour  and 
that  sort  of  thing :  but  as  for  chronicling  its  delights  or  ad- 
ventures, Miss  Sowerby  and  I  vote  that  the  task  is  altogether 
needless  and  immoral.  Young  people  are  already  much  too 
sentimental,  and  inclined  to  idle,  maudlin  reading.  Life  is 
earnest.  Miss  Sowerby  remarks  (with  a  strong  inclination  to 
spell  "  earnest"  with  a  large  E).  Life  is  labor.  Life  is  duty. 
Life  is  rent.  Life  is  taxes.  Life  brings  its  ills,  bills,  doctor's 
pills.  Life  is  not  a  mere  calendar  of  honey  and  moonshine. 
Very  good.  But  without  love.  Miss  Sowerby,  life  is  just  death, 
and  I  know,  my  dear,  you  would  no  more  care  to  go  on  with  it, 
than  with  a  new  chapter  of —  of  our  dear  friend  Boreham's 
new  stor}'. 

Between  ourselves,  Philip's  humor  is  not  much  more  light- 
some than  that  of  the  ingenious  contemporary  above  named  ; 
but  if  it  served  to  amuse  Philip  himself,  why  balk  him  of  a 
little  sport?  Well,  then  :  he  wrote  us  a  great  ream  of  lumber- 
ing pleasantries,  dated  Paris,  Thursday  ;  Geneva,  Saturday'. 
Summit  of  Mont  Blanc,  Monday ;  Timbuctoo,  Wednesda}'. 
Pekin,  Frida}-  —  with  facetious  descriptions  of  those  spots  and 
cities.  He  said  that  in  the  last-named  place,  Charlotte's  shoes 
being  worn  out,  those  which  she  purchased  were  rather  tight 
for  her,  and  the  high  heels  annoj'ed  her.  He  stated  that  the 
beef  at  Timbuctoo  was  not  cooked  enough  for  Charlotte's  taste, 
and  that  the  Emperor's  attentions  were  becoming  rather  marked, 
and  so  forth  ;  whereas  poor  little  Char's  simple  postscripts  men- 
tioned no  travelling  at  all ;  but  averred  that  they  were  staying 
at  Saint  Germain,  and  as  happy  as  the  daj^  was  long.  As 
happy  as  the  daj- was  long?  As  it  was  short,  alas!  Their 
little  purse  was  very  slenderly  furnished  ;  and  in  a  very,  ver}'' 
brief  holiday,  poor  Philip's  few  napoleons  had  almost  all  rolled 
away.  Luckil}-,  it  was  pay-day  when  the  young  people  came 
back  to  London.  They  were  almost  reduced  to  the  Little 
Sister's  wedding  present :    and  surely  they  would  rather  work 


ON  HIS   WAY  THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  121 

than  purchase  a  few  hours'  more  ease  with  that  poor  widow's 
mite. 

Who  talked  and  was  afraid  of  poverty?  PhiUp,  with  his  two 
newspapers,  averred  that  he  had  enough  ;  more  than  enough  ; 
could  save  ;  could  put  b}' .  It  was  at  this  time  that  Ridley,  the 
Academician,  painted  that  sweet  picture.  No.  1,976  —  of  course 
you  remember  it —  "  Portrait  of  a  Lady."  He  became  roman- 
tically^ attached  to  the  second-floor  lodger ;  would  have  no  noisy 
parties  in  his  rooms,  or  smoking,  lest  it  shoulj:l  annoy  her. 
Would  Mrs.  Firniin  desire  to  give  entertainments  of  her  own  ? 
His  studio  and  sitting-room  were  at  her  orders.  He  fetched 
and  carried.  He  brought  presents  and  theatre-boxes.  He  was 
her  slave  of  slaves.  And  she  gave  him  back  in  retm-n  for  all 
this  romantic  adoration  a  condescending  shake  of  a  soft  little 
hand,  and  a  kind  look  from  a  pair  of  soft  eyes,  with  which  the 
painter  was  fain  to  be  content.  Low  of  stature,  and  of  mis- 
shapen form,  J.  J.  thought  himself  naturally  outcast  from  mar- 
riage and  love,  and  looked  in  with  longing  eyes  at  the  paradise 
which  he  was  forbidden  to  enter.  And  Mr.  Philip  sat  within 
this  Palace  of  Delight ;  and  lolled  at  his  ease,  and  took  his 
pleasure,  and  Charlotte  ministered  to  him.  And  once  in  a  way, 
my  lord  sent  out  a  crumb  of  kindness,  or  a  little  cup  of  comfort, 
to  the  outcast  at  the  gate,  who  blessed  his  benefactress,  and  my 
lord  his  benefactor,  and  was  thankful.  Charlotte  had  not  two- 
pence :  but  she  had  a  little  court.  It  was  the  fashion  for  Philip's 
friends  to  come  and  bow  before  her.  Very  fine  gentlemen  who 
had  known  him  at  college,  and  forgot  him,  or  sooth  to  say, 
thought  him  rough  and  overbearing,  now  suddenly  remembered 
him,  and  his  young  wife  had  quite  fashionable  assemblies  at  her 
five  o'clock  tea-table.  All  men  liked  her,  and  Miss  Sowerby  of 
course  saj's  Mrs.  Firmin  was  a  good-natured,  quite  harmless 
little  woman,  rather  pretty,  and  — j'ou  know,  mj^  dear  —  such  as 
men  like.  Look  you,  if  I  like  cold  veal,  dear  Sowerbj',  it  is 
that  my  tastes  are  simple.  A  fine  tough  old  drj'  camel,  no 
doubt,  is  a  much  nobler  and  more  sagacious  animal  —  and  per- 
haps 3^ou  think  a  double  hump  is  quite  a  delicacy. 

Yes  :  Mrs.  Philip  was  a  success.  She  had  scarce  any  female 
friends  as  yet,  being  too  poor  to  go  into  the  world  :  but  she  had 
Mrs.  Pendennis,  and  dear  little  Mrs.  Brandon,  and  Mrs.  Mug- 
ford,  whose  celebrated  trap  repeatedly  brought  delicacies  for 
the  bride  from  Ilampstead,  whose  chaise  was  once  or  twice  a 
week  at  Philip's  door,  and  who  was  very  much  exercised  and 
impressed  b}'  the  fine  compan}-  whom  she  met  in  Mrs.  Firmin's 
apartments.    "  Lord  Thingambury's  card  !  what  next,  Brandon, 


122  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

upon  m}^  word?  Lady  Slowbj'  at  home?  well,  I  never,  Mrs. 
B.  !  "  In  such  artless  phrases  Mrs.  Mugford  would  express 
her  admiration  and  astonishment  during  the  early  time,  and 
when  Charlotte  still  retained  the  good  lady's  favor.  That  a 
state  of  things  far  less  agreeable  ensued,  I  must  own.  But 
though  there  is  ever  so  small  a  cloud  in  the  sky  even  now,  let 
us  not  heed  it  for  a  while,  and  bask  and  be  content  and  happy 
in  the  sunshine.  "Oh,  Laura,  I  tremble  when  I  think  how 
happy  I  am  l['  was  our  little  bird's  perpetual  warble.  "  How 
did  I  live  when  I  was  at  home  with  mamma?"  she  would  sa^'. 
"  Do  you  know  that  Philip  never  even  scolds  me?  If  he  were 
to  say  a  rough  word  I  think  I  should  die  ;  whereas  mamma  was 
barking,  barking  from  morning  till  night,  and  I  didn't  care  a 
pin."  This  is  what  comes  of  injudicious  scolding,  as  of  any 
other  drug.  The  wholesome  medicine  loses  its  effect.  The 
inured  patient  calmly  takes  a  dose  that  would  frighten  or  kill  a 
stranger.  Poor  Mrs.  BaN'nes's  crossed  letters  came  still,  and  I 
am  not  prepared  to  pledge  my  word  that  Charlotte  read  them 
all.  Mrs.  B.  ottered  to  come  and  superintend  and  take  care 
of  dear  Philip  when  an  interesting  event  should  take  place. 
But  Mrs.  Brandon  was  already  engaged  for  this  important  oc- 
casion, and  Charlotte  became  so  alarmed  lest  her  mother  should 
invade  her,  that  Philip  wrote  curtly,  and  positively  forbade 
Mrs.  Baynes.  You  remember  the  picture  "  A  Cradle  "  b}'  J.  J.  ? 
the  two  little  rosy  feet  brought  I  don't  know  how  man}'  hundred 
guineas  apiece  to  Mr.  Ridle}'.  The  mother  herself  did  not  study 
babydom  more  fondl}'  and  devotedly  than  Ridley  did  in  the  ways, 
looks,  features,  anatomies,  attitudes,  babj'-clothes,  &c.,  of  this 
first-born  infant  of  Charlotte  and  Philip  Firmin.  My  wife  is  very 
angr}'  because  I  have  forgotten  whether  the  first  of  the  young 
Firmin  brood  was  a  boy  or  a  girl,  and  saj'S  I  shall  forget  the 
names  of  my  own  children  next.  Well?  "  At  this  distance  of 
time,  I  think  it  was  a  bo}-,  —  for  their  boy  is  ver^^  tall,  you 
know  —  a  great  deal  taller —  Not  a  boy?  Then,  between  our- 
selves, I  have  no  doubt  it  was  a  —  "  "A  goose,"  says  the  lad}', 
which  is  not  even  reasonable. 

This  is  certain,  we  all  thought  the  young  mother  looked  very 
pretty  with  her  pink  cheeks  and  beaming  e3'es,  as  she  bent  over 
the  little  infant.  J.  J.  sa3's  he  thinks  there  is  something  heav- 
enly in  the  looks  of  young  mothers  at  that  time.  Nay,  he  goes 
so  far  as  to  declare  that  a  tigress  at  the  Zoological  Gardens 
looks  beautiful  and  gentle  as  she'  bends  her  black  nozzle  over 
her  cubs.  And  if  a  tigress,  wh^'  not  Mrs.  Philip?  O  ye  powers 
of  sentiment,  in  what  a  state  J.  J.  was  about  this  young  woman ! 


ON  HIS  WAY   THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  123 

There  is  a  brightness  in  a  young  mother's  e3'e  :  there  are  pearl 
and  rose  tints  on  her  cheek,  which  are  sure  to  fascinate  a 
painter.  This  artist  used  to  hang  about  Mrs.  Brandon's  rooms, 
till  it  was  droll  to  see  him.  I  believe  he  took  off  his  shoes  in 
his  own  studio,  so  as  not  to  disturb  by  his  creaking  the  lady 
overhead.  He  purchased  the  most  preposterous  mug,  and  other 
presents  for  the  infant.  Philip  went  out  to  his  club  or  his 
newspaper  as  he  was  ordered  to  do.  But  Mr.  J.  J.  could  not 
be  got  away  from  Thornhaugh  Street,  so  that  little  Mrs.  Bran- 
don laughed  at  him  :  —  absolutely  laughed  at  him. 

During  all  this  while  Philip  and  his  wife  continued  in  the 
very  greatest  favor  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mugford,  and  were 
invited  b}^  that  worthy  couple  to  go  with  their  infant  to  Mug- 
ford's  villa  at  Hampstead,  where  a  change  of  air  miglit  do  good 
to  clear  baby  and  dear  mamma.  Philip  went  to  this  village 
retreat.  Streets  and  terraces  now  cover  over  the  house  and 
grounds  which  worthy  Mugford  inhabited,  and  which  people 
say  he  used  to  call  his  Russian  Irby.  He  had  amassed  in 
a  small  space  a  heap  of  country  pleasures.  He  had  a  little 
garden  ;  a  little  paddock  ;  a  little  greenhouse  ;  a  little  cucum- 
ber-frame ;  a  little  stable  for  his  little  trap;  a  little  Guernsey 
cow  ;  a  little  dairy  ;  a  little  pigsty  ;  and  with  this  little  treasure 
the  good  man  was  not  a  little  content.  He  loved  and  praised 
everything  that  was  his.  No  man  admired  his  own  port  more 
than  Mugford,  or  paid  more  compliments  to  his  own  butter  and' 
home-baked  bread.  He  enjoyed  his  own  happiness.  He  ap- 
preciated l)is  own  \\'Orth.  Pie  loved  to  talk  of  the  days  when 
he  was  a  poor  boy  on  London  streets,  and  now  —  "now  try- 
that  glass  of  port,  my  bo}',  and  say  whether  the  Lord  Ma^or 
has  got  an}-  better,"  he  would  saj',  winking  at  his  glass  and  his 
company.  To  be  virtuous,  to  be  luck}',  and  constantly  to  think 
and  own  that  you  ai'e  so  —  is  not  tliis  true  happiness?  To  sing 
hymns  in  praise  of  himself  is  a  charming  amusement  —  at  least 
to  the  performer ;  and  anybody  who  dined  at  Mugford's  table 
was  prett}'  sure  to  hear  some  of  this  music  after  dinner.  I 
am  Sony  to  say  Philip  did  not  care  for  this  trumpet-blowing. 
He  was  frightfully  bored  at  llaverstock  Hill ;  and  when  bored, 
Mr.  Philip  is  not  altogether  an  agreeable  companion.  He  will 
3'awn  in  a  man's  face.  He  will  contradict  3'ou  freely.  He  will 
say  the  mutton  is  tough,  or  the  wine  not  fit  to  drink  ;  that  such 
and  such  an  orator  is  overrated,  and  such  and  such  a  politician 
is  a  fool.  Mugford  and  his  guest  had  battles  after  dinner,  had 
actuall}-  high  Avords.  "  What-hever  is  it,  Mugford?  and  what 
were  3'ou  quarrelling  about  in  the  dining-room  ? "  asks  Mrs. 


124  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

Mugford.  "Quarrelling?  It's  only  the  sub-editor  snoring," 
said  the  gentleman,  with  a  flushed  face.  "  My  wine  ain't  good 
enough  for  him  ;  and  now  m^'  gentleman  must  put  his  boots 
upon  a  chair  and  go  to  sleep  under  my  nose.  He  is  a  cool 
hand,  and  no  mistake,  Mrs.  M."  At  this  juncture  poor  little 
Char  would  gently  glide  down  from  a  visit  to  her  baby :  and 
would  play  something  on  the  piano,  and  soothe  the  rising 
auger ;  and  thus  Philip  would  come  in  from  a  little  walk  in  the 
shrubberies,  where  he  had  been  blowing  a  little  cloud.  Ah ! 
there  was  a  little  cloud  rising  indeed :  —  quite  a  little  one  — 
nay,  not  so  little.  When  3'ou  consider  that  Philip's  bread  de- 
pended on  the  good-will  of  these  people,  you  will  allow  that  his 
friends  might  l)e  anxious  regarding  the  future.  A  word  from 
Mugford,  and  Philip  and  Charlotte  and  the  child  were  adrift 
on  the  world.  And  these  points  Mr.  Firmin  would  freely 
admit,  while  he  stood  discoursing  of  his  own  affairs  (as  he 
loved  to  do),  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  his  back  warming 
at  our  fire. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  says  the  candid  bridegroom,  "these 
things  are  constantly  in  ni}'  head.  I  used  to  talk  about  'em  to 
Char,  but  I  don't  now.  The}'  disturb  her,  the  poor  thing  ;  and 
she  clutches  hold  of  the  baby  ;  and  —  and  it  tears  my  heart  out 
to  think  that  an\'  grief  should  come  to  her.  I  try  and  do  my 
best,  my  good  people  —  but  when  I'm  bored,  I  can't  help  show- 
ing I'm  bored,  don't  you  see?  I  can't  be  a  hypocrite.  No, 
not  for  two  hundred  a  year  or  for  twenty  thousand.  You  can't 
make  a  silk  purse  out  of  that  sow's  ear  of  a  Mugford,  A  very 
good  man,  I  don't  say  no.  A  good  father,  a  good  husband, 
a  generous  host,  and  a  most  tremendous  bore  and  cad.  Be 
agreeable  to  him?  How  can  I  be  agreeable  when  I  am  being 
killed?  Pie  has  a  story  about  Leigh  Hunt  being  put  into 
Newgate,  where  Mugford,  bringing  him  proofs,  saw  Lord 
Byron.  I  cannot  keep  awake  during  that  story  any  longer; 
or,  if  awake,  I  grind  mj'  teeth,  and  swear  inwardl}',  so  that  I 
know  I'm  dreadful  to  hear  and- see.  Well,  Mugford  has  3'ellow 
satin  sofas  in  the  '  d roaring-room'  —  " 

"  Oh,  Philip  !  "  sa3-s  a  lady  ;  and  two  or  three  circumjacent 
children  set  up  an  insane  giggle,  which  is  speedily  and  sternly 
silenced. 

"I  tell  vou  she  calls  it  '  droaring-room.'  You  know  she 
does,  as  well  as  I  do.  She  is  a  good  woman  :  a  kind  woman  : 
a  hot-tempered  woman.  I  hear  her  scolding  the  servants  in 
the  kitchen  with  immense  vehemence,  and  at  prodigious  length. 
But  how  can  Char  frankly  be  the  friend  of  a  woman  who  calls 


I 


Mugfokd's  Favorite. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  125 

a  drawing-room  a  droaring-room?  With  our  dear  little  friend 
in  Tliornhaugh  Street  it  is  different.  She  makes  no  pretence 
even  at  equality.  Here  is  a  patron  and  patroness,  don't  you 
see?  When  Mugford  walks  me  round  his  paddock  and  gar- 
dens, and  says,  '  Look  3'ear,  Firmin  ; '  or  scratches  one  of  his 
pigs  on  the  back,  and  saj'S  '  We'll  'ave  a  cut  of  this  fellow  on 
Saturday'" — (explosive  attempts  at  insubordination  and  de- 
rision on  the  part  of  the  children  again  are  severely  checked 
by  the  parental  authorities)  —  "  '  we'll  'ave  a  cut  of  this  fellow 
on  Saturday,'  I  felt  inclined  to  throw  him  or  myself  into  the 
trough  over  the  palings.  Do  you  know  that  that  man  put  that 
hand  into  his  pocket  and  offered  me  some  filberts  ?  " 

Here  I  own  the  lady  to  whom  PhiUp  was  addressing  himself 
turned  pale  and  shuddered. 

"I  can  no  more  be  that  man's  friend  que  celui  du  domes- 
tique  qui  vient  d'apporter  le  what-d'you-call'em  ?  le  coal-scuttle 

—  (John  entered  the  room  with  that  useful  article  during 
Philip's  oration  —  and  we  allowed  the  elder  children  to  laugh 
this  time,  for  the  fact  is,  none  of  us  knew  the  French  for  coal- 
scuttle, and  I  will  wager  there  is  no  such  word  in  Chambaud). 
"  This  holding  back  is  not  arrogance,"  Philip  went  on.  "  This 
reticence  is  not  want  of  humility.  To  serve  that  man  honestly 
is  one  thing ;  to  make  friends  with  him,  to  laugh  at  his  dull 
jokes,  is  to  make  friends  with  the  mammon  of  unrighteous- 
ness, is  subserviency  and  hypocrisy  on  my  part.  I  ought  to 
say  to  him,  Mr.  JMugford,  I  will  give  3'ou  mj'  work  for  30ur 
wage  ;  I  will  compile  3-our  paper,  I  will  produce  an  agreeable 
miscellany  containing  proper  proportions  of  news,  politics,  and 
scandal,  put  titles  to  ^'our  paragraphs,  see  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette 
ship-shape  through  the  press,  and  go  home  to  my  wife  and  din- 
ner.    You  are  m}^  emplo3er,  but  you  are  not  my  friend,  and 

—  bless  my  soul !  there  is  five  o'clock  striking  !  "  (The  time- 
piece in  our  drawing-room  gave  that  announcement  as  he  was 
speaking.)  "  We  have  what  Mugford  calls  a  white-choker  din- 
ner to-day,  in  honor  of  the  pig  !  "  And  with  this  Philip  plunges 
out  of  the  house,  and  I  hope  reached  Hampstead  in  time  for  the 
entertainment. 

Philip's  friends  in  Westminster  felt  no  little  doubt  about  his 
prospects,  and  the  Little  Sister  shared  their  alarm.  "  They 
are  not  fit  to  be  with  those  folks,"  Mrs.  Brandon  said,  "  though 
as  for  Mrs.  Philip,  dear  thing,  I  am  sure  nobody  can  ever 
quarrel  with  her.  With  me  it's  different.  I  never  had  no  edu- 
cation, vou  know  —  no  more  than  the  Mugrfords,  but  I  don't 
like  to  see  my  Philip  sittiu'  down  as  if  he  was  the  guest  and 


126  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

equal  of  that  fellar."  Nor  indeed  did  it  ever  enter  "  that 
fellar's  "  head  that  Mr.  Frederick  Mug-ford  could  be  Mr.  Phihp 
Firmin's  equal.  With  our  knowledge  of  the  two  men,  then, 
we  all  dismally  looked  forward  to  a  rupture  between  Firmin 
and  his  patron. 

As  for  the  New  York  journal,  we  were  more  eas}'  in  respect 
to  Philip's  success  in  that  quarter.  Several  of  his  friends  made 
a  vow  to  help  him.  We  clubbed  club-stories  ;  we  begged  from 
our  polite  friends  anecdotes  (that  would  bear  sea-transport)  of 
the  fashionable  world.  We  happened  to  overhear  the  most 
remarkable  conversations  between  the  most  influential  public 
characters  who  had  no  secrets  from  us.  We  had  astonishing 
intelligence  at  most  European  coui'ts  ;  exclusive  reports  of  the 
Emperor  of  Russia's  last  joke  —  his  last?  his  next,  ver}-  likelj'. 
We  kncAV  the  most  secret  designs  of  the  Austrian  Privy  Coun- 
cil ;  the  views  which  the  Pope  had  in  his  eye  ;  w'ho  was  the 
latest  favorite  of  the  Grand  Turk,  and  so  on.  The  Upper  Ten 
Thousand  at  New  York  were  supplied  with  a  quantity  of  in- 
formation wdiich  I  trust  profited  them.  It  w^as  "  Palmerston 
remarked  3'esterday  at  dinner,"  or,  "The  good  old  Duke  said 
last  night  at  Apsley  House  to  the  French  Ambassador,"  and 
the  rest.  The  letters  were  signed  "  Philalethes  ;  "  and,  as  no- 
body was  wounded  by  the  shafts  of  our  long  bow,  I  trust  Mr. 
Philip  and  his  friends  may  be  pardoned  for  twanging  it.  By 
information  procured  from  learned  female  personages,  we  even 
managed  to  give  accounts,  more  or  less  correct,  of  the  latest 
ladies'  fashions.  We  were  members  of  all  the  clubs  ;  we  were 
present  at  the  routs  and  assemblies  of  the  political  leaders  of 
both  sides.  We  had  little  doubt  that  Philalethes  would  be 
successful  at  New  York,  and  looked  forward  to  an  increased 
payment  for  his  labors.  At  the  end  of  the  first  3'ear  of  Philip 
Firmin's  married  life,  we  made  a  calculation  b}'  which  it  was 
clear  that  he  had  actually  saved  money.  His  expenses,  to  be 
sure,  -were  increased.  There  w^as  a  baby  in  the  nurserj- :  but 
there  was  a  little  bag  of  sovereigns  in  the  cupboard,  and  the 
thrifty  young  fellow  hoped  to  add  still  more  to  his  store. 

We  were  relieved  at  finding  that  Firmin  and  his  wife  were 
not  invited  to  repeat  their  visit  to  their  employer's  house  at 
Ilampstead.  An  occasional  invitation  to  dinner  was  still  sent 
to  the  young  people  ;  but  Mugford,  a  haughty  man  in  his  way, 
with  a  proper  spirit  of  his  own,  had  the  good  sense  to  see  that 
much  intimac}^  could  not  arise  between  him  and  his  sub-editor, 
and  magnanimously  declined  to  be  angr}-  at  the  3'oung  fellow's 
easy  superciliousness.     I  think  that  indefatigable  Little  Sister 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  127 

was  the  peacemaker  between  the  houses  of  Mngford  and  Firmin 
junior,  and  that  she  kept  both  Phihp  and  his  master  on  their 
good  behavior.  At  all  events,  and  when  a  quarrel  did  arise 
between  them,  I  grieve  to  have  to  own  it  was  poor  Philip  who 
was  in  the  wrong. 

You  know  in  the  old,  old  da3'S  the  J'oung  king  and  queen 
never  gave  any  christening  entertainment  without  neglecting  to 
invite  some  old  fairy,  who  was  furious  at  the  omission.  I  am 
Sony  to  saj-  Charlotte's  mother  was  so  angry  at  not  being  ap- 
pointed godmother  to  the  new  baby,  that  she  omitted  to  make 
her  little  quarterly  payment  of  12/.  10s.  ;  and  has  altogether 
discontinued  that  payment  from  that  remote  period  up  to  the 
present  time  ;  so  that  Philip  saj's  his  wife  has  brought  him  a 
fortune  of  35^.,  paid  in  three  instalments.  There  was  the  first 
quarter  paid  when  the  old  lady  "  would  not  be  beholden  to  a 
man  like  him."  Then  there  came  a  second  quarter  —  and 
then  —  but  I  dare  say  I  shall  be  able  to  tell  when  and  how 
Pliilip's  mamma-in-law  paid  the  rest  of  her  poor  little  daughter's 
fortune. 

Well,  Regent's  Park  is  a  fine  healthy  plac^  for  infantine 
diversion,  and  I  don't  think  Philip  at  all  demeaned  himself  in 
walking  there  with  his  wife,  her  little  maid,  and  his  baby  on  his 
arm.  "  lie  is  as  rude  as  a  bear,  and  his  manners  are  dreadful ; 
but  he  has  a  good  heart,  that  I  will  say  for  him,"  Mugford  said 
to  me.  In  his  drive  from  London  to  Ilampstead  Mugford  once 
or  twice  met  the  little  famil}'  group,  of  which  his  sub-editor 
formed  the  principal  figure  ;  and  for  the  sake  of  Philip's  3'oung 
wife  and  child  Mr.  M.  pardoned  the  young  man's  vulgarity, 
and  treated  him  with  long-suffering. 

Poor  as  he  was,  this  was  his  happiest  time,  my  friend  is 
disposed  to  think.  A  young  child,  a  .young  wife,  whose  whole 
life  was  a  tender  caress  of  love  for  child  and  husband,  a  young 
husband  watching  both  :  —  I  recall  the  group,  as  we  used  often 
to  sec  it  in  those  days,  and  see  a  something  sacred  in  the 
homely  figures.  On  the  wife's  bright  face  what  a  radiant  hap- 
piness there  is,  and  what  a  rapturous  smile  !  Over  the  sleeping 
infant  and  the  happy  mother  the  father  looks  with  pride  and 
thanks  in  his  63-68.  Happiness  and  gratitude  fill  his  simple 
heart,  and  prayer  involuntar}-  to  the  Giver  of  good,  that  he 
may  have  strength  to  do  his  duty  as  father,  husband  ;  that  he 
may  be  enabled  to  keej)  want  and  care  fix)m  those  dear  innocent 
beings  ;  that  he  may  defend  them,  befriend  them,  leave  them  a 
good  name.  I  am  bound  to  sa}'  that  Philip  became  thrifty  and 
saving  for  the  sake  of  Char  and  the  child  ;  that  he  came  home 


128  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

early  of  nights  ;  that  he  thought  his  child  a  wonder ;  that  he 
never  tired  of  speaking  about  tliat  infant  in  our  house,  about 
its  fjitness,  its  strength,  its  weight,  its  wonderful  early  talents 
and  humor.  He  felt  himself  a  man  now  for  the  first  time,  he 
said.  Life  had  been  play  arid  folly  until  now.  And  now 
especiall}'  he  regretted  that  he  had  been  idle,  and  had  neglected 
his  opportunities  as  a  lad.  Had  he  studied  for  the  bar,  he 
might  have  made  that  profession  now  profitable,  and  a  source 
of  honor  and  competence  to  his  famil3\  Our  friend  estimated 
his  own  powers  very  humbly :  I  am  sure  he  was  not  the  less 
amiable  on  account  of  that  humility.  O  fortunate  he,  of  whom 
Love  is  the  teacher,  the  guide  and  master,  the  reformer  and 
chastener !  Where  was  our  friend's  former  arrogance,  self- 
confidence,  and  boisterous  profusion?  He  was  at  the  feet  of 
his  wife  and  child.  He  was  quite  humbled  about  himself,  or 
gratified  himself  in  fondling  and  caressing  these.  The}^  taught 
him,  he  said  ;  and  as  he  thought  of  them,  his  heart  turned  in 
awful  thanks  to  the  gracious  heaven  which  had  given  them  to 
him.  As  the  tiny  infant  hand  closes  round  his  fingers,  I  can 
see  the  father  bending  over  mother  and  child,  and  interpret 
those  maybe  unspoken  blessings  which  he  asks  and  bestows. 
Happ3^  wife,  happj'  husband  !  However  poor  his  little  home 
may  be,  it  holds  treasures  and  wealth  inestimable  ;  whatever 
storms  may  threaten  without,  the  home  fireside  is  brightened 
with  the  welcome  of  the  dearest  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

IN  WHICH  I   OWN  THAT   PHILIP   TELLS   AN   UNTRUTH. 

Charlotte  (and  the  usual  little  procession  of  nurse,  baby, 
&c.)  once  made  their  appearance  at  our  house  in  Queen  Square, 
where  they  were  ever  welcomed  by  the  lady  of  the  mansion. 
The  young  woman  was  in  a  great  state  of  elation,  and  when  we 
came  to  hear  the  cause  of  her  delight,  her  friends  too  opened 
the  eyes  of  wonder.  She  actually  announced  that  Dr.  Firmin 
had  sent  over  a  bill  of  forty  pounds  (I  may  be  incorrect  as  to 
the  sum)  from  New  York.  It  had  arrived  that  morning,  and 
she  had  seen  the  bill,  and  Philip  had  told  her  that  his  father 
had  sent  it ;  and  was  it  not  a  comfort  to  think  that  poor  Doctor 
Firmin  was  endeavoring  to  repair  some  of  the  evil  which  he 


ON  HIS   WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  129 

had  done  ;  and  that  he  was  repenting,  and,  perhaps,  was  going 
to  become  quite  honest  and  good  ?  This  was  indeed  an  astound- 
ing piece  of  intelligence :  and  the  two  women  felt  joy  at  the 
thought  of  that  sinner  repenting,  and  some  one  else  was  accused 
of  cynicism,  scepticism,  and  so  forth,  for  doubting  the  correct- 
ness of  the  information.  "You  believe  in  no  one,  sir.  You 
are  always  incredulous  about  good,"  &c.  &c.  &c.,  was  the 
accusation  brought  against  the  reader's  very  humble  servant. 
Well,  about  the  contrition  of  this  sinner,  I  confess  I  still  con- 
tinued to  have  doubts  ;  and  thought  a  present  of  forty  pounds 
to  a  son,  to  whom  he  owed  thousands,  was  no  great  proof  of 
the  doctor's  amendment. 

And  oh  !  how  vexed  some  people  were  when  the  real  story 
came  out  at  last !  Not  for  the  mone}  's  sake  —  not  because 
the}-  were  wrong  in  argument,  and  I  turned  out  to  be  right. 
Oh,  no  !  But  because  it  was  proved  that  this  unhapp}-  doctor 
had  no  present  intention  of  repenting  at  all.  This  brand  would 
not  come  out  of  the  burning,  whatever  we  might  hope  ;  and  the 
doctor's  supporters  were  obliged  to  admit  as  much  when  they 
came  to  know  the  real  stor3\  "  Oh,  Philip,"  cries  Mrs.  Laura, 
when  next  she  saw  Mr.  P'irmin.  "  How  pleased  I  was  to  hear 
of  that  letter  !  " 

"  What  letter?"  asks  the  gentleman. 

"■That  letter  ffom  j-our  father  at  New  York,"  saj's  the 
lady. 

"  Oh,"  says  the  gentleman  addressed,  with  a  red  face. 

"  What  then  ?     Is  it  not  —  is  it  not  all  true  ?  "  we  ask. 

"Poor  Charlotte  does  not  understand  about  business,"  sa^-s 
Philip;  "  I  did  not  read  the  letter  to  her.  Here  it  is."  And 
he  hands  over  the  document  to  me,  and  I  have  the  liberty  to 
publish  it. 

"  New  York 


"And  so,  my  dear  Philip,  I  may  congratulate  myself  on  having 
flchieved  ancestm/  honor,  and  may  add  grandfather  to  my  titles  ?  How 
quickly  this  one  has  come!  I  feel  myself  a  young  man  still,  in  spite  of  the 
blows  of  misfortune.  —  at  least  I  know  I  was  a  young  man  but  yesterday, 
wlien  I  may  say  with  our  dear  old  poet,  Non  sine  gloria  militavi.  Suppose 
I  too  were  to  tire  of  solitary  widowhood  and  re-enter  the  married  state  ? 
There  are  one  or  two  ladies  here  who  would  still  condescend  to  look  not 
unfavorably  on  the  retired  Enrjiisk  gentleman.  Without  vanity  I  may  say  it, 
a  man  of  birth  and  position  in  England  acquires  a  polish  and  refinement  of 
manner  which  dollars  cannot  purchase,  and  many  a  Wail  Street  millionary 
might  envy ! 

"  Your  wife  has  been  pronounced  to  be  an  angel  by  a  little  correspondent 
of  mine,  wlio  gives  me  much  fuller  intelligence  of  my  family  than  my  son 
condescends  to  furnish.    Mrs.  Philip  I  hear  is  gentle ;  Mrs.  Brandon  says 

31 


130  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

she  is  beautiful,  —  she  is  all  good-humored.  I  hope  you  have  taught  her 
to  think  not  rery  badly  of  her  husband's  father?  I  was  the  dupe  of  vil- 
lains who  lured  me  into  tlieir  schemes  ;  who  robbed  me  of  a  life's  earnings  ; 
who  induced  me  by  their  false  representations  to  have  such  confidence  in 
them,  that  I  embarked  all  my  own  property,  and  yours,  my  poor  boy,  alas ! 
in  tlieir  undertakings.  Your  Charlotte  will  take  the  liberal,  the  wise,  the 
just  view  of  the  case,  and  pity  ratlier  than  blame  my  misfortune.  Such  is 
the  view,  I  am  happy  to  say,  generally  adopted  in  this  city:  where  there 
are  men  of  the  world  who  know  the  vicissitudes  of  a  mercantile  career, 
and  can  make  allowances  for  misfortune.  What  made  Rome  at  first  great 
and  prosperous  ?  Were  its  first  colonists  all  wealthy  patricians  ?  Nothing 
can  be  more  satisfactory  than  the  disregard  shown  here  to  mere  pecuniary 
dijjiadty.  At  the  same  time  to  be  a  gentleman  is  to  possess  no  trifling 
privilege  in  this  society,  where  the  advantages  of  birth,  respected  name, 
and  early  education  aliraijs  tell  in  tlie  possessor's  favor.  Many  persons 
whom  I  visit  here  have  certainly  not  these  advantages  —  and  in  the  higliest 
society  of  the  city  I  could  point  out  individuals  who  have  had  pecuniary 
misfortunes  like  myself,  who  have  gallantly  renewed  the  combat  after 
their  fall,  and  are  now  fullt/  restored  to  competence,  to  wealth,  and  the 
respect  of  the  world !  I  was  in  a  house  in  Fifth  Avenue  last  night.  Is 
Wasliington  White  shunned  by  his  fellow-men  because  he  has  been  a  bank- 
rupt three  times  ?  Anything  more  elegant  or  profuse  than  his  entertain- 
ment I  have  not  witnessed  on  this  continent.  His  lady  had  diamonds 
which  a  duchess  might  envy.  The  most  costly  wines,  the  most  magnificent 
supper,  and  myriads  of  canvas-backed  ducks  covered  liis  board.  Dear 
Charlotte,  my  friend  Captain  Colpoys  brings  you  over  three  brace  of  these 
from  your  father-in-law,  who  hopes  they  will  furnish  your  little  dinner- 
table.  We  eat  currant  jelly  with  them  here,  but  I  like  an  old  English 
lemon  and  cayenne  sauce  better. 

"By  tlie  way,  dear  Philip,  I  trust  you  will  not  be  inconvenienced  by 
a  little  financial  operation,  which  necessity  (alas!)  has  compelled  me  to 
perform.     Knowing  that  your  quarter  with  the  Upper  Ten  Thousand  Gazette 

was  now  due,  I  have  made  so  bold  as  to  request  Colonel to  pay  it 

over  to  me.  Promises  to  pay  must  be  met  here  as  with  us  —  an  obdurate 
holder  of  an  unlucky  acceptance  of  mine  (I  am  happy  to  say  there  are 
very  few  such)  would  admit  of  no  delay,  and  I  have  been  compelled  to 
appropriate  my  poor  Philip's  earnings.  I  have  only  put  you  off  for  ninety 
days:  with  your  credit  and  wealthy  friends  you  can  easily  neyotinte  the  bill 
enclosed,  and  I  promise  you  tliat  when  presented  it  shall  be  honored  by  my 
Philip's  ever  affectionate  father,  G.  B.  F." 

"  By  the  way,  your  Philalethes'  letters  are  not  quite  spicy  enough,  my 
wortliy  friend  the  colonel  says.  They  are  elegant  and  gay,  but  the  public 
here  desires  to  have  more  personal  news;  a  little  scandal  about  Queen  Elizabeth, 
you  understand  1  Can't  you  attack  somebody  ?  Look  at  the  letters  and 
articles  published  by  my  respected  friend  of  the  New  York  Emerald !  The 
readers  here  like  a  high-spiced  article:  and  I  recommend  P.  F.  to  put  a  little 
more  pepper  in  his  dishes.  What  a  comfort  to  me  it  is  to  think,  that  I 
have  procured  this  place  for  you,  and  have  been  enabled  to  help  my  son 
and  his  young  family !  G.  B.  F." 

Enclosed  in  this  letter  was  a  slip  of  paper  which  poor  Philip 
supposed  to  be  a  cheque  when  he  first  beheld  it,  but  which 
turned  out  to  be  his  papa's  promissory  note,  payable  at  New 


ON  HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  131 

York  four  months  after  date.  And  this  document  was  to  repre- 
sent the  money  which  the  elder  Firmin  had  received  in  his  son's 
name  !  Philip's  eyes  met  his  friend's  when  they  talked  about 
this  matter.  Firmin  looked  almost  as  much  ashamed  as  if  he 
himself  had  done  the  wrong. 

' '  Does  the  loss  of  this  money  aunoy  you  ?  "  asked  Philip's 
friend. 

"  The  manner  of  the  loss  does,"  said  poor  Philip.  "  I  don't 
care  about  the  money.  But  he  should  not  haye  taken  this. 
He  should  not  have  taken  this.  Think  of  poor  Charlotte  and 
the  chiki  being  in  want  possibl}- !  Oh.  friend,  it's  hard  to  bear, 
isn't  it?  I'm  an  honest  fellow,  ain't  I?  I  think  I  am.  I  pray 
heaven  I  am.  In  any  extremity  of  povei-ty  could  I  have  done 
this?  Well.  It  was  my  father  who  introduced  me  to  these 
people.  I  suppose  he  thinks  he  has  a  right  to  my  earnings  : 
and  if  he  is  in  want,  3-ou  know,  so  he  has." 

"  Had  you  not  better  write  to  the  New  York  publishers  and 
beg  them  henceforth  to  remit  to  you  directly?"  asks  Philip's 
friend. 

"That  would  be  to  tell  them  that  he  has  disposed  of 
the  money,"  groans  Philip.  "  I  can't  tell  them  that  my  father 
is  a " 

"  No  ;  but  you  can  thank  them  for  having  handed  over  such 
a  sum  on  your  account  to  the  doctor :  and  warn  them  that  ^'ou 
will  draw  on  them  from  this  country  henceforth.  They  won't 
in  this  case  pay  the  next  quarter  to  the  doctor." 

"  Suppose  he  is  in  want,  ought  I  not  to  suppl}'  him?"  Firmin 
said.  "As  long  as  there  are  four  crusts  in  the  house,  the 
doctor  ought  to  have  one.  Ought  I  to  be  angry  with  him  for 
helping  himself,  old  boy?"  and  he  drinks  a  glass  of  wine,  poor 
fellow,  with  a  rueful  smile.  By  the  way,  it  is  my  duty  to 
mention  here,  that  the  elder  Firmin  was  in  the  habit  of  giving 
ver3'  elegant  little  dinner-parties  at  New  York,  where  little 
dinner-parties  are  much  more  costly  than  in  Europe  —  "in 
oi'der,"  he  said,  "  to  establish  and  keep  up  his  connection  as  a 
physician."  As  a  hon-vivant^  I  am  informed,  the  doctor  began 
to  be  celebr.^ted  in  his  new  dwelling-place,  where  his  anecdotes 
of  the  British  aristocrac}^  were  received  with  pleasure  in  certain 
circles. 

But  it  would  be  as  well  henceforth  that  Philip  should  deal 
directly  with  his  American  correspondents,  and  not  employ  the 
services  of  so  very  expensive  a  broker.  To  this  suggestion  he 
could  not  but  agree.  Meanwhile,  —  and  let  this  be  a  warning 
to  men  never  to  deceive  their  wives  in  any  the  slightest  circum- 


132  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

stances ;  to  tell  them  everything  they  wish  to  know,  to  keep 
nothing  hidden  from  those  dear  and  excellent  beings  —  3^011  must 
know,  ladies,  that  when  Philip's  famous  ship  of  dollars  arrived 
from  America,  Firmin  had  promised  his  wife  that  baby  should 
have  a  dear  delightful  white  cloak  trimmed  with  the  most  lovely 
tape,  on  which  poor  Charlotte  had  often  cast  a  longing  eye 
as  she  passed  by  the  milliner  and  curiosity  shops  in  Hanwa^' 
Yard,  which,  I  own,  she  loved  to  frequent.  Well ;  when 
Philip  told  her  that  his  father  had  sent  home  forty  pounds,  or 
what  not,  thereby  deceiving  his  fond  wife,  the  little  lady  went 
away  straight  to  her  darling  shop  in  the  Yard  —  (Hanwa}-  Yard 
has  become  a  street  now,  but  ah !  it  is  always  delightful)  — 
Charlotte,  I  say,  went  off,  ran  off  to  Hanway  Yard,  pavid  with 
fear  lest  the  darling  cloak  should  be  gone,  found  it  —  oh,  jo}^ ! 
—  still  in  Miss  Isaacson's  window  ;  put  it  on  baby  straightway 
then  and  there  ;  kissed  the  dear  infant,  and  was  delighted  with 
the  effect  of  the  garment,  which  all  the  3'oung  ladies  at  Miss 
Isaacson's  pronounced  to  be  perfect ;  and  took  the  cloak  away 
on  baby's  shoulders,  promising  to  send  the  mone}',  five  pounds, 
if  you  please,  next  day.  And  in  this  cloak  baby  and  Charlotte 
went  to  meet  papa  when  he  came  home  ;  and  I  don't  know 
which  of  them,  mamma  or  bab}^  was  the  most  pleased  and 
absurd  and  happy  baby  of  the  two.  On  his  way  home  from 
his  newspaper,  Mr.  Philip  had  orders  to  pursue  a  certain  line 
of  streets,  and  when  his  accustomed  hour  for  returning  from 
his  business  drew  nigh,  Mrs.  Char  went  down  Thornhaugh 
Street,  down  Charlotte  Street,  down  Rathbone  Place,  with 
Betsy  the  nursekin  and  bab}'  in  the  new  cloak.  Behold,  he 
comes  at  last  —  papa  —  striding  down  the  street.  He  sees  the 
figures  :  he  sees  the  child,  which  laughs,  and  holds  out  its  little 
pink  hands,  and  crows  a  recognition.  And  "Look  —  look, 
papa,"  cries  the  happy  mother.  (Away !  I  cannot  keep  up  the 
myster}'  about  the  babv  any  longer,  and  though  I  had  forgotten 
for  a  moment  the  child's  sex,  rememl^ered  it  the  instant  after, 
and  that  it  was  a  girl  to  be  sure,  and  that  its  name  was  Laura 
Caroline.)  "Look,  look,  papa!"  cries  the  happy  mother. 
"She  has  got  another  little  tooth  since  the  morning,  such  a 
beautiful  little  tooth  —  and  look  here,  sir,  don't  3'ou  observe 
an3-thing  ?  " 

"  An}*  what?"  asks  Philip. 

"  La !  sir,"  says  Betsv,  giving  Laura  Caroline  a  gi'eat  toss, 
so  that  her  white  cloak  floats  in  the  air. 

"  Isn't  it  a  dear  cloak?"  cries  mamma  ;  "  and  doesn't  baby 
look  like  an  angel  in  it  ?     I  bought  it  at  Miss  Isaacson's  to-day. 


ON  HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  133 

as  you  got  your  money  from  New  York  ;  and  oh,  my  dear,  it 
■only  cost  five  guineas." 

"  Well,  it's  a  week's  work,"  sighs  poor  Philip  ;  "  and  I  think 
I  need  not  grudge  that  to  give  Charlotte  pleasure."  And  he 
feels  his  empty  pockets  rather  ruefully. 

"  God  bless  you,  Philip,"  says  my  wife,  with  her  e3-es  full. 
"  They  came  here  this  morning,  Charlotte  and  the  nurse  and 
the  baby  in  the  new  —  th§  new  —  "  Here  the  lady  seized  hold 
of  Philip's  hand,  and  fairly  broke  out  into  tears.  Had  slie 
embraced  Mr.  Firmin  before  her  husband's  own  e^'es,  I  should 
not  have  been  surprised.  Indeed  she  confessed  that  she  was 
on  the  point  of  giving  wa^'  to  this  most  sentimental  outbreak. 

And  now,  m}-  brethren,  see  how  one  crime  is  the  parent  of 
many,  and  one  act  of  duplicity  leads  to  a  whole  career  of  deceit. 
In  tlie  first  place,  you  see,  Philip  had  deceived  his  wife — with 
the  pious  desire,  it  is  true,  of  screening  his  father's  little  pecu- 
liarities —  but,  mat  ccelum^  we  must  tell  no  lies.  No  :  and  from 
this  da}'  forth  I  order  John  never  to  say  Not  at  home  to  the 
greatest  bore,  dun,  dawdle  of  my  acquaintance.  If  Philip's 
father  had  not  deceived  him,  Philip  would  not  have  deceived 
his  wife;  if. he  had  not  deceived  his  wife,  she  would  not  haA^e 
given  five  guineas  for  that  cloak  for  the  baby.  If  she  had 
not  given  five  guineas  for  the  cloak,  my  wife  would  never 
have  entered  into  a  secret  correspondence  with  Mr.  Firmin, 
which  might,  but  for  m}'  own  sweetness  of  temper,  have 
bred  jealous}-,  mistrust,  and  the  most  awful  quarrels  —  nay, 
duels  —  between  the  heads  of  the  two  families.  Fanc}' Philip's 
body  lying  stark  upon  Hampstead  Heath  with  a  bullet  through 
it,  despatched  by  the  hand  of  his  friend  !  •  Fancy  a  cab  driving 
up  to  my  own  house,  and  from  it  —  under  the  eyes  of  the  chil- 
dren at  the  parlor-windows  —  their  father's  bleeding  corpse 
ejected!  —  Enough  of  this  dreadful  pleasantry'!  Two  days 
after  the  affair  of  the  cloak,  I  found  a  letter  in  Philip's  hand- 
writing addressed  to  my  wife,  and  thinking  that  the  note  had 
reference  to  a  matter  of  dinner  then  pending  between  our  fami- 
lies, I  broke  open  the  envelope  and  read  as  follows  :  — 

"  Thornhacgh  Street,  Thursday. 

"  Mt  dear,  kind  Godmamma,  — As  soon  as  ever  I  can  write  and  speak, 
I  will  thank  you  for  being  so  kind  to  me.  My  mamma  says  she  is  very 
jealous,  and  as  she  bouglit  my  cloak  she  can't  think  of  allowing  you  to 
pay  for  it.  But  she  desires  me  never  tQ  forget  your  kindness  to  us,  and 
though  I  don't  know  anything  about  it  now,  she  promises  to  tell  me  when 
I  am  old  enough.  Meanwhile  I  am  your  grateful  and  affectionate  little 
goddaughter,  L.  C.  F." 


134  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

Philip  was  persuaded  by  his  friends  at  home  to  send  out  the 
request  to  his  New  York  emplo^'ers  to  pay  his  salary  henceforth 
to  himself;  and  I  remember  a  dignified  letter  came  from  his 
parent,  in  which  the  matter  Avas  spoken  of  in  sorrow  rather 
than  in  anger  ;  in  which  the  doctor  pointed  out  that  this  pre- 
cautionary measure  seemed  to  imply  a  doubt  on  Philip's  side  of 
his  father's  honor ;  and  surel}',  surel}',  he  was  unhappy  enough 
and  inifortunate  enough  already'  withqut  meriting  this  mistrust 
from  his  sou.  The  duty  of  a  sou  to  honoj"  his  father  and  mother 
was  feelingly  pointed  out,  and  the  doctor  meekly  trusted  that 
Philip's  children  would  give  liim  more  confidence  than  he 
seemed  to  be  inclined  to  award  to  his  unfortunate  father.  Never 
mind.  lie  should  bear  no  malice.  If  Fortune  ever  smiled  on 
him  again,  and  something  told  him  she  would,  he  would  show 
Philip  that  he  could  forgive  ;  although  he  might  not  perhaps  be 
able  to  forget  that  in  his  exile,  his  solitude,  his  declining  years, 
his  misfortune,  his  own  child  had  mistrusted  him.  This  he  said 
was  the  most  cruel  blow  of  all  for  his  susceptible  heart  to  bear. 

This  letter  of  paternal  remonstrance  was  enclosed  in  one 
from  the  doctor  to  his  old  friend  the  Little  Sister,  in  which  he 
vaunted  a  discover}'  which  he  and  some  other  scientific  gentle- 
men were  engaged  in  perfecting  —  of  a  medicine  which  was  to 
be  extraordinarily  efficacious  in  cases  in  which  Mrs.  Brandon 
herself  was  often "  specially  and  professionally  engaged,  and  he 
felt  sure  that  the  sale  of  this  medicine  would  go  far  to  retrieve 
his  shattered  fortune.  He  pointed  out  the  complaints  in  which 
this  medicine  was  most  efficacious.  He  would  send  some  of 
it,  and  details  regarding  its  use,  to  Mrs.  Brandon,  who  might 
try  its  efficacy  upon  her  patients.  He  was  advancing  slowly, 
but  steadily,  in  his  medical  profession,  he  said ;  though  of 
course,  he  had  to  suffer  from  the  jealous}'  of  his  professional 
brethren.  Never  mind.  Better  times,  he  was  sure,  were  in 
store  for  all ;  when  his  son  should  see  that  a  wretched  matter 
of  forty  pounds  more  should  not  deter  him  from  paying  all  just 
claims  upon  him.  Amen  !  We  all  heartily  wished  for  the  day 
when  Philip's  father  should  be  able  to  settle  his  little  accounts. 
Meanwhile,  the  proprietors  of  the  Gazette  of  the  Upper  Ten 
Thousand  were  instructed  to  write  directl}^  to  their  London 
correspondent. 

Although  Mr.  Firmin  prided  himself,  as  we  have  seen,  upon 
his  taste  and  dexterity  as  sub-editor  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette^  I 
must  own  that  he  was  a  ver}'  insubordinate  officer,  with  whom 
his  superiors  often  had  cause  to  be  angiy.  Certain  people  were 
praised  in  the   Gazette  —  certain  others  were  attacked.     Very 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  135 

dull  books  were  admired,  and  very  lively  works  attacked. 
Some  men  were  praised  for  everything  they  did  ;  some  others 
were  satirized,  no  matter  what  their  works  were.  "  I  find," 
poor  Philip  used  to  say  with  a  groan,  "  that  in  matters  of  criti- 
cism especially  there  are  so  often  private  reasons  for  the  praise 
and  the  blame  administered,  that  I  am  glad,  for  my  part,  m}- 
onl}^  duty  is  to  see  the  paper  through  the  press.  For  instance, 
there  is  Harrocks,  the  tragedian,  of  Drury  Lane  :  every  piece 
in  which  he  appears  is  a  masterpiece,  and  his  performance  the 
greatest  triumph  ever  witnessed.  Very  good.  Harrocks  and 
m3"  excellent  emploj'er  are  good  friends,  and  dine  with  each 
other ;  and  it  is  natural  that  Mugford  should  like  to  have  his 
friend  praised,  and  to  help  him  in  eveiy  way.  But  Balderson, 
of  Coveut  Garden,  is  also  a  very  fine  actor.  Wh}-  can't  our 
critic  see  his  merit  as  well  as  Harrocks's?  Poor  Balderson  is 
never  allowed  any  merit  at  all.  He  is  passed  over  with  a  sneer, 
or  a  curt  word  of  cold  commendation,  while  columns  of  flattery 
are  not  enough  for  his  rival." 

"Why,  Mr.  F.,  what  a  flat  you  must  be,  askin'  ^-our  par- 
don," remarked  Mugford,  in  replj'  to  his  sub-editor's  simple 
remonstrance.  "  How  can  we  praise  Balderson,  when  Har- 
rocks is  our  friend?  Me  and  Harrocks  are  thick.  Our  wives 
are  close  friends.  If  I  was  to  let  Balderson  be  praised,  I  should 
drive  Harrocks  mad.  I  can't  praise  Balderson,  don't  you  see, 
out  of  justice  to  Harrocks  !  " 

Then  there  was  a  certain  author  whom  Bickerton  was  for 
ever  attacking.  They  had  had  a  private  qu-arrel,  and  Bickerton 
revenged  himself  in  this  way.  In  reply  to  Philip's  outcries  and 
remonstrances,  Mr.  Mugford  only  laughed  :  "  The  two  men  are 
enemies,  and  Bickerton  hits  him  whenever  he  can.  Why,  that's 
only  human  nature,  Mr.  F.,"  sa3s  Philip's  employer. 

"Great  heavens!"  bawls  out  Firmin,  "do  you  mean  to 
say  that  the  man  is  base  enough  to  strike  at  his  private  enemies 
through  the  press  ?  " 

"Private  enemies!  private  gammon,  Mr.  Firmin!"  cries 
Philip's  employer.  "  If  I  have  enemies — and  I  have,  there's 
no  doubt  about  that  —  I  serve  them  out  whenever  and  wherever 
I  can.  And  let  me  tell  you  I  don't  half  relisli  having  my  con- 
duct called  base.  It's  only  natural ;  and  it's  right.  Perhaps 
you  would  like  to  praise  your  enemies,  and  abuse  your  friend? 
If  that's  3'our  line,  let  me  tell  you  you  won't  do  in  the  noos- 
paper  business,  and  had  better  take  to  some  other  trade."  And 
the  employer  parted  from  his  subordinate  in  some  heat. 

Mugford,  indeed,  feelingl}^  spoke  to  me  about  this  insubor- 


136  THE  ADVENTURES  OF   PHILIP 

dination  of  Philip.  "  What  does  the  fellow  mean  by  quarrelling 
with  his  bread  and  butter?"  Mr.  Mugford  asked.  "  Speak  to 
him  and  show  him  what's  what,  Mr.  P.,  or  we  shall  come  to  a 
quarrel,  mind  you  —  and  I  don't  want  that,  for  the  sake  of  his 
little  wife,  poor  little  delicate  thing.  Whatever  is  to  happen  to 
them,  if  we  don't  stand  by  them?" 

What  was  to  happen  to  them,  indeed?  Any  one  who  knew 
Philip's  temper  as  we  did,  was  aware  bow  little  advice  or 
remonstrance  were  likely  to  affect  that  gentleman.  "Good 
heavens  !  "  he  said  to  me,  when  I  endeavored  to  make  him 
adopt  a  conciliatory  tone  towards  his  employer,  "  do  you  want 
to  make  me  Mugford's  gallej^-slave  ?  I  shall  have  him  standing 
over  me  and  swearing  at  me  as  he  does  at  the  printers.  He 
looks  into  my  room  at  times  when  he  is  in  a  passion,  and  glares 
at  me  as  if  he  would  like  to  seize  me  by  the  throat ;  and  after 
a  word  or  two  he  goes  off,  and  I  hear  him  curse  the  boys  in 
the  passage.  One  day  it  will  be  on  me  that  he  will  turn,  I  feel 
sure  of  that.  I  tell  you  the  slavery  is  beginning  to  be  awful. 
I  wake  of  a  night  and  groan  and  chafe,  and  poor  Char,  too, 
wakes  and  asks,  '  What  is  it,  Philip? '  I  say  it  is  rheumatism. 
Rheumatism  !  "  Of  course  to  Philip's  malady  his  friends  tried 
to  appl}'  the  commonplace  anodynes  and  consolations.  He 
must  be  gentle  in  his  bearing.  He  must  remember  that  his 
employer  had  not  been  bred  a  gentleman,  and  that  though 
rough  and  coarse  in  language,  Mugford  had  a  kind  heart. 
"  There  is  no  need  to  tell  me  that  he  is  not  a  gentleman,  I 
know  that,"  says  poor  Phil.  "He  is  kind  to  Char  and  the 
child,  that  is  the  truth,  and  so  is  his  wife.  I  am  a  slave  for  all 
that.  He  is  m}^  driver.  He  feeds  me.  He  hasn't  beat  me 
yet.  When  I  was  away  at  Paris  I  did  not  feel  the  chain  so 
much.  But  it  is  scarcely  tolerable  now,  when  I  have  to  see  my 
gaoler  four  or  five  times  a  week.  M}'  poor  little  Char,  wh}^  did 
I  drag  you  into  this  slavery  ?  " 

"  Becvause  you  wanted  a  consoler,  I  suppose,"  remarks  one 
of  Philip's  comforters.  "  And  do  ^'ou  suppose  Charlotte  would 
be  happier  if  she  were  away  from  3'ou?  Though  you  live  up 
two  pair.of  stairs,  is  any  home  happier  than  yours,  Philip?  You 
often  own  as  much,  when  j-on  are  in  happier  moods.  Who  has 
not  his  work  to  do,  and  his  burden  to  bear?  You  sa}^  some- 
times that  5'ou  are  imperious  and  hot-tempered.  Perhaps  your 
slavery,  as  you  call  it,  may  be  good  for  3'ou." 

"  I  have  doomed  myself  and  her  to  it,"  says  Philip,  hanging 
down  his  head. 

"  Does  she  ever  repine?"  asks  his  adviser.     "  Does  she  not 


ON   HIS   WAT  THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  137 

think  herself  the  happiest  Kttle  wife  in  the  world  ?  See  here, 
Pnilip,  here  is  a  note  from  her  yesterday  in  which  she  says  as 
much.  Do  you  want  to  know  what  the  note  is  about,  sir?  "  says 
the  lady  v/ith  a  smile.  "  Well,  then,  she  wanted  a  receipt  for 
that  dish  which  you  liked  so  much  on  Friday-,  and  she  and  Mrs. 
Brandon  will  make  it  for  3'ou." 

"And  if  it  consisted  of  minced  Charlotte,"  says  Philip's 
other  friend,  ''  you  know  she  would  cheerfully  chop  herself  up, 
and  have  herself  served  with  a  little  cream-sauce  and  sippets  of 
toast  for  3-our  honor's  dinner." 

This  was  undoubtedly  true.  Did  not  Job's  ft-iends  make 
many  true  remarks  when  they  \asited  him  in  his  affliction? 
Patient  as  he  was,  the  patriarch  groaned  and  lamented,  and 
why  should  not  poor  Philip  be  allowed  to  grumble,  who  was  not 
a  model  of  patience  at  all  ?  He  was  not  broke  in  as  ^-et.  The 
mill-horse  Avas  restive  and  kicked  at  his  work.  He  would  chafe 
not  seldom  at  the  daily  drudger^^,  and  have  his  fits  of  revolt 
and  despondency.  Well?  Have  others  not  had  to  toil,  to  bow 
the  proud  head,  and  carry  the  daily  burden?  Don't  you  see 
Pegasus,  who  was  going  to  win  the  plate,  a  weary,  broken- 
kneed,  broken-down  old  cab-hack  shivering  in  the  rank  ;  or 
a  sleek  gelding,  mayhap,  pacing  under  a  corpulent  master  in 
Rotten  Row  ?  Philip's  crust  began  to  be  scanty,  and  was  dipped 
in  bitter  waters.  I  am  not  going  to  make  a  long  story  of  this 
part  of  his  career,  or  parade  my  friend  as  too  hungry  and  poor. 
He  is  safe  now,  and  out  of  all  peril,  heaven  be  thanked  !  but  he 
had  to  pass  through  hard  times,  and  to  look  out  very  wistfully 
lest  the  wolf  should  enter  at  the  door.  He  never  laid  claim  to 
be  a  man  of  genius,  nor  was  he  a  successful  quack  who  could 
pass  as  a  man  of  genius.  When  there  were  French  prisoners 
in  England,  we  know  how  stout  old  officers  who  had  plied  their 
sabres  against  Mamelouks,  or  Russians,  or  Germans,  were  fain 
to  carve  little  gimcracks  in  bone  witli  their  penknives,  or  make 
baskets  and  boxes  of  chipped  straw,  and  piteously  sell  them  to 
casual  visitors  to  their  prison.  Philip  was  poverty's  prisoner. 
He  had  to  make  such  shifts,  and  do  such  work,  as  he  could  find 
in  his  captivity-.  I  do  not  think  men  who  have  undergone  the 
struggle  and  served  the  dire  task-master,  like  to  look  Imck  and 
recall  the  grim  apprenticeship.  When  Philip  sa3-s  now,  "  What 
fools  we  were  to  marry.  Char,"  she  looks  up  radiantly,  with  love 
and  happiness  in  her  eyes  —  looks  up  to  heaven,  and  is  thank- 
ful ;  but  grief  and  sadness  come  over  her  husband's  face  at  the 
thought  of  those  days  of  pain  and  gloom.  Slie  may  soothe  him, 
and  he  may  be  thankful  too ;   but  the  wounds  are  still  there 


138  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

which  were  dealt  to  him  in  the  cruel  battle  with  fortune.  Men 
are  ridden  down  in  it.  Men  are  poltroons  and  run.  Men  ma- 
raud, break  ranks,  are  guilt}'  of  meanness,  cowardice,  shabb}' 
plunder.  Men  are  raised  to  rank  and  honor,  or  di'op  and  per- 
ish unnoticed  on  the  field.  Happy  he  who  comes  from  it  with 
his  honor  pure  !  Philip  did  not  win  crosses  and  epaulets.  He 
is  like  us,  m}'  dear  sir,  not  a  heroic  genius  at  all.  And  it  is  to 
be  hoped  that  all  three  have  behaved  with  an  average  pluck, 
and  have  been  guilt}'  of  no  meanness,  or  treachery,  or  deser- 
tion. Did  you  behave  otherwise,  what  would  wife  and  children 
sa}'?  As  for  Mrs.  Philip,  I  tell  j'ou  she  thinks  to  this  day  that 
there  is  no  man  like  her  husband,  and  is  ready  to  fall  down  and 
worship  the  boots  in  which  he  walks. 

How  do  men  live?  How  is  rent  paid?  How  does  the  din- 
ner come  day  after  day  ?  As  a  rule  there  is  dinner.  You  might 
live  longer  with  less  of  it,  but  you  can't  go  without  it  and  live 
long.  How  did  my  neighbor  23  earn  his  carriage,  and  how  did 
24  pa}'  for  his  house?  As  I  am  writing  this  sentence  Mr  Cox, 
who  collects  the  taxes  in  this  quarter,  walks  in.  How  do  you 
do,  Mr.  Cox?  We  are  not  in  the  least  afraid  of  meeting  one 
another.  Time  was  —  two,  three  years  of  time  —  when  poor 
Philip  was  troubled  at  the  sight  of  Cox  ;  and  this  troublous 
time  his  biographer  intends  to  pass  over  in  a  very  few  pages. 

At  the  end  of  six  months  the  Upper  Ten  Thousand  of  New 
York  heard  with  modified  wonder  that  the  editor  of  that  fash- 
ionable journal  had  made  a  retreat  from  the  city,  carrying  with 
him  the  scanty  contents  of  the  till ;  so  the  contributions  of 
Philalethes  never  brought  our  poor  friend  any  dollars  at  all. 
But  though  one  fish  is  caught  and  eaten,  are  there  not  plenty 
more  left  in  the  sea?  At  this  very  time,  when  I  was  in  a  nat- 
ural state  of  despondency  about  poor  Philip's  affairs,  it  struck 
Tregarvan,  the  wealthy  Cornish  Member  of  Parliament,  that 
the  Government  and  the  House  of  Commons  slighted  his 
speeches  and  his  views  on  foreign  politics ;  that  the  wife  of  the 
Foreign  Secretary  had  been  very  inattentive  to  Lady  Trcgan^an  ; 
that  the  designs  of  a  certain  Great  Power  were  most  menacing 
and  dangerous,  and  ought  to  be  exposed  and  counteracted  ; 
and  that  the  peerage  which  he  had  long  desired  ought  to  be 
bestowed  on  him.  Sir  John  Tregarvan  apphed  to  certain  lit- 
erary and  political  gentlemen  with  whom  he  was  acquainted. 
He  would  bring  out  the  European  Review.  He  would  expose 
the  designs  of  that  Great  Power  which  was  menacing  Europe. 
He  would  show  up  in  his  proper  colors  a  Minister  who  was 
careless  of  the  country's  honor,  and  forgetful  of  his  own :  a 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  139 

Minister  whose  arrogance  ought  no  longer  to  be  tolerated  by 
the  country  gentlemen  of  England.  Sir  John,  a  little  man  in 
brass  buttons,  and  a  tall  head,  who  loves  to  hear  his  own  voice, 
came  and  made  a  speech  on  the  above  topics  to  tlie  writer  of 
the  present  biography  ;  that  writer's  lady  was  in  his  study  as 
Sir  John  expounded  his  views  at  some  length.  She  listened  to 
him  with  the  greatest  attention  and  respect.  She  was  shocked 
to  hear  of  the  ingratitude  of  Government ;  astounded  and  ter- 
rified bv  his  exposition  of  the  designs  of — of  that  Great  Power 
whose  intrigues  were  so  menacing  to  European  tranquillity.  She 
was  most  deeply  interested  in  the  idea  of  establishing  the  Re- 
vieio.  He  would,  of  course,  be  himself  the  editor  ;  and  — and 
—  (here  the  woman  looked  across  the  table  at  her  husband 
with  a  strange  triumph  in  her  eyes)  —  she  knew,  they  both 
knew,  the  very  man  of  all  the  world  who  was  most  suited  to  act 
as  sub-editor  under  Sir  John  —  a  gentleman,  one  of  the  truest 
that  ever  lived  —  a  university  man  ;  a  man  remarkably  versed 
in  the  European  languages  —  that  is,  in  French  most  certainly. 
And  now  the  reader,  I  dare  sa^',  can  guess  who  this  individual 
was.  "  I  knew  it  at  once,"  saj's  the  lady,  after  Sir  John  had 
taken  his  leave.  "  I  told  you  that  those  dear  children  would 
not  be  forsaken."  And  I  would  no  more  try  and  persuade  her 
that  the  European  Review  was  not  ordained  of  all  time  to  afford 
maintenance  to  Philip,  than  I  would  induce  her  to  turn  Mor- 
mon, and  accept  all  the  consequences  to  which  ladies  must 
submit  when  they  make  profession  of  that  creed. 

"  You  see,  my  love,"  I  say  to  the  partner  of  my  existence, 
"what  other  things  must  have  been  ordained  of  all  time  as 
well  as  Philip's  appointment  to  be  sub-editor  of  the  European. 
Review.  It  must  have  been  decreed  ah  initio  that  Lady  Plin- 
limmon  should  give  evening-parties,  in  order  that  she  might 
offend  Lady  Tregarvan  by  not  asking  her  to  those  parties.  It 
must  have  been  ordained  by  fate  that  Lady  Tregarvan  should 
be  of  a  jealous  disposition,  "^so  that  she  might  hate  Lady  Plin- 
limmon,  and  was  to  work  upon  her  husband,  and  inspire  him 
with  anger  and  revolt  against  his  chief.  It  must  have  been 
ruled  by  destiny  that  Tregarvan  should  be  rather  a  weak  and 
wordy  personage,  fancying  that  he  had  a  talent  for  literary 
composition.  Else  he  would  not  have  thought  of  setting  u'p 
the  Review.  Else  he  would  never  have  been  angry  with  Loi'd 
Plinlimmon  for  not  inviting  him  to  tea.  Else  lie  would  not 
have  engaged  Philip  as  sub-editor.  So,  yon  see,  in  order  to 
bring  about  this  event,  and  put  a  couple  of  hundred  a  year  into 
Philip  Firmin's  pocket,  the  Tregarvans  have  to  be  born  from 


140  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

the  earliest  times :  the  Plinlimmons  have  to  spring  up  in  the 
remotest  ages,  and  come  down  to  the  present  da}^ :  Doctor 
Firmin  has  to  be  a  rogue,  and  undergo  his  destin}^  of  cheating 
his  son  of  money  :  —  all  mankind  up  to  the  origin  of  our  race 
are  involved  in  your  proposition,  and  we  actually  arrive  at 
Adam  and  Eve,  who  are  but  fulfilling  their  destiny,  which  was 
to  be  the  ancestors  of  Philip  Firmin." 

"  Even  in  our  first  parents  there  was  doubt  and  scepticism 
and  misgiving,"  says  the  lady,  with  strong  emphasis  on  the 
words.  "  If  3'ou  mean  to  say  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a 
Superior  Power  watching  over  us,  and  ordaining  things  for  our 
good,  you  are  an  atheist  —  and  such  a  thing  as  an  atheist  does 
not  exist  in  the  world,  and  I  would  not  believe  you  if  you  said 
you  were  one  twenty  times  over." 

I  mention  these  points  b}'  the  way,  and  as  samples  of  lady- 
like logic.  I  acknowledge  that  Philip  himself,  as  he  looks  back 
at  his  past  career,  is  very  much  moved.  "  I  do  not  den}',"  he 
says,  gravelly,  "that  these  things  happened  in  the  natural 
order.  I  say  I  am  grateful  for  what  happened  ;  and  look  back 
at  the  past  not  without  awe.  In  great  grief  and  danger  may- 
be, I  have  had  timely  rescue.  Under  great  suffering  I  have 
met  with  supreme  consolation.  When  the  trial  has  seemed 
almost  too  hard  for  me  it  has  ended,  and  our  darkness  has  been 
lightened.  Ut  vivo  et  valeo  —  si  valeo,  I  know  by  Whose  per- 
mission this  is,  — and  would  3'OU  forbid  me  to  be  thankful?  to 
be  thankful  for  my  life  ;  to  be  thankful  for  my  children  ;  to  be 
thankful  for  the  daily  bread  which  has  been  granted  to  me,  and 
the  temptation  from  which  I  have  been  rescued?  As  I  think 
of  the  past  and  its  bitter  trials,  I  bow  m}'  head  in  thanks  and 
awe.  I  wanted  succor,  and  I  found  it.  I  fell  on  evil  times, 
and  good  friends  pitied  and  helped  me  —  good  friends  like 
yourself,  your  dear  wife,  many  another  I  could  name.  In 
what  moments  of  depression,  old  friend,  have  you  not  seen  me, 
and  cheered  me?  Do  you  know  in  the  moments  of  our  grief 
the  inexpressible  value  of  your  sympathy?  Your  good  Samar- 
itan takes  out  onl}'  twopence  maybe  for  the  wayfarer  whom  he 
has  rescued,  but  the  little  timely  supply  saves  a  life.  You 
remember  dear  old  Ned  St.  George  —  dead  in  the  West  Indies 
years  ago?  Before  he  got  his  place  Ned  was  hanging  on  in 
London,  so  utterly  poor  and  ruined,  that  he  had  not  often  a 
shilling  to  bu}^  a  dinner.  He  used  often  to  come  to  us,  and  my 
wife  and  our  children  loved  him  ;  and  I  used  to  leaA'e  a  heap  of 
shillings  on  my  study-table,  so  that  he  might  take  two  or  three 
as  he  wanted  them.     Of  course  you  remember  him.     You  were 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  141 

at  the  dinner  which  we  gave  him  on  his  getting  his  place.  I 
forget  the  cost  of  that  dinner ;  but  I  remember  my  share 
amounted  to  the  exact  number  of  shillings  which  poor  Ned  had 
taken  off  my  table.  He  gave  me  the  mone^'  then  and  there  at 
the  tavern  at  Blackwall.  He  said  it  seemed  providential.  But 
for  those  shillings,  and  the  constant  welcome  at  our  poor  little 
table,  he  said  he  thought  he  should  have  made  awa}'  with  his 
life.  I  am  not  bragging  of  the  twopence  which  I  gave,  but 
thanking  God  for  sending  me  there  to  give  it.  Benedico  bene- 
dictus.  I  "wonder  sometimes  am  I  the  I  of  twenty  years  ago? 
before  our  heads  were  bald,  friend,  and  when  the  little  ones 
reached  up  to  our  knees?  Before  dinner  you  saw  me  in  the 
library'  reading  in  that  old  European  Review  which  j'our  friend 
Tregarvan  established.  I  came  upon  an  article  of  m^-  own, 
and  a  very  dull  one,  on  a  subject  which  I  knew  nothing  a^out. 
'  Persian  politics,  and  the  intrigues  at  the  Court  of  Teheran.' 
It  was  done  to  order.  Tregarvan  had  some  special  interest 
about  Persia,  or  wanted  to  vex  Sir  Thomas  Nobbles,  who  was 
Minister  there.  I  breakfasted  with  Tregarvan  in  the  '  Albany,' 
the  facts  (we  will  call  them  facts)  and  papers  were  supplied  to 
me,  and  I  went  home  to  point  out  the  delinquencies  of  Sir 
Thomas,  and  the  atrocious  intrigues  of  the  Russian  Court. 
Well,  sir.  Nobbles,  Tregarvan,  Teheran,  all  disappeared  as  I 
looked  at  the  text  in  the  old  volume  of  the  Review.  I  saw  a 
deal  table  in  a  little  room,  and  a  reading-lamp,  and  a  voimg: 
fellow  writing  at  it,  with  a  sad  heart,  and  a  dreadful  apprehen- 
sion torturing  him.  One  of  our  children  was  ill  in  the  adjoin- 
ing room,  and  I  have  before  me  the  figure  of  vay  wife  coming 
in  from  time  to  time  to  my  room  and  saying,  '  She  is  asleep 
now^  and  the  fever  is  much  lower.'  " 

Here  our  conversation  was  interrupted  hy  the  entrance  of  a 
tall  young  lady,  who  says,  "  Papa,  the  coffee  is  quite  cold  :  and 
the  carriage  will  be  here  veiy  soon,  and  both  mamma  and  my 
godmother  say  they  are  growing  very  angr}-.  Do  you  know  you 
have  been  talking  here  for  two  hours  ?  " 

Had  two  hours  actually'  slipped  awa^'  as  we  sat  prattling 
about  old  times?  As  I  narrate  them,  I  prefer  to  give  Mr. 
Firmin's  account  of  his  adventures  in  his  own  words,  where  I  can 
recall  or  imitate  them.  Both  of  us  are  graver  and  more  reverend 
seigniors  than  we  were  at  the  time  of  which  I  am  writing.  Has 
not  Firmin's  girl  grown  up  to  be  taller  than  her  godmother? 
Veterans  both,  we  love  to  prattle  about  the  merrj^  da3-s  when 
we  were  young  —  (the  merr^-  da3-s  ?  no,  the  past  is  never  merry) 
—  about  the  days  when  we  were  young  ;  and  do  we  grow  young 


142  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

in  talking  of  them,  or  onl^^  indulge  in  a  senile  cheerfulness  and 
prolixity  ? 

Tregarvan  sleeps  with  his  Cornish  fathers  :  Europe  for  many- 
years  has  gone  on  without  her  Review  :  but  it  is  a  certainty  that 
the  establishment  of  that  occult  organ  of  opinion  tended  very 
much  to  benefit  Philip  Firmin,  and  helped  for  a  while  to  supply 
him  and  several  innocent  people  dependent  on  him  with  their 
daily  bread.  Of  course,  as  they  were  so  poor,  this  worthy  family 
increased  and  multiplied ;  and  as  they  increased,  and  as  they 
multiplied,  my  wife  insists  that  I  shall  point  out  how  support  was 
found  for  them.  When  there  was  a  second  child  in  Philip's 
nurser}^  he  would  have  removed  from  his  lodgings  in  Thorn- 
haugh  Street,  but  for  the  pra3'ers  and  commands  of  the  affec- 
tionate Little  Sister,  who  insisted  that  there  was  plenty  of  room 
in  the  house  for  everybody',  and  who  said  that  if  Philip  went 
away* she  would  cut  off  her  little  godchild  with  a  shilling.  And 
then  indeed  it  was  discovered  for  the  first  time,  that  this  faith- 
ful and  affectionate  creature  had  endowed  Philip  with  all  her 
little  property.  These  are  the  rays  of  sunshine  in  the  dungeon. 
These  are  the  drops  of  water  in  the  desert.  And  with  a.  full 
heart  our  friend  acknowledges  how  comfort  came  to  him  in  his 
hour  of  need. 

Though  Mr.  Firmin  has  a  ver^^  grateful  heart,  it  has  been 
admitted  that  he  was  a  loud,  disagreeable  Firmin  at  times,  im- 
petuous in  his  talk,  and  violent  in  his  behavior :  and  we  are  now 
come  to  that  period  of  his  history,  when  he  had  a  quarrel  in 
which  I  am  sorry  to  say  Mr.  Philip  was  in  the  wrong.  'Why  do 
we  consort  with  those  whom  we  dislike?  Why  is  it  that  men 
tvill  try  and  associate  between  whom  no  love  is  ?  I  think  it  was 
the  ladies  who  tried  to  reconcile  Phihp  and  his  master ;  who 
brought  them  together,  and  strove  to  make  them  friends  ;  but 
the  more  they  met  the  more  they  disliked  each  other ;  and  now 
the  Muse  has  to  relate  their  final  and  irreconcilable  rupture. 

Of  Mugford's  wrath  the  direful  tale  relate,  O  Muse !  and 
Philip's  pitiable  fate.  I  have  shown  how  the  men  had  long  been 
inwardly  envenomed  one  against  the  other.  "Because  Jlrmin 
is  as  poor  as  a  rat,  that's  no  reason  wh}'  he  should  adopt  that 
hawhaw  manner,  and  them  high  and  might}^  airs  towards  a  man 
who  gives  him  the  V)read  he  eats,"  Mugford  argued  not  unjustly. 
"  What  do  /care  for  his  being  a  university  man?  I  am  as  good 
as  he  is.  I  am  better  than  his  old  scamp  of  a  father,  who  was 
a  college  man  too,  and  lived  in  fine  company.  I  made  my  own 
way  in  the  world,  independent,  and  supported  myself  since  I 
was  fourteen  years  of  age,  and  helped  my  mother  and  brothers 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  143 

too,  and  that's  more  than  m}'  sub-editor  can  say,  who  can't  sup- 
port himself  yet.  I  could  get  fift}"  sub-editors  as  good  as  he  is, 
by  calling  out  of  window  into  the  street,  I  could.  I  say,  hang 
Firmin  !  I'm  a-losing  all  patience  with  him."  On  the  other 
hand,  Mr.  Philip  was  in  the  habit  of  speaking  his  mind  with 
equal  candor.  "  What  right  has  that  person  to  call  me  Fir- 
min? "  he  asked.  "  I  am  Firmin  to  my  equals  and  friends.  I 
am  this  man's  laborer  at  four  guineas  a  week.  I  give  him  his 
money's  worth,  and  on  ever}'  Saturday  evening  we  are  quits. 
Call  me  Philip  indeed,  and  strike  me  in  the  side  !  I  choke,  sir, 
as  I  think  of  the  confounded  familiarity!"  "  Confound  his 
impudence  !  "  was  the  crj',  and  the  not  unjust  cry  of  the  laborer 
and  his  emplo^-er.  The  men  should  have  been  kept  apart :  and 
it  was  a  most  mistaken  Christian  charity  and  female  conspirac}^ 
which  brought  them  together.  "  Another  invitation  from  Mug- 
ford.  It  was  agreed  that  I  was  never  to  go  again,  and  I  won't 
go,"  sa^ys  Phihp  to  his  meek  wife.  "Write  and  say  we  are 
engaged,  Charlotte." 

"  It  is  for  the  18th  of  next  month,  and  this  is  the  23rd," 
said  poor  Charlotte.  "  We  can't  well  say  that  we  are  engaged 
so  far  off." 

"It  is  for  one  of  his  grand  ceremony  parties,"  urged  the 
Little  Sister.  "  You  can't  come  to  no  quarrelling  there.  He 
has  a  good  heart.  So  have-^^ou.  There's  no  good  quarrelling 
with  him.  Oh,  Phihp,  do  forgive,  and  be  friends  !  "  Philip 
yielded  to  the  remonstrances  of  the  women,  as  we  all  do  ;  and 
a  letter  M^as  sent  to  Hampstead,  announcing  that  Mr.  and  Mrs, 
P.  F.  would  have  the  honor  of,  &c. 

In  his  quality  of  newspaper  proprietor,  musical  professors 
and  opera  singers  paid  much  court  to  Mr.  Mugford  ;  and  he 
liked  to  entertain  them  at  his  hospitable  table  ;  to  brag  about 
his  wines,  cooker}',  plate,  garden,  prosperity,  and  private  vir- 
tue, during  dinner,  whilst  the  artists  sat  respectfully  listening 
to  him  ;  and  to  go  to  sleep  and  snore,  or  wake  up  and  join 
cheerfully  in  a  chorus,  when  the  professional  people  performed 
in  the  drawing-room.  Now,  there  was  a  lady  who  was  once 
known  at  the  theatre  by  the  name  of  Mrs.  Ravenswing,  and 
who  had  been  forced  on  to  the  stage  bj'  the  misconduct  of  her 
husband,  a  certain  Walker,  one  of  the  greatest  scamps  who 
ever  entered  a  gaol.  On  Walker's  death,  this  lady  married  a 
Mr.  Woolsey,  a  wealthy  tailor,  who  retired  from  his  business, 
as  he  caused  his  wife  to  withdraw  from  hers. 

Now,  more  worthy  and  honoralile  people  do  not  live  than 
Woolsc}'  and  his  wife,  as  those  know  who  are  acquainted  with 


144  THE  ADVENTURES  OF   PHILIP 

their  histoiy.  Mrs.  Woolsey  is  loud.  Her  h's  are  by  no 
means  where  they  should  be  ;  her  knife  at  dinner  is  often  where 
it  should  not  be.  She  calls  men  aloud  by  their  names,  and 
without  an}'  prefix  of  courtes3\  She  is  very  fond  of  porter, 
and  has  no  scruple  in  asking  for  it.  She  sits  down  to  pla}'  the 
piano  and  to  sing  with  perfect  good-nature,  and  if  j'ou  look  at 
her  hands  as  they  wander  over  the  keys — well,  I  don't  wish 
to  say  anything  unkind,  but  I  am  forced  to  own  that  those 
hands  are  not  so  white  as  the  ivory  which  they  thump.  Wool- 
sey sits  in  perfect  rapture  listening  to  his  wife.  Mugford 
presses  her  to  take  a  glass  of  "  somethink  "  afterwards;  and 
the  good-natured  soul  says  she  will  take  "  something  'ot." 
She  sits  and  listens  with  infinite  patience  and  good-humor 
whilst  the  little  Mugfords  go  through  their  horrible  little  musi- 
cal exercises  ;  and  these  over,  she  is  read}'  to  go  back  to  the 
piano  again,  and  sing  more  songs,  and  drink  more  "  'ot." 

I  do  not  say  that  this  was  an  elegant  woman,  or  a  fitting 
companion  for  Mrs.  Philip  ;  but  I  know  that  Mrs.  Woolsey 
was  a  good,  clever,  and  kindly  woman,  and  that  Philip  behaved 
rudely  to  her.  He  never  meant  to  be  rude  to  her,  he  -eaid ; 
but  the  truth  is,  he  treated  her,  her  husband,  Mugford,  and 
Mrs.  Mugford,  with  a  haughty  ill-humor  which  utterly  exas- 
perated and  perplexed  them. 

About  this  poor  lady,  who  w«s  modest  and  innocent  as 
Susannah,  Philip  had  heard  some  wicked  elders  at  wicked  clnbs 
tell  wicked  stories  in  old  times.  There  was  that  old  Trail,  for 
instance,  what  woman  escaped  from  his  sneers  and  slander? 
There  were  others  who  could  be  named,  and  whose  testimony 
was  equally  untruthful.  On  an  ordinary  occasion  Philip  would 
never  have  cared  or  squabbled  about  a  question  of  precedence, 
and  would  have  taken  any  place  assigned  to  him  at  any  table. 
But  when  Mrs.  Woolsey  in  crumpled  satins  and  blows}'  lace 
made  her  appearance,  and  was  eagerly  and  respectfully  sainted 
by  the  host  and  hostess,  Philip  remembered  those  early  stories 
about  the  poor  lady  :  his  eyes  flashed  wrath,  and  his  breast  beat 
with  an  indignation  which  almost  choked  him.  Ask  that  woman 
to  meet  my  wife?  he  thought  to  himself,  and  looked  so  fero- 
cious and  desperate  that  the  timid  little  wife  gazed  with  alarm 
at  her  Philip,  and  crept  up  to  him  and  whispered,  "  What  is  it, 
dear?" 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Mugford  and  Mrs.  Woolsey  were  in  full 
colloquy  about  the  weather,  the  nursery,  and  so  forth  —  and 
Woolsey  and  Mugford  giving  each  other  the  hearty  grasp 
of  friendship.     Philip,    then,   scowling   at   the   newly  arrived 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WOKLD.  145 

guests,  turning  bis  great  hulking  back  upon  the  company,  and 
talking  to  bis  wife,  presented  a  not  agreeable  figure  to  his  enter- 
tainer. 

' '  Hang  the  fellow's  pride  !  "  thought  Mugford.  ' '  He  chooses 
to  turn  his  back  upon  mj  company  because  Woolsc}'  was  a 
tradesman.  An  honest  tailor  is  better  than  a  bankrupt,  swin- 
dling doctor,  I  should  think.  Woolsey  need  not  be  ashamed  to 
show  his  face,  1  suppose.  Wh^^  did  you  make  me  ask  that 
fellar  again,  Mrs.  M.  ?  Don't  you  see,  our  society"  ain't  good 
enough  for  him  ?  " 

Philip's  conduct,  then,  so  irritated  Mugford,  that  when  din- 
ner was  announced,  he  stepped  forward  and  offered  his  arm  to 
Mrs.  Woolsey ;  having  intended  in  the  first  instance  to  confer 
that  honor  upon  Charlotte.  "  I'll  show  him,"  thought  Mug- 
ford, "  that  an  honest  tradesman's  lady  who  pays  his  way,  and 
is  not  afraid  of  anybody,  is  better  than  my  sub-editor's  wife, 
the  daughter  of  a  bankrupt  swell."  Though  the  dinner  was 
illuminated  by  Mugford's  grandest  plate,  and  accompanied  by 
his  very  best  wine,  it  was  a  gloomy  and  wear}'  repast  to  several 
people  present,  and  Philip  and  Charlotte,  and  I  dare  say  Mug- 
ford, thought  it  never  v^'ould  be  done.  Mrs.  Woolsey,  to  be 
sure,  placidl}^  ate  her  dinner,  and  drank  her  wine  ;  whilst,  re- 
membering these  wicked  legends  against  her,  Philip  sat  before 
the  poor  unconscious  lady,  silent,  with  glaring  e^-es,  insolent 
and  odious  ;  so  much  so,  that  Mrs.  Woolsey  imparted  to  Mrs. 
Mugford  her  surmise  that  the  tall  gentleman  must  have  got  out 
of  bed  the  wrong  leg  foremost. 

Well,  Mrs.  Woolsey's  carriage  and  Mr.  Firmin's  cab  were 
announced  at  the  same  moment;  and  immediately  Philip 
started  up  and  beckoned  his  wife  away.  But  Mrs.  Woolsey's 
carriage  and  lamps  of  course  had  the  precedence  ;  and  this  lady 
Mr.  Mugford  accompanied  to  her  carriage  step. 

He  did  not  pay  the  same  attention  to  Mrs.  Firmin.  Most 
hkely  he  forgot.  Possibly  he  did  not  think  etiquette  required 
he  should  show  that  sort  of  politeness  to  a  sub-editor's  wife :  at 
any  rate,  he  was  not  so  rude  as  Philip  himself  had  been  during 
the  evening,  but  he  stood  in  the  hall  looking  at  his  guests 
departing  in  their  cab,  when,  in  a  sudden  gust  of  passion, 
Philip  stepped  out  of  the  carriage,  and  stalked  up  to  his  host, 
who  stood  there  in  his  own  hall  confronting  him,  Philip  de- 
clared, with  a  most  impudent  smile  on  his  face. 

"Come  back  to  light  a  pipe  I  suppose?  Nice  thing  for 
your  wife,  ain't  it?"  said  Mugford,  relishing  his  own  joke. 

"I  am  come  back,  sir,"  said  Philip,  glaring  at  Mugford, 

35 


146  THE  ADVENTURES  OF   PHILIP 

"  to  ask  how  3'ou  dared  invite  Mrs.  Philip  Fiiniiin  to  meet  that 
woman  ?  " 

Here,  on  his  side,  Mr.  Mugford  lost  his  temper,  and  from 
this  moment  his  wrong  begins.  When  he  was  in  a  passion,  the 
language  used  by  Mr.  Mugford  was  not,  it  appears,  choice. 
We  have  heard  that  when  angrj^,  he  was  in  the  habit  of  swear- 
ing freely  at  his  subordinates.  He  broke  out  on  this  occasion 
also  with  many  oaths.  He  told  Philip  that  he  would  stand  his 
impudence  no  longer ;  that  he  was  as  good  as  a  swindling  doc- 
tor's son  ;  that  though  he  hadn't  been  to  college  he  could  buy 
and  pay  them  as  had  ;  and  that  if  Philip  liked  to  come  into  the 
back  yard  for  ten  minutes,  he'd  give  him  one  —  two,  and  show 
him  whether  he  was  a  man  or  not.  Poor  Char,  who,  indeed, 
fancied  that  her  husband  had  gone  back  to  light  his  cigar,  sat 
awhile  unconscious  in  her  cab,  and  supposed  that  the  two  gen- 
tlemen were  engaged  on  newspaper  business.  When  Mugford 
began  to  pull  his  coat  off,  she  sat  wondering,  but  not  in  the 
least  understanding  the  meaning  of  the  action.  Philip  had  de-- 
scribed  his  employer  as  walking  about  his  office  without  a  coat 
and  using  energetic  language. 

But  when,  attracted  by  the  loudness  of  the  talk,  Mrs.  Mug- 
ford came  forth  from  her  neighboring  drawing-room,  accom- 
panied by  such  of  her  children  as  had  not  yet  gone  to  roost 
—  when  seeing  Mugford  pulling  off  his  dress-coat  she  began  to 
scream  —  when,  lifting  his  voice  over  hers,  Mugford  poured 
forth  oaths  and  frantically  shook  his  fists  at  Philip,  asking  how 
that  blackguard  dared  insult  him  in  his  own  house,  and  pro- 
posing to  knock  his  head  off  at  that  moment  —  then  poor  Char, 
in  wild  alarm,  sprang  out  of  the  cab,  and  ran  to  her  husband, 
whose  whole  frame  was  throbbing,  whose  nostrils  were  snorting 
with  passion.  Then  Mrs.  Mugford  springing  forward,  placed 
her  ample  form  before  her  husband's,  and  calling  Philip  a  great 
cowardly  beast,  asked  him  if  he  was  going  to  attack  that  little 
old  man  ?  Then  Mugford  dashing  his  coat  down  to  the  ground, 
called  with  fresh  oaths  to  Philip  to  come  on.  And,  in  fine, 
there  was  a  most  unpleasant  row,  occasioned  by  Mr.  Philip 
Firmin's  hot  temper. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  147 


CHAPTER  XII. 

RES    ANGUSTA    DOMI. 

To  reconcile  these  two  men  was  impossible,  after  such  a 
quarrel  as  that  described  in  the  last  chapter.  The  only  chance 
of  peace  was  to  keep  the  two  men  apart.  If  they  met,  they 
would  fly  at  each  other.  Mugford  always  persisted  that  he 
could  have  got  the  better  of  his  great  hulking  sub-editor,  who 
did  not  know  the  use  of  his  fists.  In  Mugford's  youthful  time, 
bruising  was  a  fashionable  art ;  and  the  old  gentleman  still 
believed  in  his  own  skill  and  prowess.  "Don't  tell  me,"  he 
would  sa}' ;  ''though  the  fellar  is  as  big  as  a  life-guardsman, 
I  would  have  doubled  him  up  in  two  minutes."  I  am  very 
glad,  for  poor  Charlotte's  sake  and  his  own,  that  Philip  did 
not  undergo  the  doubling-up  process.  He  himself  felt  such  a 
wrath  and  surprise  at  his  employer  as,  I  suppose,  a  lion  does 
when  a  little  dog  attacks  him.  I  should  not  like  to  be  that 
little  dog ;  nor  does  my  modest  and  peaceful  nature  at  all 
prompt  and  impel  me  to  combat  with  lions. 

It  was  mighty  well  Mr.  Philip  Firmin  had  shown  his  spirit, 
and  quarrelled  with  his  bread  and  butter ;  but  when  Saturday 
came,  what  philanthropist  would  hand  four  sovereigns  and  four 
shillings  over  to  Mr.  F.,  as  Mr.  Burjoice,  the  publisher  of  the 
Pall  Mall  Gazette,  had  been  accustomed  to  do?  I  will  say  for 
m}^  friend  that  a  still  keener  remorse  than  that  which  lie  felt 
about  money  thrown  away  attended  him  when  he  found  that 
Mrs.  Woolsey,  towards  whom  he  had  cast  a  sidelong  stone  of 
persecution,  was  a  most  respectable  and  honorable  lady.  "I 
should  like  to  go,  sir,  and  grovel  before  her,"  Phihp  said,  in 
his  energetic  wa}'.  "  If  I  see  that  tailor,  I  will  request  him  to 
put  his  foot  on  my  head,  and  trample  on  me  with  his  highlows. 
Oh,  for  shame  !  for  shame  !  Shall  I  never  learn  charity  towards 
in}'  neighbors,  and  always  go  on  believing  in  the  lies  which 
people  tell  me?  When  I  meet  that  scoundrel  Trail  at  the  club, 
I  must  chastise  him.  How  dared  he  take  away  the  reputation 
of  an  honest  woman?  "  Philip's  friends  besought  him,  for  the 
sake  of  society  and  peace,  not  to  carry  this  quarrel  farther. 


148  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

''If,"  we  said,  "  every  woman  whom  Trail  has  maligned  had  a 
champion  who  should  box  Trail's  ears  at  the  club,  what  a  vul- 
gar, quarrelsome  place  that  club  would  become  !  My  dear 
Philip,  did  you  ever  know  Mr.  Trail  sa}'  a  good  word  of  man 
or  woman?"  and  by  these  or  similar  entreaties  and  arguments, 
we  succeeded  in  keeping  the  Queen's  peace. 

Yes  :  but  how  find  another  Pall  Mall  Gazette  ?  Had  Philip 
possessed  seven  thousand  pounds  iu  the  three  per  cents,  his 
income  would  have  been  no  greater  than  that  which  he  drew 
from  Mugford's  faitliful  bank.  Ah !  how  wonderful  ways  and 
means  are  !  When  I  think  how  this  very  line,  this  very  word, 
which  I  am  writing  represents  monej',  I  am  lost  in  a  respectful 
astonishment.  A  man  takes  his  own  case,  as  he  says  his  own 
praj'ers,  on  behalf  of  himself  and  his  family.  I  am  paid,  we 
will  say,  for  the  sake  of  illustration,  at  the  rate  of  sixpence  per 
line.  With  the  words,  "Ah,  how  wonderful,"  to  the  words 
"  per  line,"  I  can  bu}'  a  loaf,  a  piece  of  butter,  a  jug  of  milk, 
a  modicum  of  tea,  —  actually  enough  to  make  breakfast  for  the 
family ;  and  the  servants  of  the  house  ;  and  the  charwoman, 
their  servant,  can  shake  up  the  tea-leaves  with  a  fresh  supply 
of  water,  sop  the  crusts,  and  get  a  meal  tant  Men  que  mal. 
Wife,  children,  guests,  servants,  charwoman,  we  are  all  actually 
making  a  meal  off  Philip  Firmin's  bones  as  it  were.  And  my 
next-door  neighbor,  whom  I  see  marching  away  to  chambers, 
umbi'ella  in  hand?  And  next  door  but  one  the  City  man? 
And  next  door  but  two  the  doctor?  —  I  know  the  baker  has 
left  loaves  at  every  one  of  their  doors  this  morning,  that  all 
their  chimneys  are  smoking,  and  the}-  will  all  have  breakfast. 
Ah,  thank  God  for  it !  I  hope,  friend,  you  and  I  are  not  too 
proud  to  ask  for  our  daily  bread,  and  to  be  grateful  for  getting 
it?  Mr.  Philip  had  to  work  for  his,  in  care  and  trouble,  like 
other  children  of  men  :  — to  work  for  it,  and  I  hope  to  pray  for 
it,  too.  It  is  a  thought  to  me  awful  and  beautiful,  that  of  the 
daily  prayer,  and  of  the  myriads  of  fellow-men  uttering  it,  in 
care  and  in  sickness,  in  doubt  and  in  poverty,  in  health  and  in 
wealth.  Panem  noslrum  da  nobis  hodie.  Philip  whispers  it  b}' 
the  bedside  where  wife  and  child  lie  sleeping,  and  goes  to  his 
early  labor  with  a  stouter  heart :  as  he  creeps  to  his  rest  when 
the  da3?'s  labor  is  over,  and  the  quotidian  bread  is  earned,  and 
breathes  his  hushed  thanks  to  the  bountiful  Giver  of  the  meal. 
All  over  this  world  what  an  endless  chorus  is  singing  of  love, 
and  thanks,  and  prayer.  Day  tells  to  da}'  the  wondrous  story, 
and  night  recounts  it  unto  night.  — How  do  I  come  to  think  of 


PATi;i:i-AJ]ILlAd. 


-J 


ON  HIS  AVAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  149 

a  sunrise  which  I  saw  near  twenty  years  ago  on  the  Nile,  when 
the  river  and  sky  flushed  and  glowed  with  the  dawning  light, 
and  as  the  luminary  appeared,  the  boatmen  knelt  on  the  rosy 
deck,  and  adored  Allah?  So,  as  thy  sun  rises,  friend,  over  the 
humble  housetops  round  about  3'our  home,  shall  you  wake  many 
and  many  a  day  to  dut}'  and  labor.  Ma}'  the  task  have  been 
honestly  done  wlien  the  night  comes  ;  and  the  steward  deal 
kindl}-  Avith  the  laborer. 

So  two  of  Philip's  cables  cracked  and  gave  way  after  a  very 
brief  strain,  and  the  poor  fellow  held  by  nothing  now  but  that 
wonderful  European  liecieio  established  by  the  mysterious  Tre- 
garvan.  Actors,  a  people  of  superstitions  and  traditions,  opine 
that  heaven,  in  some  m3'sterious  way,  makes  managers  for 
their  benefit.  In  like  manner,  Review  proprietors  are  sent  to 
provide  the  pabulum  for  us  men  of  letters.  With  what  com- 
placency did  my  wife  listen  to  the  somewhat  long-winded  and 
pompous  orator}-  of  Tregarvan  !  He  pompous  and  common- 
place? Tregarvan  spoke  with  excellent  good  sense.  That 
wil}'  woman  never  showed  she  was  tired  of  his  conversation. 
She  praised  him  to  Philip  behind  his  back,  and  would  not  allow 
a  word  in  his  disparagement.  As  a  doctor  will  punch  your 
chest,  your  liver,  your  heart,  listen  at  your  lungs,  squeeze  your 
pulse,  and  what  not,  so  this  practitioner  studied,  shampooed, 
auscultated  Tregarvan.  Of  course,  he  allowed  himself  to  be 
operated  upon.  Of  course,  he  had  no  idea  that  the  lady  was 
flattering,  wheedling,  humbugging  him  ;  but  thought  that  he 
was  a  ver}' well-informed,  eloquent  man,  who  had  seen  and  read 
a  great  deal,  and  had  an  agreeable  method  of  imparting  his 
knowledge,  and  that  the  lady  in  question  was  a  sensible  woman, 
naturallj'  eager  for  more  information.  Go,  Delilah  !  I  under- 
stand 3'our  tricks  !  I  know  man}'  another  Omphale  in  London, 
who  will  coax  Plerculcs  away  from  his  club,  to  come  and  listen 
to  her  wheedling  talk. 

One  great  difficulty  we  had  Avas  to  make  Philip  read  Trc- 
garvan's  own  articles  in  the  Review.  He  at  first  said  he  could 
not,  or  that  he  could  not  rememl.)er  them ;  so  that  there  was  no 
use  in  reading  them.  And  Philip's  new  master  used  to  make 
artful  allusions  to  his  own  writings  in  the  course  of  conversa- 
tion, so  that  our  unwary  friend  would  find  himself  under  exami- 
nation in  any  casual  interview  with  Tregarvan,  whose  opinions 
on  free-trade,  malt-tax,  income-tax,  designs  of  Russia,  or  what 
not,  might  be  accepted  or  denied,  but  ought  at  least  to  be 
known.     We  actually  made  Philip  get  up  his  owner's  articles. 


150  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

We  put  questions  to  him,  privily,  regarding  them  —  "  coached" 
him,  according  to  the  university  phrase.  My  wife  humbugged 
that  wretched  Member  of  Parliament  in  a  way  which  makes  me 
shudder,  when  I  think  of  what  hypocrisy  the  sex  is  capable. 
Those  arts  and  dissimulations  with  which  she  wheedles  others, 
suppose  she  exercise  them  on  me  ?  Horrible  thought !  No, 
angel !  To  others  thou  mayest  be  a  coaxing  h3'pocrite  ;  to  me 
tliou  art  all  candor.  Other  men  ma}'  have  been  humbugged  by 
oth&r  women  ;  but  I  am  not  to  be  taken  in  by  that  sort  of  thing  ; 
and  thou  art  all  candor  ! 

We  had  then  so  much  per  annum  as  editor.  We  were  paid, 
besides,  for  our  articles.  We  had  really  a  snug  little  pension 
out  of  this  Review,  and  we  prayed  it  might  last  for  ever.  We 
might  write  a  novel.  We  might  contribute  articles  to  a  daily 
paper ;  get  a  little  parliameutar}'  practice  as  a  barrister.  We 
actually  did  get  Phihp  into  a  railway-  case  or  two,  and  my  wife 
must  be  coaxing  and  hugging  solicitors'  ladles,  as  she  had 
wheedled  and  coaxed  Members  of  Parliament.  Why,  I  do 
believe  my  Delilah  sec  up  a  flirtation  with  old  Bishop  Cros- 
sticks,  with  an  idea  of  getting  her  protege  a  living ;  and  though 
the  lady  indignantly  repudiates  this  charge,  will  she  be  pleased 
to  explain  how  the  bishop's  sermons  were  so  outrageously 
praised  in  the  Review  ? 

Philip's  roughness  and  frankness  did  not  displease  Tregp,r- 
van,  to  the  wonder  of  us  all,  who  trembled  lest  he  should  lose 
this  as  he  had  lost  his  former  place.  Tregarvan  had  more 
countrj'-houses  than  one,  and  at  these  not  only  was  the  editor 
of  the  Review  made  welcome,  but  the  editor's  wife  and  children, 
whom  Tregarvan's  wife  took  into  especial  regard.  In  London, 
Lady  Mary  had  assemblies  where  our  little  friend  Charlotte 
made  her  appearance  ;  and  half  a  dozen  times  in  the  course  of 
the  season  the  wealthy  Cornish  gentleman  feasted  his  retainers 
of  the  Review.  His  wine  was  excellent  and  old ;  his  jokes 
were  old,  too  ;  his  table  pompous,  grave,  plentiful.  If  Philip 
was  to  eat  the  bread  of  dependence,  the  loaf  was  here  very 
kindly  prepared  for  him  ;  and  he  ate  it  humbly,  and  with  not 
too  much  grumbling.  This  diet  chokes  some  proud  stomachs 
and  disagrees  with  them  ;  but  Philip  was  verj'  humble  now,  and 
of  a  nature  grateful  for  kindness.  He  is  one  who  requires  the 
help  of  friends,  and  can  accept  benefits  without  losing  inde- 
pendence—  not  all  men's  gifts,  but  some  men's,  whom  he  re- 
pa3's  not  only  with  coin,  but  with  an  immense  affection  and 
gratitude.     How  that  man  did  laugh  at  my  witticisms !     How 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  151 

he  worshipped  the  ground  on  which  mj-  wife  walked  !  He 
elected  himself  our  champion.  He  quarrelled  with  other  peo- 
ple, who  found  fault  with  our  characters,  or  would  not  see  our 
perfections.  There  was  something  affecting  in  the  way  in  which 
this  big  man  took  the  Iiumble  place.  We  could  do  no  wrong  in 
his  ej'es  ;  and  woe  betide  the  man  who  spoke  disparagingly'  of 
us  in  his  presence  ! 

One  day,  at  his  patron's  table,  Philip  exercised  his  valor 
and  championship  in  our  behalf  b}-  defending  us  against  the 
evil  speaking  of  that  Mr.  Trail,  who  has  been  mentioned  before 
as  a  gentleman  difficult  to  please,  and  credulous  of  ill  regarding 
his  neighbor.  The  talk  happened  to  fall  upon  the  character  of 
the  reader's  most  humble  servant,  and  Trail,  as  may  be  im- 
agined, spared  me  no  more  than  the  rest  of  mankind.  Would 
you  like  to  be  liked  by  all  people  ?  That  would  be  a  reason  wh}' 
Trail  should  hate  you.  Were  you  an  angel  fresh  dropped  from 
the  skies,  he  would  espy  dirt  on  your  robe,  and  a  black  feather 
or  two  in  3'our  wing.  As  for  me,  I  know  I  am  not  angelical  at 
all ;  and  in  walking  my  native  earth,  can't  help  a  little  mud  on 
my  trousers.  Well :  Mr.  Trail  began  to  paint  my  portrait, 
laying  on  those  dark  shadows  which  that  well-known  master  is 
in  the  habit  of  employing.  I  was  a  parasite  of  the  nobilit}' ;  I 
was  a  heartless  sycophant,  house-breaker,  drunkard,  murderer, 
returned  convict,  &c.  &c.  With  a  little  imagination,  Mrs. 
Candor  can  fill  up  the  outline,  and  arrange  the  colors  so  as  to 
suit  her  amiable  fanc}'. 

Philip  had  come  late  to  dinner ;  — of  this  fault,  I  must  con- 
fess, he  is  guilty  only  too  often.  The  company  were  at  table  ; 
he  took  the  only  place  vacant,  and  this  happened  to  be  at  the 
side  of  Mr.  Trail.  On  Trail's  other  side  was  a  portly  indi- 
vidual, of  a  healthy  and  rosy  countenance  and  voluminous 
white  waistcoat,  to  whom  Trail  directed  much  of  his  amiable 
talk,  and  whom  he  addressed  once  or  twice  as  Sir  John.  Once 
or  twice  already  we  have  seen  how  Philip  has  quarrelled  at 
table.  He  cried  mea  culpa  loudly  and  honestly  enough.  He 
made  vows  of  reform  in  this  particular.  He  succeeded,  dearly 
beloved  brethren,  not  much  worse  or  better  than  you  and  I  do, 
who  confess  our  faults,  and  go  on  promising  to  improve,  and 
stumbling  and  picking  ourselves  up  every  day.  The  pavement 
of  life  is  strewed  with  orange-peel ;  and  who  has  not  slipped  on 
the  flags? 

"He  is  the  most  conceited  man  in  London,"  —  Trail  was 
going  on,  "  and  one  of  the  most  worldly.     He  will  throw  over 


152  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

a  colonel  to  dine  with  a  general.  He  wouldn't  throw  over  you 
two  baronets  —  he  is  a  great  deal  too  shrewd  a  fellow  for  that. 
He  wouldn't  give  you  up,  perhaps,  to  dine  with  a  lord  ;  but 
an}'  ordinary  baronet  he  would." 

"  And  wh}-  not  us  as  well  as  the  rest?  "  asks  Tregarvan,  who 
seemed  amused  at  the  speaker's  chatter. 

"Because  3'ou  are  not  like  common  baronets  at  all.  Be- 
cause your  estates  are  a  great  deal  too  large.  Because,  I  sup- 
pose, you  might  either  of  you  go  to  the  Upper  House  any  day. 
Because,  as  an  author,  he  may  be  supposed  to  be  afraid  of  a 
certain  Revieiv"  cries  Trail,  with  a  loud  laugh. 

"Trail  is  speaking  of  a  friend  of  yours,"  said  the  host, 
nodding  and  smiling,  to  the  new-comer. 

"  Very  lucky  for  my  friend,"  growls  Philip,  and  eats  his 
soup  in  silence. 

' '  By  the  way,  that  article  of  his  on  Madame  de  Sevigne  is 
poor  stuff.  No  knowledge  of  the  period.  Three  gross  blunders 
in  French.  A  man  can't  write  of  French  society  unless  he  has 
lived  in  French  society.  What  does  Pendennis  know  of  it? 
A  man  who  makes  blunders  like  those  can't  understand  French. 
A  man  who  can't  speak  French  can't  get  on  in  French  society. 
Therefore  he  can't  write  about  French  society.  All  these  prop- 
ositions are  clear  enough.  Thank  you.  Dry  champagne,  if  3'ou 
please.  He  is  enormously  over-rated,  I  tell  you  ;  and  so  is  his 
wife.  They  used  to  put  her  forward  as  a  beauty :  and  she  is 
only  a  dowdy  woman  out  of  a  nurser}'.  She  has  no  st^de  about 
her." 

"  She  is  only  one  of  the  best  women  in  the  world,"  Mr. 
Firmin  called  out,  turning  very  red  ;  and  hereupon  entered  into 
a  defence  of  our  characters,  and  pronounced  a  eulogium  upon 
both  and  each  of  us,  in  which  I  hope  there  was  some  littl 
truth.  However,  he  spoke  with  great  enthusiasm,  and  Mr.  Trail 
found  himself  in  a  minority. 

"  You  are  right  to  stand  up  for  your  friends,  Firmin  !  "  cried 
the  host.     "  Let  me  introduce  you  to  —  " 

"  Let  me  introduce  myself,"  said  the  gentleman  on  the  other 
side  of  Mr.  Trail.  "  Mr.  Firmin,  3'ou  and  I  are  kinsmen,  —  I 
am  Sir  John  Ringwood."  And'  Sir  John  reached  a  hand  to 
Philip  across  Trail's  chair.  They  talked  a  great  deal  together 
in  the  course  of  the  evening :  and  when  Mr.  Trail  found  that 
the  great  county  gentleman  was  friendly  and  familiar  with 
Philip,  and  claimed  a  relationship  with  him,  his  manner  towards 
Firmin  altered.     He  pronounced   afterwards  a   warm  eulogj- 


ON   HIS  WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  153 

upon  Sir  John  for  his  frankness  and  good-nature  in  recognizing 
his  unfortunate  relative,  and  charitably  said,  "Philip  might 
not  be  like  the  doctor,  and  could  not  help  having  a  rogue 
for  a  father."  In  former  days,  Trail  had  eaten  and  drunken 
freely  at  that  rogue's  table.  But  we  must  have  truth,  3'ou 
know,  before  all  things  :  and  if  your  own  brother  has  com- 
mitted a  sin,  common  justice  requires  that  yoa  should  stone 
him . 

In  former  daj-s,  and  not  long  after  Lord  Ringwood's  death, 
Philip  had  left  his  card  at  this  kinsman's  door,  and  Sir  John's 
butler,  driving  in  his  master's  brougham,  had  left  a  card  upon 
Philip,  who  was  not  over  well  pleased  b}'  this  acknowledgment 
of  his  civility,  and,  in  fact,  employed  abusive  epithets  when  he 
spoke  of  the  transaction.  But  when  the  two  gentlemen  actually 
met,  their  intercourse  was  kindly  and  pleasant  enough.  Sir 
John  listened  to  his  relative's  talk  —  and  it  appears,  Philip 
comported  himself  with  his  usual  free  and  easy  manner  —  with 
interest  and  curiosity  ;  and  owned  afterwards  that  evil  tongues 
had  previously  been  busy  with  the  young  man's  character,  and 
that  slander  and  untruth  had  been  spoken  regarding  him.  In 
this  respect,  if  Philip  is  worse  off  than  his  neighbors,  I  can 
only  sa}'  his  neighbors  are  fortunate. 

Two  da^-s  after  the  meeting  of  the  cousins,  the  tranquillit}'  of 
Thornhaugh  Street  was  disturbed  b3-  the  appearance  of  a  mag- 
nificent 3'ellow  chariot,  with  crests,  hammer-cloths,  a  bewigged 
coachman,  and  a  powdered  footman.  Bets}-,  the  nurse,  who 
was  going  to  take  bab}'  out  for  a  walk,  encountered  this  giant 
on  the  threshold  of  Mrs.  Brandon's  door :  and  a  lady  v.ithin 
the  chariot  delivered  three  cards  to  the  tall  menial,  who  trans- 
ferred them  to  Betsy.  And  Betsy  persisted  in  saying  that  the 
lad\-  in  the  carriage  admired  baby  very  much,  and  asked  its 
age,  at  which  baby's  mamma  was  not  in  the  least  surprised. 
In  due  course,  an  invitation  to  dinner  followed,  and  our  friends 
became  acquainted  with  their  kinsfolk. 

If  you  have  a  good  memory  for  pedigrees  —  and  in  m}' 
youthful  time  ever^'  man  de  bonne  maison  studied  genealogies, 
and  had  his  English  families  in  his  memory  —  yon  know  that 
this  Sir  John  Ringwood,  who  succeeded  to  the  principal  portion 
of  the  estates,  but  not  to  the  titles  of  the  late  earl,  was  de- 
scended from  a  mutual  ancestor,  a  Sir  John,  whose  elder  son 
was  ennobled  (temp.  Geo.  I.),  whilst  the  second  son,  following 
the  legal  profession,  became  a  judge,  and  had  a  son,  who  be- 
came a  barouet,  and  who  begat  that  present  Sir  John  who  has 


154 


THE   ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


just  been  shaking  hands  with  Philip  across  Trail's  back.*  Thus 
the  two  men  were  cousins  ;  and  in  right  of  the  heiress,  his  poor 
mother,  Philip  might  quarter  the  Ringwood  arms  on  his  car- 
riage, whenever  he  di'ove  out.  These,  you  know,  are  argent,  a 
dexter  sinople  on  a  fesse  wavy  of  the  first  —  or  pick  out,  m}^ 
dear  friend,  an^^  coat  you  like  out  of  the  whole  heraldic  ward- 
robe, and  accommodate  it  to  our  friend  Firmin. 

When  he  was  a  young  man  at  college,  Philip  had  dabbled  a 
little  in  this  queer  science  of  heraldrj',  and  used  to  try  and 
believe  the  legends  about  his  ancestr}',  which  his  fond  mother 
imparted  to  him.  He  had  a  great  book-plate  made  for  him- 
self, with  a  prodigious  number  of  quarterings,  and  could  recite 
the  alliances  by  which  such  and  such  a  quartering  came  into 
his  shield.  His  father  rather  confirmed  these  histories,  and 
spoke  of  them  and  of  his  wife's  noble  family  with  much  re- 
spect :  and  Philip,  artlessly  whispering  to  a  vulgar  boy  at 
school  that  he  was  descended  from  King  John,  was  thrashed 
very  unkindly  b}^  the  vulgar  upper  boy,  and  nicknamed  King 
John  for  many  a  long  day  after.     I  dare  saj^  many  other  gen- 


*  Copied,  by  permission  of  P.  Firmin,  Esq.,  from  the  Genealogical  Tree 
in  his  possession. 

Sir  J.  Ringwood,  Bart., 

of  Winerate  and  Whipham. 

b.  1649;  ob.l725. 


Sir  J.,  Bart., 

1st  Baron  Ringwood. 

ob.  1770. 


John,  2d  Baron 

created  Earl  of  Ringwood 

and  Visct.  Cinqbars. 

I 

Cliarles,  Visct.  Cinqbars, 

b.  1802  ;  ob.  1824. 


Philip, 

a  Colonel  in  the  Army. 

ob.  1803. 


Maria, 

b.  1801, 

in<i  Talbot  Twysden, 

and  had  issue. 


Sir  Philip,  Knt., 
a  Baron  of  the  Exchequer. 


Sir  John,  Bart., 
of  the  Hays. 


Sir  John  of  the  Hays, 

and  now  of 

Wingate  and  Whipham, 

has  issue. 


Louisa, 

b.  1802, 

m^  G.  B.  Firmin,  Esq.,  M.D. 


Philip,  b.  1825, 

subject  of  the 
present  Memoir. 


Oliver,  Philip, 

Hampden,  Franklin, 

and  daughters. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  155 

tlemen  who  profess  to  trace  their  descent  from  ancient  kings 
have  no  better  or  worse  authority  for  their  pedigree  than  friend 
Philip. 

AVhen  our  friend  paid  his  second  visit  to  Sir  John  Ringwood, 
he  was  introduced  to  his  kinsman's  librar}- ;  a  great  familj^ 
tree  hung  over  the  mantel-piece,  surrounded  by  a  whole  gallery 
of  defunct  Ringwoods,  of  whom  the  Baronet  was  now  the  rep- 
resentative. He  quoted  to  Philip  the  hackneyed  old  Ovidian 
lines  (some  score  of  years  ago  a  great  deal  of  that  old  coin 
was  current  in  conversation).  As  for  family,  he  said,  and  an- 
cestors, and  what  we  have  not  done  ourselves,  these  things  we 
can  hardly  call  ours.  Sir  John  gave  Philip  to  understand  that 
he  was  a  staunch  Liberal,  Sir  John  was  for  going  with  the 
age.  Sir  John  had  fired  a  shot  from  the  Paris  barricades. 
Sir  John  was  for  the  rights  of  man  everywhere  all  over  the 
world.  He  had  pictures  of  Franklin,  Lafayette,  Washington, 
and  the  First  Consul  Buonaparte,  on  his  walls  along  with  his 
ancestors.  He  had  lithograph  copies  of  Magna  Charta,  the 
Declaration  of  American  Independence,  and  the  Signatures  to 
the  Death  of  Charles  I.  He  did  not  scruple  to  own  his  pref- 
erence for  republican  instittitions.  He  Avished  to  know  what 
right  had  any  man  —  the  late  Lord  Ringwood,  for  example  — 
to  sit  in  a  hereditar}-  House  of  Peers  and  legislate  over  him  ? 
That  lord  had  had  a  son,  Cinqbars,  who  died  many  years  before, 
a  victim  of  his  own  follies  and  debaucheries.  Had  Lord  Cinq- 
bars survived  his  father,  he  would  now  be  sitting  an  earl  in  the 
House  of  Peers  —  the  most  ignorant  young  man,  the  most  un- 
principled young  man,  reckless,  dissolute,  of  the  feeblest  intel- 
lect and  the  worst  life.  Well,  had  he  lived  and  inherited  the 
Ringwood  property,  that  creature  would  have  been  an  earl : 
whereas  he.  Sir  John,  his  superior  in  morals,  in  character,  in 
intellect,  his  equal  in  point  of  birth  (for  had  the}'  not  both  a 
common  ancestor?)  was  Sir  John  still.  The  inequalities  in 
men's  chances  in  life  were  monstrous  and  ridiculous.  He  was 
determined,  henceforth,  to  look  at  a  man  for  himself  alone, 
and  not  esteem  him  for  an}'  of  the  absurd  caprices  of  fortune. 

As  the  republican  was  talking  to  his  relative,  a  servant 
came  into  the  room  and  whispered  to  his  master  that  the 
plumber  had  come  with  his  bill  as  b}'  appointment ;  upon  which 
Sir  John  rose  up  in  a  fury,  asked  the  servant  how  he  dared  to 
disturb  him,  and  bade  him  to  tell  the  plumber  to  go  to  the 
lowest  depths  of  Tartarus.  Nothing  could  equal  the  inso- 
lence and  rapacit}'  of  tradesmen,  he  said,  except  the  insolence 
and  idleness  of  servants ;  and  he  called  this  one  back,  and 


156  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

asked  him  how  he  dared  to  leave  the  fire  in  that  state?  — 
storined  and  raged  at  him  with  a  vokibihty  which  astonished 
his  new  acquaintance  ;  and,  the  man  being  gone,  resumed  his 
previous  subject  of  conversation,  viz.,  natural  equahty  and  the 
outrageous  injustice  of  the  present  social  system.  After  talk- 
ing for  half  an  hour,  during  which  Philip  found  that  he  him- 
self could  hardly  find  an  opportunity  of  uttering  a  word,  Sir 
John  took  out  his  watch,  and  got  up  from  his  chair ;  at  which 
hint  Philip  too  rose,  not  sorry  to  bring  the  interview  to  an  end. 
And  herewith  Sir  John  accompanied  his  kinsman  into  the  hall, 
and  to  the  street-door,  before  which  the  Baronet's  groom  was. 
riding,  leading  his  master's  horse.  And  Philip  heard  the 
Baronet  using  violent  language  to  the  groom,  as  he  had  done 
to  the  servant  within  doors.  Wh}',  the  army  in  Flanders  did 
not  swear  more  terribly  than  this  admirer  of  republican  insti- 
tutions and  advocate  of  the  rights  of  man. 

Philip  was  not  allowed  to  go  away  without  appointing  a  day 
when  he  and  his  wife  would  partake  of  their  kinsman's  hospi- 
tality. On  this  occasion,  Mrs.  Philip  comported  herself  with 
so  much  grace  and  simplicity,  that  Sir  John  and  Lady  Ring- 
wood  pronounced  her  to  be  a  very  *pleasing  and  ladj^-like  per- 
son ;  and  I  dare  sa}-  wondered  how  a  person  in  her  rank  of 
life  could  have  acquired  manners  that  were  so  refined  and 
agreeable.  Lad}'  Ringwood  asked  after  the  child  which  she 
had  seen,  praised  its  beauty ;  of  course,  won  the  mother's 
heart,  and  thereby  caused  her  to  speak  with  perhaps  more 
freedom  than  she  would  otherwise  have  felt  at  a  first  interview. 
Mrs.  Philip  has  a  dainty  touch  on  the  piano,  and  a  sweet  sing- 
ing voice  that  is  charmingly  true  and  neat.  She  performed 
after  dinner  some  of  the  songs  of  her  little  repertoire^  and 
pleased  her  audience.  Lady  Ringwood  loved  good  music,  and 
was  herself  a  fine  performer  of  the  ancient  school,  when 
she  played  Haydn  and  Mozart  under  the  tuition  of  good 
old  Sir  George  Thrum.  The  tall  and  handsome  beneficed 
clergyman  who  acted  as  major-domo  of  Sir  John's  establish- 
ment', placed  a  parcel  in  the  carriage  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Philip 
took  their  leave,  and  announced  with  much  respectful  def- 
erence that  the  cab  was  paid.  Our  friends  no  doubt  would 
have  preferred  to  dispense  with  this  cei-emonj' ;  but  it  is  ill  look- 
ing even  a  gift  cab-horse  in  the  mouth,  and  so  Philip  was  a 
gainer  of  some  two  shillings  by  his  kinsman's  liberality. 

When  Charlotte  came  to  open  the  parcel  which  major-domo, 
with  his  lady's  compliments,  had  placed  in  the  cab,  I  fear  she 
did  not  exhibit  that  elation  which  we  ought  to  feel  for  the 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  157 

favors  of  our  friends.  A  couple  of  little  frocks,  of  the  cut  of 
George  IV.,  some  little  red  shoes  of  the  same  period,  some 
crumpled  sashes,  and  other  small  articles  of  wearing-apparel, 
by  her  ladyship's  order  b^^  her  lad^'ship's  lad^y's-maid  ;  and 
Lady  Riiigwood  kissing  Charlotte  at  her  departure,  told  her 
that  she  had  caused  this  little  packet  to  be  put  awaj'  for  her. 
"  H'm,"  sa3-s  Philip,  onl}'  half  pleased.  "Suppose  Sir  John 
had  told  his  butler  to  put  up  one  of  his  blue  coats  and  brass 
buttons  for  me,  as  well  as  pay  the  cab?  " 

"  If  it  was  meant  in  kindness,  Philip,  we  must  not  be  an- 
gry," pleaded  Philip's  wife; — "and  I  am  sure  if  you  had 
heard  her  and  the  Miss  Ringwoods  speak  of  baby,  you  would 
like  them,  as  I  intend  to  do." 

But  Mrs.  Philip  never  put  those  mould}'  old  red  shoes  upon 
baby ;  and  as  for  the  little  frocks,  children's  frocks  are  made 
so  much  fuller  now  that  Lady  Ringwood's  presents  did  not 
answer  at  all.  Charlotte  managed  to  furbish  up  a  sash,  and 
a  pair  of  epaulets  for  her  cliild  —  epaulets  are  they  called  ? 
Shoulder-knots  —  what  3'ou  will,  ladies;  and  with  these  orna- 
ments Miss  Firmin  was  presented  to  Lad}'  Ringwood  and  some 
of  her  family. 

The  good-will  of  these  new-found  relatives  of  Philip's  was 
laborious,  was  CAident,  and  yet  I  must  say  was  not  altogether 
agreeable.  At  the  first  period  of  their  intercourse  —  for  this, 
too,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  came  to  an  end,  or  presently  suffered 
interruption  —  tokens  of  affection  in  the  shape  of  farm  prod- 
uce, counti'y  butter  and  poultry,  and  actual  butcher's  meat, 
came  from  Berkeley  Square  to  Tliornhaugh  Street.  The  Duke 
of  Double-glo'stcr  I  know  is  much  richer  than  3'ou  are  ;  but 
if  he  were  to  offer  to  make  you  a  present  of  half  a  crown,  I 
doubt  whether  you  would  be  quite  pleased.  And  so  with  Phil- 
ip and  his  relatives.  A  hamper  brought  in  the  brougham,  con- 
taining hot-house  grapes  and  country  butter,  is  ver^-  well,  but 
a  leg  of  mutton  I  own  was  a  gift  that  was  rather  tough  to 
swallow.  It  tvas  tough.  That  point  we  ascertained  and  estab- 
lished amidst  roars  of  laughter  one  day  when  we  dined  with 
our  friends.  Did  Lad}'  Ringwood  send  a  sack  of  turnips  in 
the  brougham  too?  In  a  word,  we  ate  Sir  John's  mutton,  and 
we  laughed  at  him,  and  be  sure  many  a  man  has  done  the  same 
^\y  yon  and  me.  Last  P'riday,  for  instance,  as  Jones  and 
Brown  go  away  after  dining  with  your  humble  servant. 
"Did  you  ever  see  such  profusion  and  extravagance  ?  "  asks 
Brown.  "Profusion  and  extravagance!"  cries  Jones,  that 
well-known  epicure.     "  I  never  saw  anything  so  shabby  in  my 


158  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

life.  What  does  the  fellow  mean  by  asking  me  to  such  a  din- 
ner?" "  True,"  saj's  the  other,  ^'- it  was  an  abominable  din- 
ner, Jones,  as  you  justl}^  say  ;  but  it  was  ver}-  profuse  in  him 
to  give  it.  Don't  you  see  ?  "  and  so  both  our  good  friends  are 
agreed. 

Ere  many  days  were  over  the  great  3'ellow  chariot  and  its 
powdered  attendants  again  made  their  appearance  before 
Mrs.  Brandon's  modest  door  in  Thornhaugh  Street,  and  Lady 
Ringwood  and  two  daughters  descended  from  the  carriage  and 
made  their  way  to  IVJfei".  Philip's  apartments  in  the  second  floor, 
just,  as  that  worthy  gentleman  was  sitting  down  to  dinner 
with  his  wife.  Lady  Ringwood,  bent  upon  being  gi-acious, 
was  in  ecstasies  with  everything  she  saw  —  a  clean  house  — 
a  nice  little  maid  —  pretty  picturesque  rooms  —  odd  rooms  ^- 
and  what  charming  pictures  !  Several  of  these  were  the  work 
of  the  fond  pencil  of  poor  J.  J.,  who,  as  has  beeh  told,  had 
painted  Philip's  beard  and  Charlotte's  eyebrow,  and  Char- 
lotte's baby  a  thousand  and  a  thousand  times.  "  May  we 
come  in?  Are  we  disturbing  you?  What  dear  little  bits  of 
china  !  What  a  beautiful  mug,  Mr.  Firmin  !  "  This  was  poor 
J.  J. 's  present  to  his  god-daughter.  "  How  nice  the  luncheon 
looks!  Dinner,  is  it?  How  pleasant  to  dine  at  this  hour!" 
The  ladies  were  determined  to  be  charmed  with  everything 
round  about  them. 

"  We  are  dining  on  your  poultry.  Ma}'  we  offer  some  to 
you  and  Miss  Ringwood,"  says  the  master  of  the  house. 

"  Why  don't  3'ou  dine  in  the  dining-room?  Wh}' do  j'ou 
dine  in  a  bedroom?"  asks  Franklin  Ringwood,  the  interesting 
young  son  of  the  Baron  of  Ringwood. 

"•  Somebod}'  else  lives  in  the  parlor,"  says  Mrs.  Philip.  On 
which  the  boy  remarks,  "  We  have  two  dining-rooms  in  Berkeley 
Square.  I  mean  for  us,  besides  papa's  study,  which  I  mustn't 
go  into.     And  the  servants  have  two  dining-rooms  and  —  " 

"  Hush  !  "  here  cries  mamma,  with  the  usual  remark  regard- 
ing the  beauty  of  silence  in  little  boys. 

But  Franklin  persists  in  spite  of  the  "  Hushes  !  "  "  And  so 
we  have  at  Ringwood  ;  and  at  Whipham  there's  ever  so  many 
dining-rooms  —  ever  so  many — and  I  like  Whipham  a  great 
deal  better  than  Ringwood,  because  m}'  pony  is  at  Whipham. 
You  have  not  got  a  pony.     You  are  too  poor." 

"Franklin!" 

' '  You  said  he  was  too  poor  ;  and  3'ou  would  not  have  had 
chickens  if  we  had  not  given  them  to  you.  Mamma,  you  know 
3'ou  said  they  were  very  poor,  and  would  like  them." 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  159 

And  here  mamma  looked  red,  and  I  dare  say  Philip's  cheeks 
and  ears  tingled,  and  for  once  Mrs.  Philip  was  thankful  at  hear- 
ing her  baby  cr^^  for  it  gave  her  a  pretext  for  leaving  the  room 
and  flying  to  the  nurserj' ,  whither  the  other  two  ladies  accompa- 
nied her. 

Meanwhile  Master  Franklin  went  on  with  his  artless  conver- 
sation. "  Mr.  Philip,  wlw  do  they  say  you  are  wicked?  You 
do  not  look  wicked  ;  and  I  am  sure  Mrs.  Philip  does  not  look 
wicked  —  she  looks  very  good." 

"Who  says  I  am  wicked?"  asks  Mr.  Firmin  of  his  candid 
young  relative. 

"  Oh,  ever  so  man}' !  Cousin  Ringwood  says  so  ;  and  Blanche 
saj's  so ;  and  Woolcorab  sa3S  so  ;  only  I  don't  like  him,  he's 
so  ver}'  brown.  And  when  the}'  heard  you  had  been  to  din- 
ner, 'Has  that  beast  been  here?'  Ringwood  says.  And  I 
don't  like  him  a  bit.  But  I  like  vou,  at  least  I  think  I  do. 
Y''ou  only  have  oranges  for  dessert.  We  alwa3's  have  lots  of 
things  for  dessert  at  home.  You  don't,  I  suppose,  because 
you've  got  no  money  —  only  a  very  little." 

"  Well :  I  have  got  only  a  very  little,"  says  Philip. 

"  I  have  some  —  ever  so  much.  And  I'll  buy  something  for 
your  wife  ;  and  I  shall  like  to  have  you  better  at  hopne  than 
Blanche,  and  Ringwood,  and  that  Woolcomb  ;  and  they  never 
give  me  an3'thing.  You  can't,  you  know  ;  because  3'ou  are  so 
ver}' poor  —  you  are;  but  we'll  often  send  3'ou  things,  I  dare 
sa3\  And  I'll  have  an  orange,  please,  thank  you.  And  there's 
a  chap  at  our  school,  and  his  name  is  Suckling,  and  he  ate  eigh- 
teen oranges,  and  wouldn't  give  one  away  to  anybody.  Wasn't 
he  a  greedy  pig?  And  I  have  wine  with  my  oranges —  T  do  : 
a  glass  of  wine  —  thank  3'OU.  That's  jolly.  But  3'ou  don't 
have  it  often,  I  suppose,  because  you're  so  very  poor." 

I  am  glad  Philip's  infant  could  not  understand,  being  yet  of 
too  tender  age,  the  compliments  which  Lady  Ringwood  and  her 
daughter  passed  upon  her.  As  it  was,  the  compliments  charmed 
the  mother,  for  whom  indeed  they  were  intended,  and  did  not 
inflame  the  unconscious  bab3-'s  vanit}'. 

What  would  the  polite  mamma  and  sister  have  said,  if  they 
had  heard  that  unlucky  Franklin's  prattle  ?  The  boy's  simplicity 
amused  his  tall  cousin.  "  Y''es,"  says  Philip,  "  we  are  very  poor 
but  we  are  very  liappv,  and  don't  mind  —  that's  the  truth." 

"  Mademoiselle,  that's  the  German  governess,  said  she  won- 
dered how  you  could  live  at  all ;  and  I  don't  think  3'OU  could 
if  you  ate  as  much  as  she  did.  Y''ou  should  see  her  eat ;  she 
is  such  a  oner  at  eating.     Fred,  my  brother,  that's  the  one  who 


I  GO  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

is  at  college,  one  day  tried  to  see  how  Mademoiselle  Wallfisch 
could  eat,  and  she  had  twice  of  soup,  and  then  she  said 
sivoplay ;  and  then  twice  of  fish,  and  she  said  sivoplay  for 
more ;  and  then  she  had  roast-mutton  —  no,  I  think,  roast- 
beef  it  was  ;  and  she  eats  the  pease  with  her  knife  ;  and  then 
she  had  raspberry  jam  pudding,  and  ever  so  much  beer,  and 
then  — "  But  what  came  then  we  never  shall  know;  because 
while  3'oung  Franklin  was  choking  with  laughter  (accompanied 
with  a  large  piece  of  orange)  at  the  ridiculous  recollection  of 
Miss  Wallfisch's  appetite,  liis  mamma  and  sister  came  down 
stairs  fi'om  Charlotte's  nurserj^  and  brought  the  dear  boy's  con- 
versation to  an  end.  The  ladies  chose  to  go  home,  delighted 
with  Philip,  baby,  Charlotte.  Everything  was  so  proper. 
Everything  was  so  nice.  MrSo  Firmin  was  so  lad3'-like.  The 
line  ladies  watched  her,  and  her  behavior,  with  that  curiosity 
which  the  Brobdingnag  ladies  displayed  when  they  held  up 
little  Gulliver  on  their  palms,  and  saw  him  bow,  smile,  dance, 
draw  his  sword,  and  take  off  his  hat,  just  like  a  man. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

IN    WHICH    THE  DRAWING-ROOMS  AKE  NOT  FURNISHED   AFTER  ALL. 

We  cannot  expect  to  be  loved  by  a  relative  whom  we  have 
knocked  into  an  illuminated  pond,  and  whose  coat-tails,  panta- 
loons, nether  limbs,  and  best  feelings  we  have  lacerated  with  ill 
treatment  and  broken  glass.  A  man  whom  3'ou  liave  so  treated 
behind  his  back  will  not  be  sparing  of  his  punishment  behind 
3'ours.  Of  course  all  the  Twj^sdens,  male  and  female,  and 
Woolcomb,  the  dusky  husband  of  Philip's  former  love,  hated 
and  feared,  and  maligned  him ;  and  were  in  the  habit  of  speak- 
ing of  him  as  a  truculent  and  reckless  savage  and  monster,  coarse 
and  brutal  in  his  language  and  behavior,  ragged,  dirty  and 
reckless  in  his  personal  appearance  ;  reeking  with  smoke,  per- 
petually reeling  in  drink,  indulging  in  oaths,  actions,  laughter 
which  rendered  him  intolerable  in  civilized  societ}'.  The  Tw3's- 
dens,  during  Philip's  absence  abroad,  had  been  veiy  respectful 
and  assiduous  in  courting  the  new  head  of  the  Ringwood  famil}'. 
They  had  flattered  Sir  John  and  paid  court  to  my  lady.  They 
had  been  welcomed  at  Sir  John's  houses  in  town  and  country. 
The^'  had  adopted  his  politics  in  a  great  measure,  as  they  had 


ON  HIS   WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  161 

adopted  the  politics  of  the  deceased  peer.  The}-  had  never 
lost  an  opportunity  of  abusing  poor  Philip  and  of  ingratiating 
themselves.  Thej^  had  never  refused  an}-  invitation  from  Sir 
John  in  town  or  country,  and  had  ended  by  utterly  boring  him 
and  Lady  Ringwood  and  the  Ringwood  family  in  general. 
Lady  Ringwood  learned  somewhere  how  pitilessly  Mrs.  Wool- 
comb  had  jilted  her  cousin  when  a  richer  suitor  appeared  in  the 
person  of  the  West  Indian.  Then  news  came  how  Philip  had 
administered  a  beating  to  Woolcomb,  to  young  Twysden,  to  a 
dozen  who  set  on  him.  The  early  prejudices  began  to  pass 
away.  A  friend  or  two  of  Philip's  told  Ringwood  how  he  was 
mistaken  in  the  young  man,  and  painted  a  portrait  of  him  in 
colors  much  more  favorable  than  those  which  his  Ivinsfolk  em- 
ployed. Indeed,  dear  relations,  if  the  public  wants  to  know 
our  little  faults  and  errors,  I  think  I  know  who  will  not  grudge 
the  requisite  information.  Dear  aunt  Candor,  are  you  not 
still  alive,  and  don't  you  know  what  we  had  for  dinner  yester- 
day', and  the  amount  (monstrous  extravagance  !)  of  the  washer- 
woman's bill? 

Well,  the  Twysden  family  so  bespattered  poor  Philip  with 
abuse,  and  represented  him  as  a  monster  of  such  hideous  mien, 
that  no  wonder  the  Ringwoods  avoided  him.     They  then  began 
to  grow  utterly  sick  and  tired  of  his  detractors.     And  thenSir 
John,  happening  to  talk  with  his  brother  Member  of  Parlia- 
ment, Tregarvan,  in  the  House  of  Commons,   heard  quite  a 
different  story  regarding  our  friend    to  that  with  which   the 
Twysdens  had  regaled  him,  and,  with  no  little  surprise  on  Sir 
John's  part,  was  told  by  Tregarvan  how  honest,  rough,  worthy, 
affectionate  and  gentle  this  poor  maligned  fellow  was,  how  he 
had  been  sinned  against  by  his  wretch  of  a  father,  whom  he 
had  forgiven  and  actually  helped  out  of  his  wretched  means, 
and  how  he  was  making  a  brave  battle  against  poverty,  and 
had  a  sweet  little  loving  wife  and  child,  whom  every  kind  heart 
would  willingly  strive  to  help.     Because  people  are  rich  they 
are  not  of  necessity  ogres.     Because  they  are  born  gentlemen 
and  ladies  of  good  degree,  are  in  easy  circumstances,  and  have 
a  generous  education,  it  does  not  follow  that  they  are  heartless 
and  will  turn  their  back  on  a  friend.     Moi  quCvous  parle  —  I 
have  been  in  a  great  strait  of  sickness  near  to  death,  and  the 
friends  w'ho  came  to  help  me  with  every  comfort,  succor,  sym- 
pathy were  actually  gentlemen^  who  lived  in  good  houses,  and 
had  a  good  education.     They  didn't  turn  away  because  I  was 
sick,  or  fly  from  me  because  they  thought  I  was  poor ;  on  the 
contrary,  hand,  purse,  succor,  sympathy  were  readv,  and  praise 

36 


162  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

be  to  heaven.  And  so  too  did  Philip  find  help  when  he  needed 
it,  and  succor  when  he  was  in  poverty.  Tregarvan,  we  will 
own,  was  a  pompous  little  man,  his  House  of  Commons  speeches 
were  dull,  and  his  written  documents  awfully  slow ;  but  he  had 
a  kind  heart :  he  was  touched  by  that  picture  which  Laura 
drew  of  the  young  man's  poverty,  and  honesty,  and  simple 
hopefulness  in  the  midst  of  hard  times  :  and  we  have  seen  how 
the  European  Review  was  thus  entrusted  to  Mr.  Philip's  man- 
agement. Then  some  artful  friends  of  Philip's  determined  that 
he  should  be  reconciled  to  his  relations,  who  were  well  to  do  in 
the  world,  and  might  serve  him.  And  I  wish,  dear  reader, 
that  A'our  respectable  relatives  and  mine  would  bear  this  little 
paragraph  in  mind  and  leave  us  both  handsome  legacies.  Then 
Tregarvan  spoke  to  Sir  John  Ring  wood,  and  that  meeting  was 
brought  about,  where,  for  once  at  least,  Mr.  Philip  quarrelled 
with  nobod}^. 

And  now  came  another  little  piece  of  good  luck,  which,  I 
suppose,  must  be  attributed  to  the  same  kind  friend  who  had 
been  scheming  for  Philip's  benefit,  and  who  is  never  so  happy 
as  when  her  little  plots  for  her  friends'  benefit  can  be  made  to 
succeed.  Yes:  M'hen  that  arch-jobber — don't  tell  me; — I 
never  knew  a  woman  worth  a  pin  who  wasn't  —  when  that  arch- 
jobber,  I  say,  has  achieved  a  job  by  which  some  friend  is  made 
happy,  her  eyes  and  cheeks  brighten  with  triumph.  Whether 
she  has  put  a  sick  man  into  a  hospital,  or  got  a  poor  woman  a 
family's  washing,  or  made  a  sinner  repent  and  return  to  wife, 
husband,  or  what  not,  that  woman  goes  otf  and  pavs  her  thanks, 
where  thanks  are  due,  with  such  fervor,  with  such  lightsome- 
ness,  with  such  happiness,  that  I  assure  3'ou  she  is  a  sight  to 
behold.  Hush!  AVhen  one  sinner  is  saved,  who  are  glad? 
Some  of  us  know  a  woman  or  two  pure  as  angels  —  know,  and 
are  thankful. 

When  the  person  about  whom  I  have  been  prattling  has  one 
of  her  benevolent  jobs  in  hand,  or  has  completed  it,  there  is  a 
sort  of  triumph  and  mischief  in  her  manner,  which  I  don't  know 
otherwise  how  to  describe.  She  does  not  imderstand  my  best 
jokes  at  this  period,  or  answers  them  at  random,  or  laughs 
very  absurdly  and  vacanth'.  She  embraces  her  children  wildly, 
nnd,  at  the  most  absurd  moments,  is  utterly  unmindful  when 
they  are  saj'ing  their  lessons,  prattling  their  little  questions  and 
so  forth.  I  recall  all  these  symptoms  (and  put  this  and  that 
together,  as  the  saying  is)  as  happening  on  one  especial  da}', 
at  the  commencement  of  Easter  Terra,  eighteen  hundred  and 
never  mind  what  —  as  happening  on  one  especial  morning  when 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  163 

this  lady  had  been  astoundingly  distraite  and  curiousl}'  excited. 
I  now  remember,  how  during  her  children's  dinner-time,  she 
sat  looking  into  the  sqnare  out  of  her  window,  and  scarcely 
attending  to  the  little  innocent  cries  for  mutton  which  the  chil- 
dren were  offering  up. 

At  last  there  was  a  rapid  clank  over  the  pavement,  a  tall 
figure  passed  the  parlor  windows,  wliich  our  kind  friends  know 
look  into  Queen  Square,  and  then  came  a  loud  ring  at  the  bell, 
and  I  thought  the  mistress  of  the  house  gave  an  ah  —  a  sigh  -^ 
as  though  her  heart  was  relieved. 

The  street  door  was  presently  opened,  and  then  the  dining- 
room  door,  and  Philip  walks  in  with  his  hat  on,  his  blue  eyes 
staring  before  him,  his  hair  flaming  about,  and  "La,  uncle 
Philip  !  "  cr}'  the  children.  "  What  have  you  done  to  yourself? 
You  have  shaved  off  your  moustache."  And  so  he  had,  I 
declare ! 

"I  say.  Pen,  look  here  !  This  has  been  left  at  chambers  ; 
and  Cassidy  has  sent  it  on  by  his  clerk,"  our  friend  said.  I 
forget  whether  it  has  been  stated  that  Philip's  name  still  re- 
mained on  the  door  of  those  chambers  in  Parchment  Buildings, 
where  we  once  heard  his  song  of  "  Doctor  Luther,"  and  were 
present  at  his  call-supper. 

The  document  which  Philip  produced  was  actually  a  brief. 
The  papers  were  superscribed,  "  In  Parliament,  Pol  wheedle  and 
Tredyddlum  Railwa3^  To  support  bill,  Mr.  Firmin  ;  retainer, 
five  guineas  ;  brief,  fiftj'  guineas  ;  consultation,  five  guineas. 
With  you  Mr.  Armstrong,  Sir  J.  Whitworth,  Mr.  Pinkerton." 
Here  was  a  wonder  of  wonders  !  A  shower  of  gold  was  poured 
out  on  my  friend.  A  light  dawned  upon  me.  The  proposed 
bill  was  for  a  Cornish  line.  Our  friend  Tregarvan  was  con- 
cerned in  it,  the  line  passing  through  his  property,  and  my 
wife  had  canvassed  him  privately,  and  by  her  wheedling  and 
blandishments  had  persuaded  Tregarvan  to  use  his  interest 
with  the  agents  and  get  Philip  this  welcome  aid. 

Philip  e3'ed  the  paper  with  a  queer  expression.  He  handled 
it  as  some  men  handle  a  bab3\  He  looked  as  if  he  did  not 
know  what  to  do  with  it,  and  as  if  he  should  like  to  drop  it. 
I  believe  I  made  some  satirical  remark  to  this  effect  as  I  looked 
at  our  friend  with  his  paper. 

*■'  He  holds  a  child  beautifully,"  said  my  wife  with  much  en- 
thusiasm ;   "  much  better  than  some  people  who  laugh  at  him." 

"  And  he  will  hold  this  no  doubt  much  to  his  credit.  May 
this  be  the  father  of  man}'  briefs.  May  j'ou  have  bags  full  of 
them  !  "     Philip  had  all  our  good  wishe^     The}'  did  not  cost 


164  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

much,  or  avail  much,  but  they  were  sincere.  I  know  men  who 
can't  for  the  lives  of  them  give  even  that  cheap  coin  of  good 
will,  but  hate  their  neighbors'  prosperity,  and  are  angTy  witli 
them  when  thej'  cease  to  be  dependent  and  poor. 

We  have  said  how  Cassidy's  astonished  clerk  had  brought 
the  brief  from  chambers  to  Firniin  at  his  lodgings  at  Mrs. 
Brandon's  in  Thornhaugh  Street.  Had  a  bailiff  served  him 
with  a  writ,  Philip  could  not  have  been  more  surprised,  or  in 
a  greater  tremor.  A  brief  ?  Grands  Dieux !  What  was  he  to 
do  with  a  brief.  He  thought  of  going  to  bed,  and  being  ill, 
or  fl^'ing  from  home,  country,  famil3\  Brief  ?  Charlotte,  of 
course,  seeing  her  husband  alarmed,  began  to  quake  too.  In- 
deed, if  his  worship's  finger  aches,  does  not  her  whole  body 
suffer?  But  Charlotte's  and  Philip's  constant  friend,  the  Little 
Sister,  felt  no  such  fear.  "  Now  there's  this  opening,  you  must 
take  it,  m}^  dear,"  she  said.  "  Suppose  you  don't  know  much 
about  law  —  "  "■Much!  nothing,"  interposed  Philip.  "You 
might  ask  me  to  play  the  piano  ;  but  as  I  never  happened  to 
have  learned  —  " 

"La  —  don't  tell  me!  You  mustn't  show  a  faint  heart. 
Take  the  business,  and  do  it  as  best  vou  can.  You'll  do  it  bet- 
ter  next  time,  and  next.  The  Bar's  a  gentleman's  business. 
Don't  I  attend  a  judge's  lad}',  which  I  remember  her  Vv^ith  her 
first  in  a  little  bit  of  a  house  in  Bernard  Street,  Russell  Square  ; 
and  now  haven't  I  been  to  her  in  Eaton  Square,  with  a  butler 
and  two  footmen,  and  carriages  ever  so  man}'?  You  may  work 
on  at  3'our  newspapers,  and  get  a  crust,  and  when  you're  old, 
and  if  you  quarrel  —  and  3'ou  have  a  knack  of  quarrelling  —  he 
has,  Mrs.  Firmin.  I  knew  him  before  you  did.  Quarrelsome 
he  is,  and  he  will  be,  though  you  think  him  an  angel,  to  be 
sure.  —  Suppose  you  quarrel  with  your  newspaper  masters,  and 
your  reviews,  and  that  you  lose  your  place.  A  gentleman  like 
Mr.  Philip  oughtn't  to  have  a  master.  I  couldn't  bear  to  think 
of  your  going  down  of  a  Satnrda}"  to  the  publishing  office  to  get 
j'our  wages  like  a  workman." 

"  But  I  am  a  workman,"  interposes  Philip. 

"  La  !  But  do  3'ou  mean  to  remain  one  for  ever?  I  would 
rise,  if  I  was  a  man!"  said  the  intrepid  little  woman;  "I 
would  rise,  or  I'd  know  the  reason  wh3\  Who  knows  how 
man}'  in  famil}^  you're  going  to  be  ?  I'd  have  more  spirit  than 
to  five  in  a  second  floor  —  I  would  !  " 

And  the  Little  Sister  said  this,  though  she  clung  round 
Philip's  child  with  a  rapture  of  fondness  which  she  tried  in  vain 
to  conceal ;  though  she  felt  that  to  part  from  it  would  be  to  part 


ON  HIS  WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  165 

from  her  life's  chief  happiness  ;  though  she  loved  Philip  as  her 
own  son :  and  Charlotte  —  well,  Charlotte  for  Philip's  sake  —  as 
women  love  other  women. 

Charlotte  came  to  her  friends  in  Queen  Square,  and  told  us 
of  the  resolute  Little  Sister's  advice  and  conversation.  She 
knew  that  Mrs.  Brandon  only  lOved  her  as  something  belonging 
to  Philip.  She  admired  this  Little  Sister ;  and  trusted  her  ; 
and  could  afford  to  beai-  that  little  somewhat  scornful  domina- 
tion which  Brandon  exercised.  "  She  does  not  love  me,  because 
Philip  does,"  Charlotte  said.  "  Do  you  think  I  could  like  her 
or  any  woman,  if  I  thought  Philip  "loved  them?  I  could  kill 
them,  Laura,  that  I  could  !  "  And  at  this  sentiment  I  imagine 
daggers  shooting  out  of  a  pair  of  eyes  that  were  ordinarily  very 
gentle  and  bright. 

Not  having  been  engaged  in  the  case  in  which  Philip  had 
the  honor  of  first  appearing,  I  cannot  enter  into  particulars  re- 
garding it,  but  am  sure  that  case  must  have  been  uncommonly 
strong  in  itself  which  could  survive  such  an  advocate.  He 
passed  a  frightful  night  of  torture  before  appearing  in  com- 
mittee-room. During  that  night,  he  says,  his  hair  grew  graj'. 
His  old  college  friend  and  comrade  Pinkerton,  who  was  with 
him  in  the  case,  "  coached"  him  on  the  day  previous  ;  and  in- 
deed it  must  be  owned  that  the  work  which  he  had  to  perform 
was  not  of  a  nature  to  impair  the  inside  or  the  outside  of  his 
skull.  A  great  man  was  his  leader ;  his  friend  Pinkerton  fol- 
lowed;  and  all  Mr.  Philip's  business  was  to  examine  a  half- 
dozen  witnesses  by  questions  pi-eviously  arranged  between  them 
and  the  Tigents. 

When  you  hear  that,  as  a  reward  of  his  services  in.  this 
case,  Mr,  Firmin  received  a  sum  of  mone^-  sufficient  to  pay  his 
modest  family  expenses  for  some  four  months,  I  am  sure,  dear 
and  respected  literary  friends,  that  you  will  wish  the  lot  of  a  par- 
liamentary barrister  had  been  yours,  or  that  your  immortal  works 
could  be  paid  with  such  a  liberality  as  rewards  the  labors  of 
these  lawyers.  '•'•  Nimmer  erscheinen  die  Goiter  allein."  After 
one  agent  had  employed  Philip,  another  came  and  secured  his 
valuable  services  :  him  two  or  three  others  followed,  and  our 
friend  positiveh'  had  money  in  bank.  Not  only  were  apprehen- 
sions of  povertj"  removed  for  the  present,  but  we  had  every 
reason  to  hope  that  Firmin's  prosperity  would  increase  and 
continue.  And  when  a  little  son  and  heir  was  born,  which 
blessing  was  conferred  upon  Mr.  Philip  about  a  year  after  his 
daughter,  our  godchild,  saw  the  light,  we  sliould  have  thought 
it  shame  to  have  any  misgivings  about  the  future,  so  cheerful 


166  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

did  Philip's  prospects  appear.  "  Did  I  not  tell  you,"  said  my 
wife,  with  her  usual  kindling  romance,  "that  comfort  and 
succor  would  be  found  for  these  in  the  hour  of  their  need  ?  " 
Amen.  We  were  grateful  that  comfort  and  succor  should 
come.  No  one,  I  am  sure,  was  more  humbly  thankful  than 
Philip  himself  for  the  fortunate  chances  which  befell  him. 

He  was  alarmed  rather  than  elated  by  his  sudden  prosperity. 
"It  can't  last,"  he  said.  "Don't  tell  me.  The  attorneys 
must  find  me  out  before  long.  They  cannot  continue  to  give 
their  business  to  such  an  ignoramus  :  and  I  really  think  I  must 
remonstrate  with  them."  You  should  have  seen  the  Little 
Sister's  indignation  when  Philip  uttered  this  sentiment  in  her 
presence.  "Give  up  your  business?  Yes,  do!"  she  cried, 
tossing  up  Philip's  youngest  born.  "Fling  this  baby  out  of 
window,  wh}'  not  indeed,  which  heaven  has  sent  it  you  !  You 
ought  to  go  down  on  your  knees  and  ask  pardon  for  having 
thought  an3'thing  so  wicked."  Philip's  heir,  by  the  wa}^  im- 
mediately on  his  entrance  into  the  world,  had  become  the  prime 
favorite  of  this  unreasoning  woman.  The  little  daughter  was 
passed  over  as  a  little  person  of  no  account,  and  so  began  to 
entertain  the  passion  of  jealousy  at  almost  the  very  earliest  age 
at  which  even  the  female  breast  is  capable  of  enjoying  it. 

And  though  this  Little  Sister  loved  all  these  people  with  an 
almost  ferocious  passion  of  love,  and  lay  awake,  I  believe, 
hearing  their  infantine  cries,  or  crept  on  stealthy  feet  in  dark- 
ness to  their  mother's  chamber-door,  behind  which  they  laj' 
sleeping ;  though  she  had,  as  it  were,  a  rage  for  these  infants, 
and  was  wretched  out  of  their  sight,  yet,  when  a  third  and  a 
fourth  brief  came  to  Philip,  and  he  was  enabled  to  put  a  little 
money  aside,  nothing  would  content  Mrs.  Brandon  but"  that  he 
should  go  into  a  house  of  his  own.  "  A  gentleman,"  she  said, 
"ought  not  to  live  in  a  two-pair  lodging  ;  he  ought  to  have  a 
house  of  his  own."  So,  you  see,  she  hastened  on  the  prepara- 
tions for  her  own  execution.  She  trudged  to  the  brokers'  shops 
and  made  wonderful  bargains  of  furniture.  She  cut  chintzes, 
and  covered  sofas,  and  sewed,  and  patched,  and  fitted.  She 
found  a  house  and  took  it  —  Milman  Street,  Guildford  Street, 
opposite  the  Fondling,  (as  the  dear  little  soul  called  it,)  a  most 
genteel,  quiet  little  street,  "and  quite  near  for  me  to  come," 
she  said,  "to  see  my  dears."  Did  she  speak  with  dryej'es? 
Mine  moisten  sometimes  when  I  think  of  the  faith,  of  the  gen- 
erosity, of  the  sacrifice,  of  that  devoted,  loving  creature. 

I  am  very  fond  of  Charlotte.     Her  sweetness  and  simplicity 
won  aU  our  hearts  at  home.     No  wife  or  mother  ever  was  more 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  1G7 

attached  and  affectionate  ;  but  I  own  there  was  a  time  when  I 
hated  her,  though  of  course  tliat  highly  principled  woman,  the 
wife  of  the  author  of  the  present  memoirs,  says  that  the  state- 
ment I  am  making  here  is  stuff  and  nonsense,  not  to  say  im- 
moral and  irreligious.  AYell,  then,  I  hated  Charlotte  for  the 
horrible  eagerness  which  she  showed  in  getting  away  from  this 
Little  Sister,  who  clung  round  those  children,  whose  first  cries 
she  had  heard.  I  hated  Charlotte  for  a  cruel  happiness  which 
she  felt  as  she  hugged  the  children  to  her  heart :  her  own  chil- 
dren in  their  own  room,  whom  she  would  dress,  and  watch,  and 
wash,  and  tend ;  and  for  whom  she  wanted  no  aid.  No  aid, 
entendez-voics ?  Oh,  it  was  a  shame,  a  shame!  In  the  new 
house,  in  the  pleasant  little  trim  new  nursery',  (fitted  up  by 
whose  fond  hands  we  will  not  say,)  is  the  mother  glaring  over  the 
cot,  where  the  little,  soft,  round  cheeks  are  pillowed  ;  and  jon- 
der  in  the  rooms  in  Thornhaugh  Street,  where  she  had  tended 
them  for  two  years,  the  Little  Sister  sits  lonelj^,  as  the  moon- 
light streams  in.  God  help  thee,  little  suffering  faithful  heart ! 
Never  but  once  in  her  life  before  had  she  known  so  exquisite 
a  pain. 

Of  course,  we  had  an  entertainment  in  the  new  house  ;  and 
Philip's  friends,  old  and  new,  came  to  the  house-warming.  The 
famil}- coach  of  the  Ringwoods  blocked  up  that  astonished  little 
street.  The  powder  on  their  footmen's  heads  nearly-  brushed 
the  ceiling,  as  the  monsters  rose  when  the  guests  passed  in  and 
out  of  the  hall.  The  Little  Sister  merely  took  charge  of  the 
tea-room.  Phihp's  "  library' "  was  that  usual  little  cupboard 
beyond  the  dining-room.  The  little  drawing-room  was  dread- 
full}^  crowded  by  an  ex-nursery  piano,  which  the  Ringwoods 
bestowed  upon  their  friends  ;  and  somebody  was  in  duty  bound 
to  pla}^  upon  it  on  the  evening  of  this  soiree :  though  the  Little 
Sister  chafed  down  stairs  at  the  music.  In  fact  her  very  words 
were  "  Rat  that  piano!"  She  "  ratted  "  the  instrument,  be- 
cause the  music  would  wake  her  little  dears  up  stairs.  And  that 
music  did  wake  them  ;  and  they  howled  melodiously,  and  the 
Little  Sister,  who  was  about  to  serve  Lady  Jane  Tregarvan  with 
some  tea,  dashed  up  stairs  to  the  nursery :  and  Charlotte  had 
reached  the  room  already :  and  she  looked  angr}'  when  the 
Little  Sister  came  in  :  and  she  said,  "  I  am  sure,  Mrs.  Brandon, 
the  people  down  stairs  will  be  wanting  their  tea ; "  and  she 
spoke  with  some  asperity.  And  Mrs.  Brandon  went  down  stairs 
without  one  word  ;  and,  happening  to  be  on  the  landing,  con- 
versing with  a  friend,  and  a  little  out  of  the  way  of  the  duct 
which   the   Miss   Ringwoods  were  performing  —  riding   their 


168  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

great  old  horse,  as  it  were,  and  putting  it  through  its  paces  in 
Mrs.  Firmin's  little  paddock  ;  —  happening,  I  sa^',  to  be  on  the 
landing  when  Caroline  passed,  I  took  a  hand  as  cold  as  stone, 
and  never  saw  a  look  of  grief  more  tragic  than  that  worn  by 
her  poor  little  face  as  it  passed.  "  Mj- children  cried,"  she 
said,  "  and  I  went  up  to  the  nursery.  But  she  don't  want  me 
there  now."  Poor  Little  Sister !  She  humbled  herself  and 
grovelled  before  Charlotte.  You  could  not  help  trampling  upon 
her  then,  madam;  and  I  hated  30U  —  and  a  great  number  of 
other  women.  Ridley  and  I  went  down  to  her  tea-room,  where 
Caroline  resumed  her  place.  She  looked  very  nice  and  prctt}', 
with  her  pale  sweet  face,  and  her  neat  cap  and  blue  ribbon. 
Tortures  I  know  she  was  suflering.  Charlotte  had  been  stab- 
bing her.  Women  will  use  the  edge  sometimes,  and  drive  the 
steel  in.  Charlotte  said  to  me,  some  time  afterwards,  "  I  was 
jealous  of  her,  and  you  were  right ;  and  a  dearer,  moi*e  faithful 
creature  never  lived."  But  who  told  Charlotte  I  said  she  was 
jealous  ?  O  fool !  I  told  Ridley,  and  Mr.  Ridley  told  Mrs. 
Firmin. 

If  Charlotte  stabbed  Caroline,  Caroline  could  not  help  com- 
ing back  again  and  again  to  the  knife.  On  Sundays,  when  she 
was  free,  there  was  always  a  place  for  her  at  Philip's  modest 
table  ;  and  when  Mrs.  Philip  went  to  church,  Caroline  was 
allowed  to  reign  in  the  nurser3^  Sometimes  Charlotte  was 
generous  enough  to  give  Mrs.  Brandon  this  chance.  When 
Philip  took  a  house  —  a  whole  house  to  himself — Phihp's  moth- 
er-in-law proposed  to  come  and  sta}'  with  him,  and  said  that, 
wishing  to  be  beholden  to  no  one,  she  would  pa}^  for  her  board 
and  lodging.  But  Philip  declined  this  treat,  representing,  justly, 
that  his  present  house  was  no  bigger  than  his  former  lodgings. 
"My  poor  love  is  dying  to  have  me,"  Mrs.  Baj-nes  remarked 
on  tills.  "  But  her  husband  is  so  cruel  to  her,  and  keeps  her 
under  such  terror,  that  she  dares  not  call  her  life  her  own." 
Cruel  to  her !  Charlotte  was  the  happiest  of  the  happy  in  her 
little  house.  In  consequence  of  his  parliamentarj^  success, 
Philip  went  regularly  to  chambers  now,  in  the  fond  hope  that 
more  briefs  might  come.  At  chambers  he  likewise  conducted  the 
chief  business  of  his  Review :  and,  at  the  accustomed  hour  of  his 
return,  that  usual  little  procession  of  mother  and  child  and 
nurse  would  be  seen  on  the  watch  for  him ;  and  the  3'oung 
woman  —  the  happiest  young  woman  in  Christendom  —  would 
walk  back  clinging  on  her  husband's  arm. 

All  this  while  letters  came  from  Philip's  dear  father  at  New 
York,  where,  it  appeared,  he  was  engaged  not  only  in  his  pro- 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  169 

fession,  but  in  various  speculations,  with  wliich  he  was  alwa^'S 
about  to  make  his  fortune.  One  day  Philip  got  a  newspaper 
advertising  a  new  insurance  company,  and  saw,  to  his  astonish- 
ment, the  announcement  of  "  Counsel  in  London,  Philip  Firmin, 
Esq.,  Parchment  Buildings,  Temple."  A  paternal  letter  prom- 
ised Philip  great  fees  out  of  this  insurance  company,  but  1  never 
heard  that  poor  Philip  was  an}-  the  richer.  In  fact  his  friends 
advised  him  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  this  insurance  company, 
and  to  make  no  allusion  to  it  in  his  letters.  "  They  feared  the 
Danai,  and  the  gifts  they  brought,"  as  old  Firmin  would  have 
said.  They  had  to  impress  upon  Philip  an  abiding  mistrust  of 
that  wily  old  Greek,  his  father.  Firmin  senior  always  wrote 
hopefully  and  magnificentl}-,  and  persisted  in  believing  or  de- 
claring that  ere  veiy  long  he  should  have  to  announce  to  Philip 
that  his  fortune  was  made.  lie  speculated  in  Wall  Street,  I 
don't  know  in  what  shares,  inventions,  mines,  railways.  One 
day,  some  few  months  after  his  migration  to  Milman  Street, 
Philip,  blushing  and  hanging  down  his  head,  had  to  tell  me  that 
his  father  had  drawn  upon  him  again.  Had  he  not  paid  up  his 
shares  in  a  certain  mine,  they  would  have  been  forfeited,  and 
he  and  his  son  after  him  would  have  lost  a  certain  fortune,  old 
Danaus  said.  I  fear  an  artful,  a  long-bow-pulling  Danaus. 
What,  shall  a  man  have  birth,  wealth,  friends,  high  position, 
and  end  so  that  we  dare  not  leave  him  alone  in  the  room  with 
our  spoons?  "  And  you  have  paid  this  bill  which  the  old  man 
drew?"  we  asked.  Yes,  Philip  had  paid  the  bill.  He  vowed 
he  would  pay  no  more.  But  it  was  not  difficult  to  see  that  the 
doctor  would  draw  more  bills  upon  this  accommodating  banker. 
"  I  dread  the  letters  which  begin  with  a  flourish  about  the  for- 
tune which  he  is  just  going  to  make,"  Philip  said.  He  knew 
that  the  old  parent  prefaced  his  demands  for  money  in  that 
way. 

Mention  has  been  made  of  a  great  medical  discovery  which 
he  had  announced  to  his  correspondent,  Mrs.  Brandon,  and  by 
which  the  doctor  declared  as  usual  that  he  was  about  to  make 
a  fortune.  In  New  York  and  Boston  he  had  tried  experiments 
which  had  been  attended  with  the  most  astonishing  success. 
A  remedy  was  discovered,  the  mere  sale  of  wliich  in  Europe 
and  America  must  bring  an  immense  revenue  to  the  fortunate 
inventors.  For  the  ladies  whom  Mrs.  Brandon  attended,  the 
remedy  was  of  priceless  value.  He  would  send  her  some.  His 
friend.  Captain  Morgan,  of  the  Southampton  packet-ship,  would 
bring  her  some  of  this  astonishing  medicine.  Let  her  try  it. 
Let  her  show  the  accompanying  cases  to  Doctor  Goodenough 


170  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

—  to  an}'  of  his  brother  physicians  in  London.  Though  himself 
an  exile  from  his  country,  he  loved  it,  and  was  proud  in  being 
able  to  confer  upon  it  one  of  the  greatest  blessings  with  which 
science  had  endowed  mankind. 

Goodenough,  I  am  sorry  to  sa}',  had  such  a  mistrust  of  his 
confrere  that  he  chose  to  disbelieve  any  statement  Firmin  made. 
"  I  don't  believe,  my  good  Brandon,  the  fellow  has  nous  enough 
to  light  upon  any  scientific  discover}'  more  useful  than  a  new 
sauce  for  cutlets.  He  invent  anything  but  fibs,  never  !  "  You 
see  this  Goodenough  is  an  obstinate  old  heathen  ;  and  when 
he  has  once  found  reason  to  mistrust  a  man,  he  for  ever  after 
declines  to  believe  him. 

However,  the  doctor  is  a  man  for  e,\Qv  on  the  look-out  for 
more  knowledge  of  his  profession,  and  for  more  remedies  to 
benefit  mankind  :  he  hummed  and  ha'd  over  the  pamphlet,  as 
the  Little  Sister  sat  watching  him  in  his  study.  He  clapped  it 
down  after  a  while,  and  slapped  his  hands  on  his  little  legs  as 
his  wont  is.  "Brandon,"  he  says,  "I  think  there  is  a  great 
deal  in  it,  and  I  think  so  the  more  because  it  turns  out  that 
Firmin  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  discovery,  which  has  been 
made  at  Boston."  In  fact.  Dr.  Firmin,  late  of  London,  had 
only  been  present  in  the  Boston  hospital,  where  the  experi- 
ments were  made  with  the  new  remedy.  He  had  cried  "  Halves," 
and  proposed  to  sell  it  as  a  secret  remedy,  and  the  bottle  which 
he  forwarded  to  our  friend  the  Little  Sister  was  labelled  "  Fir- 
min's  Anodyne."  What  Firmin  did,  indeed,  was  what  he  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  doing.  He  had  taken  another  man's  prop- 
ert}^,  and  was  endeavoring  to  make  a  flourish  with  it.  The 
Little  Sister  returned  home,  then,  with  her  bottle  of  Chloroform 

—  for  this  was  what  Dr.  Firmin  chose  to  call  his  discovery,  and 
he  had  sent  home  a  specimen  of  it ;  as  he  sent  home  a  cask  of 
petroleum  from  Virginia  ;  as  he  sent  proposals  for  new  railways 
upon  which  he  promised  Philip  a  munificent  commission,  if  his 
son  could  but  place  the  shares  amongst  his  friends. 

And  with  regard  to  these  valuables,  the  sanguine  doctor  got 
to  believe  that  he  really  was  endowing  his  son  with  large  sums 
of  money.  "  M}'  boy  has  set  up  a  house,  and  has  a  wife  and 
two  children,  the  3'Oung  jackanapes  !  "  he  would  say  to  people 
in  New  York  ;  "as  if  he  had  not  been  extravagant  enough  in 
former  days  !  When  I  married,  I  had  private  means,  and  mar- 
ried a  nobleman's  niece  with  a  large  fortune.  Neither  of  these 
two  young  folks  has  a  penny.  Well,  well,  the  old  father  must 
help  them  as  well  as  he  can  !  "  And  I  am  told  there  were  ladies 
who  dropped  the  tear  of  sensibility,  and  said,  "What  a  fond 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  171 

father  this  doctor  is  !  How  he  sacrifices  himself  for  that  scape- 
grace of  a  son  !  Think  of  the  dear  doctor  at  his  age,  toiling 
cheerfully  for  that  young  man,  who  helped  to  ruin  him  !  "  And 
Firmin  sighed  ;  and  passed  a  beautiful  white  handkerchief  over 
his  e3'es  with  a  beautiful  white  hand  ;  and,  I  believe,  reallj'  cried  ; 
and  thought  himself  quite  a  good,  affectionate,  injured  man. 
He  held  the  plate  at  church  ;  he  looked  very  handsome  and  tall, 
and  bowed  with  a  charming  melancholy  grace  to  the  ladies  as 
the}'  put  in  their  contributions.  The  dear  man  !  His  plate  was 
fuller  than  otlier  people's  —  so  a  traveller  told  us  who  saw  him 
in  New  York  ;  and  described  a  very  choice  dinner  which  the 
doctor  gave  to  a  few  friends,  at  one  of  the  smartest  hotels  just 
then  opened. 

With  all  the  Little  Sister's  good  management  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Philip  were  only  able  to  install  themselves  in  their  new  house  at 
a  considerable  expense,  and  beyond  that  great  Eingwood  piano 
which  swaggered  in  Philip's  little  drawing-room,  I  am  constrained 
to  say  that  there  was  scarce  any  furniture  at  all.  One  of  the  rail- 
way accounts  was  not  paid  as  yet,  and  poor  Philip  could  not  feed 
upon  mere  paper  promises  to  pay.  Nor  was  he  inclined  to  accept 
the  offers  of  private  friends,  who  were  willing  enough  to  be  his 
bankers.  "  One  in  a  famih'  is  enough  for  that  kind  of  business," 
he  said,  gloomily  ;  and  it  came  out  that  again  and  again  the 
interesting  exile  at  New  Y^ork  who  was  deploring  his  son's 
extravagance  and  foolish  marriage,  had  drawn  bills  upon  Philip 
which  our  friend  accepted  and  paid  —  bills,  who  knows  to  what 
amount?  He  has  never  told;  and  the  engaging  parent  who 
robbed  him  —  must  I  use  a  word  so  nnpolite  ?  —  will  never  now 
tell  to  what  extent  he  helped  himself  to  Philip's  small  means. 
This  I  know,  that  when  autumn  came  —  when  September  was 
past  —  we  in  our  cosy  little  retreat  at  the  seaside  received  a  let- 
ter from  the  Little  Sister,  in  her  dear  little  bad  spelling,  (about 
which  there  used  to  be  somehow  a  pathos  which  the  ver^-  finest 
writing  does  not  possess  ;)  there  came,  I  sa}",  a  letter  from  the 
Little  Sister  in  which  she  told  us,  with  many  dashes,  that  dear 
Mrs.  Philip  and  the  children  were  pining  and  sick  in  London, 
and  "that  Philip,  he  had  too  much  pride  and  sperit  to  take 
mone^'  from  any  one  ;  that  Mr.  Tregarvan  was  awa}'  travel- 
ling on  the  continent,  and  that  wretch  —  that  monster,  you 
hioio  ivho  —  have  drawn  upon  I'hilip  again  for  money,  and 
again  he  have  paid,  and  the  dear,  dear  children  can't  have 
fresh  air." 

"  Did  she  tell  j'ou,"  said  Philip,  brushing  his  hands  across 
his  eyes  when  a  friend  came  to  remonstrate  with  him,  "  did  she 


172  THE   ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

tell  3011  that  she  brought  me  money  herself,  but  we  would  not 
use  it  ?  Look !  I  have  her  little  marriage  gift  yonder  in  my 
desk,  and  pray  God  I  shall  be  able  to  leave  it  to  my  children. 
The  fact  is,  the  doctor  has  drawn  upon  me  as  usual ;  he  is  going 
to  make  a  fortune  next  week.  I  have  paid  another  bill  of  his. 
The  parliamentary  agents  are  out  of  town,  at  their  moors  in  Scot- 
land, I  suppose.  The  air  of  Russell  Square  is  uncommonly  whole- 
some, and  when  the  babies  have  had  enough  of  that,  why,  they 
must  change  it  for  Brunswick  Square.  Talk  about  the  countr}' ! 
what  countr}'^  can  be  more  quiet  than  Guildford  Street  in  Sep- 
tember? I  stretch  out  of  a  morning,  and  breathe  the  mountain- 
air  on  Ludgate  Hill."  And  with  these  dismal  pleasantries  and 
jokes  our  friend 'chose  to  put  a  good  face  upon  bad  fortune. 
The  kinsmen  of  Ringwood  offered  hospitality  kindly  enough, 
but  how  was  poor  Philip  to  pay  railway  expenses  for  servants, 
babies,  and  wife  ?  In  this  strait  Tregarvan  from  abroad,  having 
found  out  some  monstrous  design  of  Rass —  of  the  gi'eat  Power 
of  which  he  stood  in  daily  terror,  and  which,  as  we  are  in  strict 
amity  with  that  Power,  no  other  Power  shall  induce  me  to  name 
—  Tregarvan  wrote  to  his  editor,  and  communicated  to  him  in 
confidence  a  most  prodigious  and  nefarious  plot  against  the 
liberties  of  all  the  I'est  of  Europe,  in  which  the  Power  in  ques- 
tion was  engaged,  and  in  a  postscript  added,  "  B3'  the  wa^-,  the 
Michaelmas  quarter  is  due,  and  I  send  you  a  cheque,"  «Scc.  &c. 
O  precious  postscript. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  3'ou  it  would  be  so?"  said  my  wife,  with  a 
self-satisfied  air.  "  Was  I  not  certain  that  succor  would 
come  ?  " 

And  succor  did  come,  sure  enough  ;  and  a  ver3'  happ3'  little 
part3^  went  down  to  Brighton  in  a  second-class  carriage,  and 
got  an  extraordinarily  cheap  lodging,  and  the  roses  came  back 
to  the  little  pale  cheeks,  and  mamma  was  wonderfully'  invig- 
orated and  refreshed,  as  all  her  friends  could  have  seen  when 
the  little  famil3'  came  back  to  town,  onh^  there  was  such  a  thick 
dun  fog  that  it  was  impossible  to  see  complexions  at  all. 

When  the  shooting  season  was  come  to  an  end,  the  parlia- 
mentar3'  agents  who  had  employed  Philip,  came  back  to  Lon- 
don ;  and,  I  am  happ3^  to  sa3',  gave  him  a  cheque  for  his  little 
account.  M3'  wife  cried,  "  Did  I  not  tell  you  so?  "  more  than 
ever.  "Is  not  ever3thing  for  the  best?  I  knew  dear  Philip 
would  prosper !  " 

Ever3'thing  was  for  the  best,  was  it?  Philip  was  sure  to 
prosper,  was  he  ?  What  do  3'ou  think  of  the  next  news  which 
the  poor  fellow  brought  to  us  ?    One  night  in  December  he  came 


'    ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  173 

to  us,  and  I  saw  by  bis  face  that  some  event  of  importance  bad 
befallen  bim. 

"  I  am  almost  beart-broken,"  be  said,  tbumping  on  tbe  table 
when  the  young  ones  bad  retreated  from  it.  "I  don't  know 
what  to  do.  I  have  not  told  you  all.  I  have  paid  four  bills  for 
bim  already,  and  now  be  has  —  be  has  signed  my  name." 

"  Who  has?" 

"  He  at  New  York.  Tou  know,"  said  poor  Philip.  "  I 
tell  you  he  has  put  my  name  on  a  bill,  and  without  my 
autborit3\" 

"  Gracious  heavens!  You  mean  your  father  has  for — "  I 
could  not  saj'  the  word. 

"  Yes,"  groaned  Philip.  "  Here  is  a  letter  from  bim  ;  "  and 
be  banded  a  letter  across  tbe  table  in  the  doctor's  weU-known 
handwriting. 

"  Dearest  Philip,"  the  father  wrote,  "  a  sad  misfortune  has  befallen 
me,  which  I  liad  lioped  to  conceal,  or  at  any  rate,  to  avert  from  my  dear 
son.  For  you,  Philip,  are  a  participator  in  that  misfortune  through  the 
imprudence  —  mustLsayif? — of  your  father.  Would  I  had  struck  off 
the  hand  which  has  done  the  deed,  ere  it  had  been  done !  But  the  fault  has 
taken  wings  and  flown  out  of  my  reach.  Immerltiis,  dear  boy,  you  have  to 
suffer  for  the  delicta  mnjoruin.  Ah,  that  a  father  should  have  to  own  his 
fault ;  to  kneel  and  ask  pardon  of  his  son  ! 

"  I  am  engaged  in  many  speculations.  Some  have  succeeded  beyond  my 
wildest  hopes  :  some  have  taken  in  the  most  rational,  the  most  prudent,  the 
least  sanguine  of  our  capitalists  in  Wall  Street,  and  promising  the  greatest 
results  have  ended  in  the  most  extreme  failure!  To  meet  a  call  in  an 
imdcrtaking  which  seemed  to  offer  the  most  certain  prospect.s  of 
success,  which  seemed  to  promise  a  fortune  for  me  and  my  boy,  and  your 
dear  children,  I  put  in  amongst  other  securities  which  1  had  to  realize  on  a 
sudden,  a  bill,  on  which  I  used  j'our  name.  I  dated  it  as  drawn  six  montlis 
back  by  me  at  New  York,  on  you  at  Parchment  Buildings,  Temple;  and  I 
wrote  your  acceptance,  as  though  the  signature  were  yours.  I  give  myself 
up  to  you.  I  tell  you  what  I  have  done.  Make  the  matter  public.  Give 
my  confession  to  the  world,  as  here  I  write,  and  sign  it,  and  your  father  is 
branded  for  ever  to  the  world  as  a Spare  me  the  word  ! 

"  As  I  live,  as  I  hope  for  your  forgiveness,  long  ere  that  bill  became  due 
—  it  is  at  five  months'  date,  for  .386/.  4s.  Zd.  value  received,  and  dated  from 
the  Temple,  on  the  4th  of  July  —  I  passed  it  to  one  who  promised  to 
keep  it  until  I  myself  should  redeem  it !  The  commission  which  he  charged 
me  was  enormous,  rascu/ly ;  and  not  content  with  the  immense  interest  wliich 
he  extorted  from  me,  the  scoundrel  has  passed  the  bill  away,  and  it  is  in 
Europe,  in  the  h*ids  of  an  enemy. 

"You  remember  Tufton  Ilunf?  Yes.  You  mos?  ;W/// chastised  him. 
The  wretch  lately  made  his  detested  appearance  in  this  city,  associated  with 
the  lowest  of  the  base,  and  endeavored  to  resume  his  old  practice  of  threats,  ca- 
joleries, a.nd  extortions  !  In  a  fatal  hour  the  villain  heard  of  the  bill  of  which 
I  have  warned  you.  He  purcliased  it  from  the  gambler,  to  whom  it  had 
been  passed.  As  New  York  was  speedily  too  hot  to  hold  him  {for  the  un- 
happy man  has  even  left  me  to  pay  his  hotel  score)  he  has  fled  —  and  fled  to 


174  THE   ADVENTURES  OF   PHILIP 

Europe  —  taking  with  him  that  fatal  bill,  which  he  says  he  knows  you  will 
pay.  Ah !  dear  Philip,  if  that  bill  were  but  once  out  of  the  wretch's  hands ! 
What  sleepless  hours  of  agony  should  I  be  spared !  I  pray  you,  I  implore 
you,  make  every  sacrifice  to  meet  it !  You  will  not  disown  it  1  No.  As 
you  have  children  of  your  own  —  as  you  love  them  — you  would  not  will- 
ingly let  them  leave  a  dishonored 

"  Father." 

" I  have  a  share  in  a  great  medical  discovery*  regarding  which  I  have 
written  to  our  friend,  Mrs.  Brandon,  and  which  is  sure  to  reahze  an  im- 
mense profit,  as  introduced  into  England  by  a  physician  so  well  known  — 
may  I  not  say  professionally  ?  respected  as  myself.  The  very  first  profits  re- 
sulting from  that  discovery  I  promise,  on  my  honor,  to' devote  to  you. 
They  will  very  soon /ar  more  than  repay  the  loss  which  my  imprudence  lias 
brought  on  my  dear  boy.    Earewell !    Love  to  your  wife  and  little  ones. 

"  G.  B.  F." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

ITEC    PLENA    CRDORIS   IIIRUDO. 

The  reading  of  this  precious  letter  filled  Philip's  friend  with 
an  inward  indignation  which  it  was  very  hard  to  control  or  dis- 
guise. It  is  no  pleasant  task  to  tell  a  gentleman  that  his  father 
is  a  rogue.  Old  Firmin  would  have  been  hanged  a  few  years 
earlier,  for  practices  like  these.  As  3'ou  talk  with  a  very  great 
scoundrel,  or  with  a  madman,  has  not  the  respected  reader 
sometimes  reflected,  with  a  grim  self-humiliation,  how  the  fel- 
low is  of  our  own  kind  ;  and  homo  est  ?  Let  us,  dearly  beloved, 
who  are  outside  —  I  mean  outside  the  hulks  or  the  as^'lum  —  be 
thankful  that  we  have  to  pay  a  barber  for  snipping  our  hair, 
and  are  entrusted  with  the  choice  of  the  cut  of  our  own  jerkins. 
As  poor  Philip  read  his  father's  letter,  ni}'  thought  was  :  "  And 
I  can  remember  the  soft  white  hand  of  that  scoundrel,  which 
lias  just  been  forging  his  own  son's  name,  putting  sovereigns 
into  my  own  palm,  when  I  was  a  schoolboy."  I  always  liked 
that  man  :  —  but  the  story  is  not  de  me  —  it  regards  Philip. 

"  You  won't  pay  this  bill?"  Philip's  friend  indignantly  said, 
then. 

"  What  can  I  do?"  says  poor  Phil,  shaking^  sad  head. 

"  You  are  not  worth  five  hundred  pounds  in  the  world,"  re- 
marks the  friend. 

*  jEther  was  first  employed,  I  believe,  in  America  ;  and  I  hope  ihe 
reader  will  excuse  the  substitution  of  Chloroform  in  this  instance.  — 
W.  M.  T. 


ox  HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  175 

"  Who  ever  said  I  was?     I  am  worth  this  bill :  or  my  credit 
is,"  answers  tlie  victim, 

"  If  you  pa3^  this,  he  will  draw  more." 

"  I  clare  say  he  will :  "  that  Firmin  admits. 

"  And  he  will  continue  to  draw  as  long  as  there  is  a  drop  of 
blood  to  be  had  out  of  j'ou." 

"  Yes,"  owns  poor  Philip,  putting  a  finger  to  his  lip.  He 
thought  I  might  be  about  to  speak.  His  artless  wife  and  mine 
were  conversing  at  that  moment  upon  the  respective  merits  of 
some  sweet  chintzes  which  they  had  seen  at  Schoolbred's  in 
Tottenham  Court  Road,  and  which  were  so  cheap  and  pleasant, 
and  lively  to  look  at !  Reallj'  those  drawing-room  curtains 
would  cost  scarcely'  anything !  Our  Regulus,  you  see,  before 
stepping  into  his  torture-tub,  was  smiling  on  his  friends,  and 
talking  upholstery  with  a  cheerful,  smirking  countenance.  On 
chintz,  or  some  other  household  errand,  the  ladies  went  prat-- 
tling  otf:  but  there  was  no  care,  save  for  husband  and  children, 
in  Charlotte's  poor  little  innocent  heart  just  then. 

"Nice  to  hear  her  talking  about  sweet  drawing-room  chintzes, 
isn't  it?"  says  Philip.  "  Shall  we  try  Schoolbred's  or  the  other 
shop?  "  And  then  he  laughs.     It  was  not  a  very  lively  laugh. 

"  Y^ou  mean  that  you  are  determined,  then,  on  —  " 

"  On  acknowledging  my  signature  ?  Of  course,"  says  Philip, 
"if  ever  it  is  presented  to  me,  I  would  own  it."  And  having 
formed  and  announced  this  resolution,  I  knew  m^'  stubborn 
friend  too  well  to  think  that  he  ever  would  shirk  it. 

The  most  exasperating  part  of  the  matter  was,  that  however 
generously  Philip's  friends  might  be  disposed  towards  him,  they 
could  not  in  this  case  give  him  a  helping  hand.  The  doctor 
would  draw  more  bills,  and  more.  As  sure  as  Philip  supplied, 
the  parent  would  ask ;  and  that  devouring  dragon  of  a  doctor 
had  stomach  enough  for  the  blood  of  all  of  us,  were  we  inclined 
to  gi^-e  it.  In  fact,  Philip  saw  as  much,  and  owned  everything 
with  his  usual  candor.  "  I  see  what  is  going  on  in  your  mind, 
old  boy,"  the  poor  fellow  said,  "  as  well  as  if  you  spoke.  You 
mean  that  I  am  helpless  and  irreclaimable,  and  doomed  to  hope- 
less ruin.  So  it  would  seem.  A  man  can't  escape  his  fate, 
friend,  and  my  father  has  made  mine  for  me.  If  I  manage  to 
struggle  through  the  payment  of  this  bill,  of  course  he  will  draw 
another.  My  only  chance  of  escai)e  is,  that  he  should  succeed 
in  some  of  his  speculations.  As  he  is  alwa3-s  gambling,  there 
ma}'  be  some  luck  for  him  one  da}'-  or  another.  He  won't  bene- 
fit me,  then.  That  is  not  his  wa}-.  If  he  makes  a  coiqy^  he  mil 
keep  the  money,  or  spend  it.     He  won't  give  me  any.     But  he 


176  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

will  not  draw  upon  me  as  he  does  now,  or  send  forth  fancy 
imitations  of  the  filial  autograph.  It  is  a  blessing  to  have  such 
a*  father,  isn't  it?  I  sa}^,  Pen,  as  I  think  from  whom  I  am 
descended,  and  look  at  30ur  spoons,  I  am  astonished  I  have 
not  put  au}^  of  them  in  my  pocket.  You  leave  me  in  the  room 
with  'em  quite  unprotected.  I  sa}',  it  is  quite  affecting  the  way 
in  which  you  and  your  dear  wife  have  confidence  in  me."  And 
with  a  bitter  execration  at  his  fate,  the  poor  fellow  pauses  for 
a  moment  in  his  lament. 

His  father  was  his  fate,  he  seemed  to  think,  and  there  were 
no  means  of  averting  it.  "  You  remember  that  picture  of 
Abraham  and  Isaac  in  the  doctor's  study  in  Old  Parr  Street?" 
he  M'ould  say.  "  My  patriarch  has  tied  me  up,  and  had  the 
knife  in  me  repeatedl}'.  He  does  not  sacrifice  me  at  one  opera- 
tion ;  but  there  will  be  a  final  one  some  dav,  and  I  shall  bleed 
no  more.  It's  gay  and  amusing,  isn't  it?  Especially  when  one 
has  a  wife  and  children."  I,  for  m}'  part,  felt  so  indignant, 
that  I  was  minded  to  advertise  in  the  papers  that  all  accept- 
ances drawn  in  Philip's  name  were  forgeries ;  and  let  his  father 
take  the  consequences  of  his  own  act.  But  the  consequences 
would  have  been  life  imprisonment  for  the  old  man,  and  almost 
as  much  disgrace  and  ruin  for  the  j'oung  one,  as  were  actually 
impending.  He  pointed  out  this  clearly  enough  ;  nor  could  we 
altogether  gainsa}'  his  dismal  logic.  It  was  better,  at  any  rate, 
to  meet  his  bill,  and  give  the  doctor  warning  for  the  future. 
Well :  perhaps  it  was  ;  only  suppose  the  doctor  should  take  the 
warning  in  good  part,  accept  the  rebuke  with  perfect  meekness, 
and  at  an  early  opportunity  commit  another  forger}'  ?  To  this 
Philip  replied,  that  no  man  could  resist  his  fate  :  that  he  had 
always  expected  his  own  doom  through  his  father :  that  when 
the  elder  went  to  America  he  thought  possibly  the  charm  was 
broken;  "but  you  see  it  is  not,"  groaned  Philip,  "and  my 
father's  emissaries  reach  me,  and  I  am  still  under  the  spell." 
The  bearer  of  the  bowstring,  we  know,  was  on  his  wa}',  and 
would  deliver  his  grim  message  ere  long. 

Having  frequently  succeeded  in  extorting  money  from  Dr. 
Firmin,  Mr.  Tufton  Hunt  thought  he  could  not  do  better  than 
follow  his  banker  across  the  Atlantic  ;  and  we  need  not  describe 
the  annoyance  and  rage  of  the  doctor  on  finding  this  black  care 
still  behind  his  back.  He  had  not  much  to  give  ;  indeed  the 
sum  which  he  took  awa}'  with  him,  and  of  which  he  robbed  his 
son  and  his  other  creditors,  was  but  small :  but  Hunt  was  bent 
upon  having  a  portion  of  this  ;  and,  of  course,  hinted  that,  if 
the  doctor  refused,  he  would  carry  to  the  New  Y'ork  press  the 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  177 

particulars  of  Firmin's  early  career  and  latest  defalcations. 
Mr.  Hunt  had  been  under  the  gallery  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons half  a  dozen  times,  and  knew  our  public  men  b}-  sight. 
In  the  course  of  a  pretty  long  and  disreputable  career  he  had 
learned  anecdotes  regarding  members  of  the  aristocracy,  turf- 
men and  the  like  ;  and  he  offered  to  sell  this  precious  knowledge 
of  his  to  more  than  one  American  paper,  as  other  amiable 
exiles  from  our  country  have  done.  But  Hunt  was  too  old, 
and  his  stories  too  stale  for  the  New  York  public.  They  dated 
from  George  IV.,  and  the  boxing  and  coaching  times.  He 
found  but  little  market  for  his  wares  ;  and  the  tipsy  parson 
reeled  from  tavern  to  bar,  only  the  object  of  scorn  to  younger 
reprobates  who  despised  his  old-fashioned  stories,  and  could 
top  them  with  blackguardism  of  a  much  more  modern  date. 

After  some  two  years'  sojourn  in  the  United  States,  this 
worthy  felt  the  passionate  longing  to  revisit  his  native  country 
which  generous  hearts  often  experience,  and  made  his  way 
from  Liverpool  to  London  ;  and  when  in  London  directed  his 
steps  to  the  house  of  the  Little  Sister,  of  which  he  expected  to 
find  Philip  still  an  inmate.  Although  Hunt  had  been  once 
kicked  out  of  the  premises,  he  felt  little  shame  now  about  re- 
entering them.  He  had  that  in  his  pocket  which  would  insure 
him  respectful  behavior  from  Philip.  What  were  the  circum- 
stances under  which  that  forged  bill  was  obtained  ?  Was  it  a 
speculation  between  Hunt  and  Philip's  father?  Did  Hunt  sug- 
gest that,  to  screen  the  elder  Firmin  from  disgrace  and  ruin, 
Philip  would  assuredl}'  take  the  bill  up  ?  That  a  forged  signa- 
ture was,  in  fact,  a  better  document  than  a  genuine  acceptance  ? 
We  shall  never  know  the  truth  regarding  this  transaction  now. 
We  have  but  the  statements  of  the  two  parties  concerned  ;  and 
as  both  of  them,  I  grieve  to  saj',  are  entirel3'  unworthy  of  credit, 
we  must  remain  in  ignorance  regarding  this  matter.  Perhaps 
Hunt  forged  Philip's  acceptance  :  perhaps  his  unhapp}'  father 
wrote  it :  perhaps  the  doctor's  storj-  that  the  paper  was  extorted 
from  him  was  true,  perhaps  false.  AVhat  matters  ?  Both  tlie 
men  have  passed  awaj'  from  amongst  us,  and  will  write  and 
speak  no  more  lies. 

Caroline  was  absent  from  home,  when  Hunt  paid  his  first 
visit  after  his  return  from  America.  Her  servant  described  tlie 
man,  and  his  appearance.  Mrs.  Brandon  felt  sure  that  Hunt 
was  her  visitor,  and  foreboded  no  good  to  Philip  from  the  par- 
son's arrival.  In  former  days  we  have  seen  how  the  Little 
Sister  had  found  favor  in  the  eyes  of  this  man.  The  besotted 
creatui'e,  shunned  of  men,  stained  with  crime,  drink,  debt,  had 

37 


178  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

still  no  little  vanity  in  his  composition,  and  gave  himself  airs  in 
the  tavern  parlors  which  he  frequented.  Because  he  had  been 
at  the  University  thirty  3'ears  ago,  his  idea  was  that  he  was 
superior  to  ordinary  men  who  had  not  had  the  benefit  of  an 
education  at  Oxford  or  Cambridge  ;  and  that  the  "  snobs,"  as 
he  called  them,  respected  him.  He  would  assume  grandiose 
airs  in  talking  to  a  tradesman  ever  so  wealthy ;  speak  to 
such  a  man  by  his  surname  ;  and  deem  that  he  honored  him 
b}^  his  patronage  and  conversation.  The  Little  Sister's  gram- 
mar, I  have  told  3'ou,  was  not  good  ;  her  poor  little  ^'s  were 
sadly  irregular.  A  letter  was  a  painful  task  to  her.  She  knew 
how  ill  she  performed  it,  and  that  she  was  for  ever  making 
blunders. 

She  would  invent  a  thousand  funn}^  little  pleas  and  excuses 
for  her  faults  of  writing.  With  all  the  blunders  of  spelling,  her 
little  letters  had  a  pathos  which  somehow  brought  tears  into  the 
eyes.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Hunt  believed  himself  to  be  this  woman's 
superior.  He  thought  his  University  education  gave  him  a 
claim  upon  her  respect,  and  draped  himself  and  swaggered 
before  her  and  others  in  his  dingy  college  gown.  He  had 
paraded  his  Master  of  Arts  degree  in  manj-  thousand  tavern 
parlors,  where  his  Greek  and  learning  had  got  him  a  kind  of 
respect.  He  patronized  landlords,  and  strutted  by  hostesses' 
bars  with  a  vinous  leer  or  a  tipsy  solemnity.  He  must  have 
been  very  far  gone  and  debased  indeed  when  he  could  still  thijik 
that  he  was  any  living  man's  better:  —  he,  who  ought  to  have 
waited  on  the  waiters,  and  blacked  Boots's  own  shoes.  When 
he  had  reached  a  certain  stage  of  liquor  he  commonl}'  began 
to  brag  about  the  Universit}',  and  recite  the  titles  of  his  friends 
of  early  days.  Never  w\as  kicking  more  righteously  admin- 
istered than  that  which  Philip  once  bestowed  on  this  miscreant. 
The  fellow  took  to  the  gutter  as  naturally  as  to  his  bed,  Firmin 
used  to  say  ;  and  vowed  that  the  washing  there  was  a  novelty 
which  did  him  good. 

Mrs.  Brandon  soon  found  that  her  surmises  were  correct 
regarding  her  nameless  visitor.  Nex't  day,  as  she  was  watering 
some  little  flowers  in  her  window,  she  looked  from  it  into  the 
street,  where  she  saw  the  shamliling  parson  leering  up  at  her. 
When  she  saw  him  he  took  off  his  greasy  hat  and  made  her  a 
bow.  At  the  moment  she  saw  him,  she  felt  that  he  was  come 
upon  some  errand  hostile  to  Philip.  She  knew  he  meant  mis- 
chief as  he  looked  up  with  that  sodden  face,  those  bloodshot 
eyes,  those  unshorn,  grinning  lips. 

She  might  have  been  inclined  to  faint,  or  disposed  to  scream, 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  179 

or  to  hide  herself  from  the  man,  the  sight  of  whom  she  loathed. 
She  did  not  faint,  or  hide  herself,  or  cry  out :  but  she  instantlj^ 
nodded  her  head  and  smiled  in  the  most  engaging  manner  on 
tliat  unwelcome,  dingy  stranger.  She  went  to  her  door ;  she 
opened  it  (though  her  heart  beat  so  that  3'ou  might  have  heard 
it,  as  she  told  her  friend  afterwards).  She  stood  there  a  moment 
archly  smiling  at  him,  and  she  beckoned  him  into  her  house 
with  a  little  gesture  of  welcome.  "Law  bless  us"  (these,  I 
have  reason  to  believe,  were  her  very  words) —  "  Law  bless  us, 
Mr.  Hunt,  where  ever  have  you  been  this  ever  so  long?  "  And  a 
smiling  face  looked  at  him  resolutely  from  under  a  neat  cap  and 
fresh  ribbon.  Why,  I  know  some  women  can  smile,  and  look 
at  ease,  when  they  sit  down  in  a  dentist's  chair. 

"  Law  bless  me,  Mr.  Hunt,"  then  says  the  artless  creature, 
"  who  ever  would  have  thought  of  seeing  you^  I  do  declare  ! " 
And  she  makes  a  nice  cheery  little  curts}',  and  looks  quite 
ga}-,  pleased,  and  pretty  ;  and  so  did  Judith  look  ga}',  no  doubt, 
and  smile,  and  prattle  before  Holofernes  ;  and  then  of  coui'se 
she  said,  "  Won't  you  step  in?"  And  then  Hunt  swaggered 
up  the  steps  of  the  house,  and  entered  the  little  parlor,  into 
which  the  kind  reader  has  often  been  conducted,  with  its  neat 
little  ornaments,  its  pictures,  its  glistening  corner  cupboard, 
and  its  well-scrubbed,  shining  furniture. 

"  How  is  the  captain?"  asks  the  man  (alone  in  the  company 
of  this  Little  Sister,  the  fellow's  own  heart  began  to  beat,  and 
his  bloodshot  eyes  to  glisten). 

He  had  not  heard  about  poor  pa?  "That  shows  how  long 
you  have  been  away  ! "  Mrs.  Brandon  remarks,  and  mentions 
the  date  of  her  father's  fatal  illness.  Yes  :  she  was  alone  now, 
and  had  to  care  for  herself;  and  straightway,  I  have  no  doubt, 
IMrs.  Brandon  asked  Mr.  Hunt  whether  he  would  "  take  "  any- 
thing. Indeed,  that  good  little  woman  was  for  ever  pressing 
her  friends  to  "  take"  something,  and  would  have  thought  the 
laws  of  hospitality  violated  unless  she  had  made  this  offer. 

Hunt  was  never  known  to  refuse  a  proposal  of  this  sort.  He 
would  take  a  taste  of  something  —  of  something  warm.  He  had 
had  fever  and  ague  at  New  York,  and  the  malady  hung  about 
him.  Mrs.  Brandon  was  straightway  very  much  interested  to 
hear  about  Mr.  Hunt's  complaint,  and  knew  that  a  comfortable 
glass  was  very  efficacious  in  removing  threatening  fever.  Her 
nimble,  neat  little  hands  mixed  him  a  cup.  He  could  not  but 
see  what  a  trim  little  housekeeper  she  was.  "  Ah,  Mrs.  Bran- 
don, if  I  had  had  such  a  kind  friend  watching  over  me,  I  should 
not  be  such  a,  wreck  as  I  am!"  he  sighed.     He  must  have 


180  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

advanced  to  a  second,  na_y,  a  third  glass,  when  he  sighed  and 
became  sentimental  regarding  his  own  unhappy  condition  ;  and 
Brandon  owned  to  her  friends  afterwards  that  she  made  those 
glasses  very  strong. 

Having  "  taken  something,"  in  considerable  quantities,  then, 
Hunt  condescended  to  ask  how  his  hostess  was  getting  on,  and 
how  were  her  lodgers?  How  she  wAs  getting  on?  Brandon 
drew  tlie  most  cheerful  picture  of  herself  and  her  circumstances. 
The  apartments  let  well  and  were  never  empty.  Thanks  to 
good  Dr.  Goodenough  and  other  friends,  she  had  as  much  pro- 
fessional occupation  as  she  could  desire.  Since  you  know  ivho 
has  left  the  country',  she  said,  her  mind  had  been  ever  so  much 
easier.  As  long  as  he  was  near,  she  never  felt  secure.  But 
he  was  gone,  and  bad  luck  go  with  him !  said  this  vindictive 
Little  Sister. 

"  Was  his  son  still  lodging  up  stairs?  "  asked  Mr.  Hunt. 

On  this,  what  does  Mrs.  Brandon  do  but  begin  a  most  angry 
attack  upon  Philip  and  his  famil3^  He  lodge  there  ?  No,  thank 
goodness  !  She  had  had  enough  of  him  and  his  wife,  with  her 
airs  and  graces,  and  the  children  crying  all  night,  and  the  furni- 
ture spoiled,  and  the  bills  not  even  paid!  ''  I  wanted  him  to 
think  that  me  and  Philip  was  friends  no  longer ;  and  heaven 
forgive  me  for  telling  stories  !  I  know  this  fellow  means  no  good 
to  Philip  ;  and  before  long  I  will  know  what  he  means,  that  I 
will,"  she  vowed. 

For,  on  the  very  day  when  Mr.  Hunt  paid  her  a  visit,  Mrs. 
Brandon  came  to  see  Philip's  friends,  and  acquaint  them  with 
Hunt's  arrival.  We  could  not  be  sure  that  he  was  the  bearer 
of  the  forged  bill  with  which  poor  Philip  was  threatened.  As 
yet  Plunt  had  made  no  allusion  to  it.  But,  though  we  are  far 
from  sanctioning  deceit  or  hypocrisj-,  we  own  that  we  were  not 
very  angry  with  the  Little  Sister  for  emplo34ng  dissimulation  in 
the  present  instance,  and  inducing  Hunt  to  believe  that  she  was 
by  no  means  an  accomplice  of  Philip.  If  Philip's  wife  pardoned 
her,  ought  his  friends  to  be  less  forgiving?  To  do  right,  you 
know  you  must  not  do  wrong ;  though  I  own  this  was  one  of 
the  cases  in  which  I  am  inclined  not  to  deal  very  hardly  with 
the  well-meaning  little  criminal. 

Now,  Charlotte  had  to  pardon  (and  for  this  fault,  if  not  for 
some  others,  Charlotte  did  most  heartily  pardon)  our  little 
friend,  for  this  reason,  that  Brandon  most  wantonly  maligned 
her.  When  Hunt  asked  what  sort  of  wife  Philip  had  mamed? 
Mrs.  Brandon  declared  that  Mrs.  Philip  was  a  pert,  odious  little 
thing  ;  that  she  gave  herself  airs,  neglected  her  children,  bullied 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.   "       181 

her  husband,  and  what  not;  and,  finally,  Brandon  vowed  that 
she  disliked  Charlotte,  and  was  very  glad  to  get  her  out  of  the 
house  :  and  that  Philip  was  not  the  same  Philip  since  he  mar- 
ried her,  and  that  he  gave  himself  airs,  and  was  rude,  and  in  all 
things  led  by  his  wife  ;  and  to  get  rid  of  them  was  a  good  rid- 
dance. 

Hunt  gracefully  suggested  that  quarrels  between  landladies 
and  tenants  were  not  unusual ;  that  lodgers  sometimes  did  not 
pay  their  rent  punctually  ;  that  others  were  unreasonably  anx- 
ious about  the  consumption  of  their  groceries,  liquors,  and  so 
forth ;  and  Uttle  Brandon,  who,  rather  than  steal  a  pennyworth 
from  her  Philip,  would  have  cut  her  hand  off,  laughed  at  her 
guest's  joke,  and  pretended  to  be  amused  with  his  knowing 
hints  that  she  was  a  rogue.  There  was  not  a  word  he  said  but 
she  received  it  with  a  gracious  acquiescence  :  she  might  shudder 
inwardly  at  the  leering  familiarity  of  the  odious  tipsy  wretch, 
but  she  gave  no  outward  sign  of  disgust  or  fear.  She  allowed 
him  to  talk  as  much  as  he  would,  in  hopes  that  he  would  come 
to  a  subject  which  deeply  interested  her.  She  asked  about  the 
doctor,  and  what  he  was  doing,  and  whether  it  was  likely  that  he 
would  ever  be  able  to  pay  back  any  of  that  money  which  he  had 
taken  from  his  son  ?  And  she  spoke  with  an  indifferent  tone, 
pretending  to  be  ver}-  busy  over  some  work  at  which  she  was 
stitching. 

"  Oh,  you  are  still  hankering  after  him,"  says  the  chaplain, 
winking  a  bloodshot  eye. 

"  Hankering  after  that  old  man  !  What  should  I  care  for 
him  ?  As  if  he  hadn't  done  me  harm  enough  already  !  "  cries 
poor  Caroline. 

"  Yes.  But  women  don't  dislike  a  man  the  worse  for  a  little 
ill-usage,"  suggests  Hunt.  No  doubt  the  fellow  had  made  his 
own  experiments  on  woman's  fidelity. 

"  Well,  I  suppose,"  says  Brandon,  with  a  toss  of  her  head, 
"  women  ma}'  get  tired  as  well  as  men,  mayn't  they?  I  found 
out  that  man,  and  wearied  of  him  j-ears  and  3-ears  ago.  Another 
little  drop  out  of  the  green  bottle,  Mr.  Hunt !  It's  very  good 
for  ague-fever,  and  keeps  the  cold  fit  off  wonderful !  " 

And  Hunt  drank,  and  he  talked  a  little  more  —  much  more  : 
and  he  gave  his  opiuion  of  the  elder  Firmiu,  and  spoke  of  his 
chances  of  success,  and  of  his  rage  for  speculations,  and  doubt- 
ed whether  he  would  ever  be  able  to  lift  his  head  again  — 
though  he  might,  he  might  still.  He  was  in  the  country  where, 
if  ever  a  man  could  retrieve  himself,  he  had  a  chance.  And 
Philip  was  giving  himself  airs,  was  he  ?     He  was  always  an  arro- 


182  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

gant  chap,  that  Mr.  Philip.     And  he  had  left  her  house  ?  and 
was  gone  ever  so  long  ?  and  where  did  he  live  now  ? 

Then  I  am  sorry  to  say  Mrs.  Brandon  asked,  how  should  she 
know  where  Philip  lived  now  ?  She  believed  it  was  near  Gray's 
Inn,  or  Lincoln's  Inn,  or  somewhere  ;  and  she  was  for  turning 
the  conversation  away  from  this  subject  altogether  :  and  sought 
to  do  so  by  many  lively  remarks  and  ingenious  little  artifices 
which  I  can  imagine,  but  which  she  only  in  part  acknowledged 
to  me  —  for  you  must  know  that  as  soon  as  her  visitor  took 
leave  — to  turn  into  the  "Admiral  Byng  "  public-house,  and 
renew  acquaintance  with  the  worthies  assembled  in  the  parlor 
of  that  tavern,  Mrs.  Brandon  ran  away  to  a  cab,  drove  in  it  to 
Philip's  house  in  Milman  Street,  where  only  Mrs.  Philip  was 
at  home  —  and  after  a  bcmale  conversation  with  her,  which  puz- 
zled Charlotte  not  a  little,  for  Brandon  would  not  say  on  what 
errand  she  came,  and  never  mentioned  Hunt's  arrival  and  visit 
to  her,  —  the  Little  Sister  made  her  way  to  another  cab,  and 
presently  made  her  appearance  at  the  house  of  Philip's  friends 
in  Queen  Square.  And  here  she  informed  me,  how  Hunt  had 
arrived,  and  how  she  was  sure  he  meant  no  good  to  Philip,  and 
how  she  had  told  certain  —  certain  stories  which  were  not 
founded  in  fact  — to  Mr.  Hunt;  for  the  telling  of  which  fibs  I 
am  not  about  to  endeavor  to  excuse  her. 

Though  the  interesting  clergyman  had  not  said  one  word  re- 
garding that  bill  of  which  Philip's  father  had  warned  him,  we 
believed  that  the  document  was  in  Limit's  possession,  and  that 
it  would  be  produced  in  due  season.  We  happened  to  know 
where  Philip  dined,  and  sent  him  word  to  come  to  us. 

"What  can  he  mean?"  the  people  asked  at  the  table  —  a 
bachelors'  table  at  the  Temple  (for  Philip's  good  wife  actually 
encouraged  him  to  go  abroad  from  time  to  time,  and  make 
merry  with  his  friends).  "What  can  this  mean?"  and  they 
read  out  the  scrap  of  paper  which  he  had  cast  down  as  he  was 
summoned  away. 

Philip's  correspondent  wrote  :  >'  Dear  Philip,  — I  beheve  the 
BEAREu  OF  THE  BOWSTRING  has  arrived ;  and  has  been  with  the 
L.  S.  this  very  day," 

The  L.  S.?  the  bearer  of  the  bowstring?  Not  one  of  the 
bachelors  dining  in  Parchment  Buildings  could  read  the  riddle. 
Only  after  receiving  the  scrap  of  paper  Philip  had  jumped  up 
and  left  the  room ;  and  a  friend  of  ours,  a  sly  wag  and  Don 
Juan  of  Pump  Court,  offered  to  take  odds  that  there  was  a  lady 
in  the  case. 

At  the  hasty  little  council  which  was  convened  at  our  house 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  183 

on  the  receipt  of  the  news,  the  Little  Sister,  whose  instinct  had 
not  betrayed  her,  was  made  acquainted  with  the  precise  nature 
of  the  danger  which  menaced  Phihp  ;  and  exhibited  a  fine  hearty 
wrath  when  she  heard  how  he  proposed  to  meet  the  enemy.  He 
had  a  certain  sum  in  hand,  lie  would  borrow  more  of  his 
friends,  who  knew  that  he  was  an  honest  man.  This  bill  he 
would  meet,  whatever  might  come  ;  and  avert  at  least  this  dis- 
grace from  his  father. 

What?  Give  in  to  those  rogues?  Leave  his  children  to 
starve,  and  his  poor  wife  to  turn  drudge  and  house-servant,  who 
was  not  fit  for  anything  but  a  fine  lad^-?  (There  was  no  love 
lost,  you  see,  between  these  two  ladies,  who  both  loved  Mr. 
Philip.)  It  was  a  sin  and  a  shame  !  Mrs.  Brandon  averred, 
and  declared  she  thought  Philip  had  been  a  man  of  more  spirit. 
Philip's  friend  has  before  stated  his  own  private  sentiments  re- 
garding the  calamity  which  menaced  Firmin.  To  pay  this  bill 
was  to  bring  a  dozen  more  down  upon  him.  Philip  might  as 
well  resist  now  as  at  a  later  da}'.  Such,  in  fact,  w^as  the  opin- 
ion given  b}'  the  reader's  ver}-  humble  servant  at  command. 

My  wife,  on  the  other  hand,  took  Philip's  side.  She  was 
very  much  moved  at  his  announcement  that  he  would  forgive 
his  father  this  once  at  least,  and  endeavor  to  cover  his  sin. 

"As  you  hope  to  be  forgiven  yourself,  dear  Philij),  1  am 
sure  3-ou  are  doing  right,"  Laura  said  ;  "  1  am  sure  Charlotte 
will  think  so." 

"Oh,  Charlotte,  Charlotte!"  interposes  the  Little  Sister, 
rather  peevishly  ;  "  of  course,  Mrs.  Philip  thinks  whatever  her 
liusband  tells  her  !  " 

' '  In  his  own  time  of  trial  Philip  has  been  met  with  wonder- 
ful succor  and  kindness,"  Laura  urged.  "  See  how  one  thing 
after  another  has  contributed  to  help  him  !  When  lie  wanted, 
there  were  friends  alwa3-s  at  his  need.  If  he  wants  again,  1  am 
sure  my  husband  and  I  will  share  with  him."  (I  may  have 
made  a  wry  face  at  this  ;  for  with  the  best  feelings  towards  a 
man,  and  that  kind  of  thing,  j'ou  know  it  is  not  alwaj's  conven- 
ient to  be  lending  him  five  or  six  hundred  pounds  without  secu- 
rity.) "  M}^  dear  husband  and  1  will  share  with  him,"  goes  on 
Mrs.  Laura  ;  "  won't  we,  Arthur?  Yes,  Brandon,  that  we  will. 
Be  siu-e,  Charlotte  and  the  children  shall  not  want  because 
Philip  covers  his  fatlior's  wrong,  and  hides  it  from  the  world  ! 
God  bless  you,  dear  friend  !  "  and  what  does  this  woman  do 
next,  and  before  her  husband's  face?  Actually  she  goes  up 
to  Phihp;  she  takes  his  hand  —  and  —  Well,  what  took  place 
before  my  own  eyes,  1  do  not  choose  to  write  down. 


184  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

"  She's  encouraging  him  to  ruin  the  children  for  the  sake 
of  that  —  that  wicked  old  brute  !  "  cries  Mrs.  Brandon.  "  It's 
enough  to  provoke  a  saint,  it  is  !  "  And  she  seizes  up  her  bon- 
net from  the  table,  and  claps  it  on  her  head,  and  walks  out  of 
our  room  in  a  little  tempest  of  wrath. 

My  wife,  clasping  her  hands,  whispers  a  few  words,  which 
say  :  "  Forgive  us  our  trespasses,  as  we  forgive  them  who  tres- 
pass against  us." 

"  Yes,"  says  Philip,  very  much  moved.  "It  is  the  Divine 
order.  You  are  right,  dear  Laura.  I  have  had  a  weary  time  ; 
and  a  terrible  gloom  of  doubt  and  sadness  over  my  mind  whilst 
I  have  been  debating  this  matter,  and  before  I  had  determined 
to  do  as  3'ou  would  have  me.  But  a  great  weight  is  off  my 
heart  since  I  have  been  enabled  to  see  what  my  conduct  should 
be.  What  hundreds  of  struggling  men  as  well  as  myself  have 
met  with  losses,  and  faced  them  !  I  will  pay  this  bill,  and  I 
w411  warn  the  drawer  to  —  to  spare  me  for  the  future." 

Now  that  the  Little  Sister  had  gone  away  in  her  fit  of  indig- 
nation, you  see  I  was  left  in  a  minorit}'  in  the  council  of  war, 
and  the  opposition  was  quite  too  strong  for  me.  I  began  to  be 
of  the  majority's  opinion.  I  dare  say  I  am  not  the  only  gentle- 
man who  has  been  led  round  by  a  woman.  We  men  of  great 
strength  of  mind  very  frequently  are.  Y'es  :  m}^  wife  convinced 
me  with  passages  from  her  text-book,  admitting  of  no  contra- 
diction according  to  her  judgment,  that  Philip's  duty  was  to 
forgive  his  father. 

"And  how  lucky  it  was  we  did  not  buy  the  chintzes  that 
da}' !  "  says  Laura,  with  a  laugh.  "Do  3'ou  know  there  were' 
two  which  were  so  prett}'  that  Charlotte  could  not  make  up  her 
mind  which  of  the  two  she  would  take  ?  " 

Philip  roared  out  one  of  his  laughs,  which  made  the  windows 
shake.  He  was  in  great  spirits.  For  a  man  who  was  going  to 
ruin  himself,  he  was  in  the  most  enviable  good-humor.  Did 
Charlotte  know  about  this  —  this  claim  which  was  impending 
over  him?  No.  It  might  make  her  anxious,  —  poor  little 
thing !  Philip  had  not  told  her.  He  had  thought  of  conceal- 
ing the  matter  from  her.  What  need  was  there  to  disturb  her 
rest,  poor  innocent  child?  You  see,  we  all  treated  Mrs.  Char- 
lotte more  or  less  like  a  child.  Philip  played  with  her.  J.  J., 
the  painter,  coaxed  and  dandled  her,  so  to  speak.  The  Little 
Sister  loved  her,  but  certainly  with  a  love  that  was  not  respect- 
ful ;  and  Charlotte  took  ever3'body's  good- will  with  a  pleasant 
meekness  and  sweet  smiling  content.  It  was  not  for  Laura  to 
give  advice  to  man  and  wife  (as  if  the  woman  was  not  always 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  185 

giving  lectures  to  Philip  and  his  young  wife  !)  ;  but  in  the  pres- 
ent instance  she  thought  Mrs.  Philip  certainly  ought  to  know 
what  Philip's  real  situation  was  ;  what  danger  was  menacing ; 
"and  how  admirable  and  right,  and  Christian  —  and  you  will 
have  your  reward  for  it,  dear  Philip  !  "  interjects  the  enthusias- 
tic lady —  "  your  conduct  has  been  !  " 

AVhen  we  came,  as  we  straightway  did  in  a  cab,  to  Char- 
lotte's house,  to  expound  the  matter  to  her,  goodness  bless  us  ! 
she  was  not  shocked,  or  anxious,  or  frightened  at  all.  Mrs. 
Brandon  had  just  been  with  her,  and  told  her  of  what  was  hap- 
pening, and  she  had  said  "  Of  course,  PhiHp  ougl^t  to  help  his 
father ;  and  Brandon  had  gone  away  quite  in  a  tantrum  of  an- 
ger, and  had  really  been  quite  rude  ;  and  she  should  not  pardon 
her,  only  she  knew  how  dearly  the  Little  Sister  loved  Philip  ; 
and  of  course  they  must  help  Dr.  Firmin  ;  and  what  dreadful, 
dreadful  distress  he  must  have  been  in  to  do  as  he  did  !  But  he 
had  warned  Philip,  you  know,"  and  so  forth.  '•  And  as  for  the 
chintzes,  Laura,  why  I  suiDpose  we  must  go  on  with  the  old 
shal)b3'  covers.  You  know  they  will  do  very  well  till  next 
year."  This  was  the  way  in  which  Mrs.  Charlotte  received  the 
news  M'hich  Philip  had  concealed  from  her,  lest  it  should  ter- 
rif}'  her.  As  if  a  loving  woman  was  ever  ver}'  much  frightened 
at  being  called  upon  to  share  her  husband's  misfortune  ! 

As  for  the  little  case  of  forgery,  I  don't  believe  the  young 
person  could  ever  be  got  to  see  the  heinous  nature  of  Dr.  Fir- 
min's  offence.  The  desperate  little  logician  seemed  rather  to 
pity  the  father  than  the  son  in  the  business.  "  How  dreadfully 
pressed  he  must  have  been  when  he  did  it,  poor  man  !  "  she 
said.  "To  be  sure,  he  ought  not  to  have  done  it  at  all ;  but 
think  of  his  necessity  !  That  is  what  I  said  to  Brandon.  Now, 
there's  little  Philip's  cake  in  the  cupboard  which  you  brought 
him.  Now  suppose  papa  was  very  hungr}',  and  went  and  took 
some  without  asking  I'hilly,  he  wouldn't  be  so  very  wrong,  I 
think,  would  he  ?  A  child  is  glad  enough  to  give  for  his  father, 
isn't  he?  And  when  I  said  this  to  Brandon,  she  was  so  rude 
and  violent,  I  really  have  no  patience  with  her  !  And  she  for- 
gets that  I  am  a  lady,  and  "  &c.  &c.  So  it  appeared  the  Little 
Sister  had  made  a  desperate  attempt  to  bring  over  Charlotte  to 
her  side,  was  still  minded  to  rescue  Philip  in  spite  of  himself, 
and  had  gone  off  in  wrath  at  her  defeat. 

We  looked  to  the  doctor's  letters,  and  ascertained  the  date 
of  the  bill.  It  had  crossed  the  water  and  would  be  at  Philip's 
door  in  a  very  few  days.  Had  Hunt  brought  it?  The  rascal 
would  have  it  presented   through   some   regular   channel,  no 


186  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

doubt ;  and  Philip  and  all  of  us  totted  up  wajs  and  means,  and 
strove  to  make  the  slender  figures  look  as  big  as  possible,  as 
the  thrifty  housewife  puts  a  patch  here  and  a  darn  there,  and 
cuts  a  little  shce  out  of  this  old'  garment,  so  as  to  make  the 
poor  little  frock  serve  for  winter  wear.  We  had  so  much  at 
the  banker's.  A  friend  might  help  with  a  little  advance.  We 
would  fairly  ask  a  loan  from  the  Review.  We  were  in  a  scrape, 
but  we  would  meet  it.  And  so  with  resolute  hearts,  we  would 
prepare  to  receive  the  Bearer  of  the  Bowstring. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE    BEARER   OF   THE   BOWSTRING. 

The  poor  Little  Sister  trudged  away  from  Milman  Street 
exasperated  with  Philip,  with  Philip's  wife,  and  with  the  deter- 
mination of  the  pair  to  accept  the  hopeless  ruin  impending  over 
them.  "  Three  hundred  and  eighty-six  pounds  four  and  three- 
pence," she  thought,  "to  pay  for  that  wicked  old  villain !  It 
is  more  than  poor  Philip  is  worth,  with  all  his  savings  and  his 
little  sticks  of  furniture.  I  know  what  he  will  do :  he  will 
borrow  of  the  money-lenders,  and  give  those  bills,  and  renew 
them,  and  end  b}^  ruin.  When  he  have  paid  this  bill,  that  old 
villain  will  forge  another,  and  that  precious  wife  of  his  will  tell 
him  to  pay  that,  I  suppose  ;  and  those  little  darlings  will  be 
begging  for  bread,  unless  the^-  come  and  eat  mine,  to  which  — 
God  bless  them  !  —  they  are  always  welcome."  She  calculated 
—  it  was  a  sum  not  difficult  to  reckon  —  the  amount  of  her 
own  little  store  of  saved  read}^  mone}'.  To  pa}-  four  hundred 
pounds  out  of  such  an  income  as  Philip's,  she  felt,  w^as  an 
attempt  A^ain  and  impossible.  "  And  he  mustn't  have  my  poor 
little  stocldng  now,"  she  argued;  "  they  will  want  that  pres- 
ently when  their  pride  is  broken  down,  as  it  will  be,  and  my 
darlings  are  hungering  for  their  dinner ! "  Revolving  this 
dismal  matter  in  her  mind,  and  scarce  knowing  where  to  go  for 
comfort  and  counsel,  she  made  her  way  to  her  good  friend, 
Dr.  Goodenough,  and  found  that  worthy  man,  who  had  always 
a  welcome  for  his  Little  Sister. 

She  found  Goodenough  alone  in  his  great  dining-room, 
taking  a  very  slender  meal,  after  visiting  his  hospital  and  his 
fift}'  patients,  among  whom  I  think  there  were  more  poor  than 


ox  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  187 

rich :  and  the  good  sleepy  doctor  woke  up  with  a  vengeance, 
when  he  heard  his  httle  nurse's  news,  and  fired  off  a  volley  of 
angry  language  against  Philip  and  his  scoundrel  of  a  father ; 
"  which  it  was  a  comfort  to  hear  him,"  little  Brandon  told  us 
afterwards.  Then  Goodenough  trotted  out  of  the  dining-room 
into  the  adjoining  library  and  consulting-room,  whither  his  old 
friend  followed  him.  Then  he  pulled  out  a  bunch  of  ke3S  and 
opened  a  secretaire,  from  which  he  took  a  parchment-covered 
volume,  on  which  J.  Goodenough^  Esq.^  M.D.^  was  written  in 
a  fine  legible  hand,  —  and  which,  in  fact,  was  a  banker's  book. 
The  inspection  of  the  MS.  volume  in  question  must  have  pleased 
the  worth}'  physician ;  for  a  grin  came  over  his  venerable 
features,  and  he  straightway  drew  out  of  the  desk  a  slim  volume 
of  gra}'  paper,  on  each  page  of  which  were  inscribed  the  highly 
respectable  names  of  Messrs.  Stumpy  and  Rowdy  and  Co.,  of 
Lombard  Street,  Bankers.  On  a  slip  of  gray  paper  the  doctor 
wrote  a  prescription  for  a  draught,  statim  sumendus  —  (a  draught 
—  mark  my  pleasantry)  —  which  he  handed  over  to  his  little 
friend. 

"  There,  you  little  fool !  "  said  he.  "  The  father  is  a  rascal, 
but  the  boy  is  a  fine  fellow  ;  and  you,  you  little  silly  thing,  I 
must* help  in  this  business  mA'self,  or  30U  will  go  and  ruin  your- 
self; I  know  3'ou  will !  Offer  this  to  the  fellow  for  his  bill.  Or, 
sta}' !  How  nmch  money  is  there  in  the  house  ?  Perhaps  the 
sight  of  notes  and  gold  will  tempt  him  more  than  a  cheque." 
And  the  doctor  emptied  his  pockets  of  all  the  fees  which  hap- 
pened to  be  therein  —  I  don't  know  how  many  fees  of  shining 
shillings  and  sovereigns,  neatly  wrapped  up  in  paper ;  and  he 
emptied  a  drawer  in  which  there  was  more  silver  and  gold  :  and 
he  trotted  up  to  his  bedroom,  and  came  panting,  presently,  down 
stairs  with  a  fat  little  pocket-book,  co^itaining  a  bundle  of  notes, 
and,  with  one  thing  or  another,  he  made  up  a  sum  of — I  won't 
mention  what ;  but  this  sum  of  money,  I  say,  he  thrust  into  the 
Little  Sister's  hand,  and  said,  "Try  the  fellow  with  this.  Little 
Sister  ;  and  see  if  you  can  get  the  bill  from  him.  Don't  say  it's 
my  money,  or  the  scoundrel  will  be  for  having  twent}'  shillings 
in  the  pound.  Say  it's  j'ours,  and  there's  no  more  where  that 
came  from  ;  and  coax  him,  and  wheedle  him,  and  tell  him  plenty 
of  lies,  my  dear.  It  won't  l)reak  your  heart  to  do  that.  What 
an  immortal  scoundrel  Brummell  Firmin  is,  to  be  sure  !  Though, 
by  the  way,  in  two  more  cases  at  the  hospital  I  have  tried  that  —  " 
And  here  the  doctor  went  off  into  a  professional  conversation 
with  his  favorite  nurse,  which  I  could  not  presume  to  repeat 
to  any  non-medical  men. 


188  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

The  Little  Sister  bade  God  bless  Doctor  Goodenongh,  and 
wiped  her  glistening  eyes  with  her  handkerchief,  and  put  away 
the  notes  and  gold  with  a  trembling  little  hand,  and  trudged  otf 
with  a  lightsome  step  and  a  happy  heart.  Arrived  at  Totten- 
ham Court  Road,  she  thought,  shall  I  go  home,  or  shall  I  go  to 
poor  Mrs.  Philip  and  take  her  this  money  ?  No.  Their  talk  that 
day  had  not  been  very  pleasant :  words,  very  like  high  words, 
had  passed  between  them,  and  our  Little  Sister  had  to  own  to 
herself  that  she  had  been  rather  rude  in  her  late  colloquj-  with 
Charlotte.  And  she  was  a  proud  Little  Sister :  at  least  she 
did  not  care  for  to  own  that  she  had  been  hasty  or  disrespectful 
in  her  conduct  to  that  young  woman.  She  had  too  much  spirit 
for  that.  Have  we  ever  said  that  our  little  friend  was  exempt 
from  the  prejudices  and  vanities  of  this  wicked  world?  Well, 
to  rescue  Philip,  to  secure  the  fatal  bill,  to  go  with  it  to  Char- 
lotte, and  sa}',  "There,  Mrs.  Philip,  there's  your  husband's 
liberty."  It  would  be  a  rare  triumph,  that  it  would  !  And 
Philip  would  promise,  on  his  honor,  that  this  should  be  the 
last  and  only  bill  he  would  pay  for  that  wretched  old  father. 
With  these  happy  thoughts  swelling  in  her  little  heart,  Mrs. 
Brandon  made  her  way  to  the  familiar  house  in  Thornhaugh 
Street,  and  would  have  a  little  bit  of  supper,  so  she  would. 
And  laid  her  own  little  cloth  ;  and  set  forth  her  little  forks  and 
spoons,  which  were  as  bright  as  rubbing  could  make  them  ; 
and  I  am  authorized  to  state  that  her  repast  consisted  of  two 
nice  little  lamb-chops,  which  she  pui'chased  from  her  neighbor, 
Mr.  Chump,  in  Tottenham  Court  Road,  after  a  pleasant  little 
conversation  with  that  gentleman  and  his  good  lady.  And, 
with  her  bit  of  supper,  after  a  da^^'s  work,  our  little  friend  would 
sometimes  indulge  in  a  glass  —  a  little  glass  —  of  something 
comfortable.  The  case-bottle  was  in  the  cupboard,  out  of 
which  her  poor  Pa  had  been  wont  to  mix  his  tumblers  for  many 
a  long  da}'.  So,  having  prepared  it  with  her  own  hands,  down 
she  sat  to  her  little  meal,  tired  and  happy  ;  and  as  she  thought 
of  the  occurrences  of  the  da}',  and  of  the  rescue  which  had  come 
so  opportunel}'  to  her  beloved  Philip  and  his  children,  I  am 
sure  she  said  a  grace  before  her  meat. 

Her  candles  being  lighted  and  her  blind  up,  an}'  one  in  the 
street  could  see  that  her  chamber  was  occupied  ;  and  at  about 
ten  o'clock  at  night  there  came  a  heavy  step  clinking  along  the 
pavement,  the  sound  of  which,  I  liaA'c  no  doubt,  made  the  Little 
Sister  start  a  little.  The  heavy  foot  paused  before  her  window, 
and  presently  clattered  up  the  steps  of  her  door.  Then,  as  her 
bell  rang  —  I  consider  it  is  most  probable  that  her  cheek  flushed 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  189 

a  little  —  she  went  to  her  hall-door  and  opened  it  herself. 
"  Lor',  is  it  you,  Mr.  Hunt?  Well,  I  never  !  that  is,  I  thought 
j-ou  might  come.  Really,  now"  —  and  with  the  moonlight 
behind  him,  the  dingy  Hunt  swaggered  in. 

"How  comfortable  ^-ou  looked  at  your  little  table,"  says 
Hunt,  with  his  hat  over  his  eye. 

"Won't  3'ou  step  in  and  sit  down  to  it,  and  take  some- 
thing?" asks  the  smiling  hostess. 

Of  course,  Hunt  would  take  something.  And  the  greasy 
hat  is  taken  off  his  head  with  a  flourish,  and  he  struts  into  the 
poor  Little  Sister's  little  room,  pulling  a  wisp  of  grizzling  hair, 
and  endeavoring  to  assume  a  careless,  fashionable  look.  The 
dingy  hand  had  seized  the  case-bottle  in  a  moment.  "  What! 
you  do  a  little  in  this  wa}',  do  j'ou?"  he  says,  and  winks  amiabl3- 
at  Mrs.  Brandon  and  the  bottle.  She  takes  ever  so  little,  she 
owns  ;  and  reminds  him  of  da3's  which  he  must  remember,  when 
she  had  a  wine-glass  out  of  poor  Pa's  tumbler.  A  bright  little 
kettle  is  singing  on  the  fire,  —  will  not  Mr.  Hunt  mix  a  glass 
for  himself?  She  takes  a  bright  beaker  from  the  corner-cup- 
board, which  is  near  her,  with  her  keys  hanging  from  it. 

"  Oh  —  ho  !  that's  where  we  keep  the  ginuims,  is  it?"  saj's 
the  graceful  Hunt,  with  a  laugh. 

"My  papa  alwa3's  kept  it  there,"  says  Caroline,  meekl3\ 
And  whilst  her  back  is  turned  to  fetch  a  canister  from  the  cup- 
board, she  knows  that  the  astute  Mr.  Hunt  has  taken  the 
opportunity^  to  fill  a  good  large  measure  from  the  square  bottle. 
"Make  3-ourself  welcome,"  says  the  Little  Sister,  in  her  ga3', 
artless  way;  "there's  more  whei'e  that  came  from!"  And 
Hunt  drinks  his  hostess's  health :  and  she  bows  to  him,  and 
smiles,  and  sips  a  little  from  her  own  glass  ;  and  the  little  lad3' 
looks  quite  pretty,  and  ros3',  and  bright.  Her  cheeks  are  like 
apples,  her  figure  is  trim  and  graceful,  and  always  attired  in 
the  neatest-fitting  gown.  By  the  comfortable  light  of  the 
candles  on  her  sparkling  tables,  3'ou  scarce  see  the  silver  lines 
in  her  light  hair,  or  the  marks  which  time  has  made  round  her 
e3'es.     Hunt  gazes  on  her  with  admiration. 

"  Wh3^,"  sa3s  he,  "  I  vow  you  look  3-ounger  and  prettier  than 
when  —  when  I  saw  3'ou  first." 

"Ah,  Mr.  Hunt!"  cries  Mrs.  Brandon,  with  a  flush  on  her 
cheek,  which  becomes  it,  "don't  recall  that  time,  or  that  — 
that  wretch  who  served  me  so  cruel !  " 

"He  was  a  scoundrel,  Caroline,  to  treat  as  he  did  such  a 
woman  as  you  !  The  fellow  has  no  principle  ;  he  was  a  bad 
cue  from  the  beginning.     Why,  he  ruined  me  as  well  as  you : 


190  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

got  me  to  play  ;  run  me  into  debt  by  introducing  me  to  his  fine 
companions.  I  was  a  simple  young  fellow  then,  and  thought 
it  was  a  fine  thing  to  live  with  fellow-commoners  and  noblemen 
who  drove  their  tandems  and  gave  their  grand  dinners.  It  was 
he  that  led  me  astray,  I  tell  you.  I  might  have  been  Fellow  of 
my  college  —  had  a  living  —  married  a  good  wife  —  risen  to  be 
a  bishop,  by  George  !  —  for  I  had  great  talents,  Caroline  ;  only 
I  was  so  confounded  idle,  and  fond  of  the  cards  and  the 
bones." 

"  The  bones?"  cries  Caroline,  with  a  bewildered  look. 

"The  dice,  my  dear!  'Seven's  the  main'  was  my  ruin. 
'  Seven's  the  main '  and  eleven's  the  nick  to  seven.  That  used 
to  be  the  little  game  !  "  And  he  made  a  graceful  gesture  with 
his  empty  wine-glass,  as  though  he  were  tossing  a  pair  of  dice 
on  the  table.  "The  man  next  to  me  in  lecture  is  a  bishop 
now,  and  I  could  knock  his  head  off'  in  Greek  iambics  and 
Latin  hexameters  too.  In  my  second  year  I  got  the  Latin 
declamation  prize,  I  tell  you  —  " 

"  Brandon  alwa3'S  said  you  were  one  of  the  cleverest  men  at 
the  college.  He  always  said  that,  I  remember,"  remarks  the 
lady,  very  respectfully. 

' '  Did  he  ?  lie  did  say  a  good  word  for  me  then  ?  Brummell 
Firmin  wasn't  a  clever  man  ;  he  wasn't  a  reading  man.  Whereas 
I  would  back  myself  for  a  Sapphic  ode  against  an\^  man  in  my 
college  —  against  an}^  man  !  Thank  j^ou.  You  do  mix  it  so 
uncommon  hot  and  well,  there's  no  saying  no ;  indeed,  there 
ain't !  Though  I  have  had  enough  —  upon  my  honor,  I 
have." 

"Lor'!  I  thought  you  men  could  drink  an^'thing !  And 
Mr.  Brandon  —  Mr.  Firmin  30U  said?" 

"  Well,  I  said  Brummell  Firmin  was  a  swell  somehow.  He 
had  a  sort  of  grand  manner  with  him  —  " 

"  Yes,  he  had,"  sighed  Caroline.  And  I  dare  say  her 
thoughts  wandered  back  to  a  time  long,  long  ago,  when  this 
grand  gentleman  had  captivated  her. 

' '  And  it  was  trying  to  keep  up  with  him  that  ruined  me  ! 
I  quarrelled  with  my  poor  old  governor  about  monej',  of  course  ; 
grew  idle,  and  lost  nxy  Fellowship.  Then  the  bills  came  down 
upon  me.  I  tell  3'ou,  there  are  some  of  my  college  ticks  ain't 
paid  now." 

"  College  ticks?     Law !  "  ejaculates  the  lady.     "  And  — " 
.     "  Tailors'  ticks,  tavern  ticks,  liver^'-stable  ticks  —  for  there 
were  famous  hacks  in  our  da^'s,  and  I  used  to  hunt  with  the 
tip-top  men.     I  wasn't  bad  across  country,  I  wasn't.     But  we 


o 


ON  HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  191 

can't  keep  the  pace  with  those  rich  fellows.  We  try,  and  the}' 
go  ahead  —  the}-  ride  us  down.  Do  3'ou  think,  if  I  hadn't 
been  very  hard  up,  I  would  have  done  what  I  did  to3'ou,  Caio- 
line?  You  poor  little  innocent  sutfering  thing.  It  was  a 
shame.     It  was  a  shame  !  " 

"  Yes,  a  shame  it  was,"  cries  Caroline.  "  And  that  I  never 
gainsay.     You  did  deal  hard  with  a  poor  girl,  both  of  you." 

"  It  was  rascall}'.  But  Firmin  was  the  worst.  lie  had  me 
in  his  power.  It  was  he  led  me  wrong.  It  was  he  drove  me 
into  debt,  and  then  abroad,  and  then  into  qu —  into  gaol,  per- 
haps :  and  then  into  this  kind  of  thing."  ("  This  kind  of  thing  " 
has  before  been  explained  elegantly-  to  signify  a  tumbler  of  hot 
grog.)  "And  my  father  wouldn't  see  me  on  his  death-bed; 
and  my  brothers  and  sisters  broke  with  me  ;  and  I  owe  it  all  to 
Brummell  Firmin  —  all.  Do  you  think,  after  ruining  me,  he 
oughtn't  to  pay  me?"  and  again  he  thumps  a  dusky  hand  upon 
the  table.  It  made  dingy  marks  on  the  poor  Little  Sister's 
spotless  tablecloth.  It  rubbed  its  owner's  forehead,  and  lank, 
grizzling  hair. 

"  And  me,  Mr.  Hunt?  What  do  he  owe  me?"  asks  Hunt's 
hostess. 

"Caroline!"  cries  Hunt,  "I  have  made  Brummell  Firmin 
pay  me  a  good  bit  back  already,  but  I'll  have  more  ;  "  and  he 
thumped  his  breast,  and  thrust  his  hand  into  his  breast-pocket 
as  he  spoke,  and  clutched  at  something  within. 

"  It  is  there  !  "  thought  Caroline.  She  might  turn  pale  ;  but 
he  did  not  remark  her  pallor.  He  was  all  intent  on  drink,  on 
vanity,  on  revenge. 

"  I  have  him,  I  say.  He  owes  me  a  good  bit ;  and  he  has 
paid  me  a  good  bit ;  and  he  shall  pa}' me  a  good  bit  more.  Do 
3-ou  think  I  am  a  fellow  who  will  be  ruined  and  insulted,  and 
won't  revenge  myself?  You  should  have  seen  his  face  when  I 
turned  up  at  New  York  at  the  '  Astor  House,'  and  said,  '  Brum- 
mell, old  fellow,  here  I  am,'  I  said  ;  and  he  turned  as  white  — 
as  white  as  this  tablecloth.  '/'//  never  leave  you,  m}-  bo}-,'  I 
said.  '  Other  fellows  may  go  from  you,  but  old  Tom  Hunt  will 
stick  to  j-ou.  Let's  go  into  the  bar  and  have  a  drink  ! '  and  he 
was  obliged  to  come.  And  I  have  him  now  in  my  power,  I  tell 
you.  And  when  I  say  to  him,  'Brummell,  have  a  drink,' 
drink  he  must.  His  bald  old  head  must  go  into  the  pail !  " 
And  Mr.  Hunt  laughed  a  laugh  which  I  dare  say  was  not 
agreeable. 

After  a  pause  he  went  on  :  "  Caroline  !  do  you  hate  him,  I 
say  ?  or  do  you  like  a  fellow  who  deserted  you  and  treated  you 


192  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

like  a  scoundrel?  Some  women  do.  I  could  tell  of  women 
who  do.  I  could  tell  3'ou  of  other  fellows,  perhaps,  but  I 
won't.  Do  3-ou  hate  Brummell  Firmin,  that  bald-headed  Brum 
—  h3-pocrite,  and  that  —  that  insolent  rascal  who  laid  his  hand 
on  a  clergyman,  and  an  old  man,  by  George,  and  hit  me  — 
and  hit  me  in  that  street.  Do  j-ou  hate  him,  I  say  !  IIoo  ! 
hoo  !  hick  !  I've  got  'em  both  !  —  here,  in  my  pocket  — 
both ! " 

"  You  have  got  —  what?  "  gasped  Caroline. 

"  I  have  got  their  —  hallo!  stop,  what's  that  to  3'ou  what 
I've  got?"  And  he  sinks  back  in  his  chair,  and  grins,  and 
leers,  and  triumphantly  tosses  his  glass. 

"  Well,  it  ain't  much  to  me  ;  I  —  I  never  got  any  good  out 
of  either  of  'em  yet,"  says  poor  Caroline,  with  a  sinking  heart. 
"  Let's  talk  about  somebody  else  than  them  two  plagues.  Be- 
cause 3'ou  were  a  little  merr^^  one  night  —  and  I  don't  mind 
what  a  gentleman  says  when  he  has  had  a  glass  —  for  a  great 
big  strong  man  to  hit  an  old  one  —  " 

' '  To  strike  a  clergyman  !  "  3'ells  Hunt. 

"  It  was  a  shame  —  a  cowardl3'  shame  !  And  I  gave  it  him 
for  it,  I  promise  3'OU  !  "  cries  Mrs.  Brandon. 

' '  On  your  honor,  now,  do  you  hate  'em  ? "  cries  Hunt, 
starting  up,  and  clenching  his  fist,  and  dropping  again  into  his 
chair. 

"  Have  I  any  reason  to  love  'em,  Mr.  Hunt?  Do  sit  down 
and  have  a  little  — " 

"  No  :  3'Ou  have  no  reason  to  like  'em.  You  hate  'em  —  I 
hate 'em.  Look  here.  Promise  —  'pon  30ur  honor,  now,  Caro- 
line—  I've  got  'em  both,  I  tell  you.  Strike  a  clerg3-man,  will 
he?     What  do  3'ou  say  to  that?" 

And  starting  from  his  chair  once  more,  and  supporting  him- 
self against  the  wall  (where  hung  one  of  J.  J.'s  pictures  of 
Philip),  Hunt  pulls  out  the  greas3'  pocket-book  once  more,  and 
fumbles  amongst  the  greas3'  contents :  and  as  the  papers  flutter 
on  to  the  floor  and  the  table,  he  pounces  down  on  one  with  a 
dingy  hand,  and  3-ells  a  laugh,  and  sa3-s,  "I've  cotched  30U  ! 
That's  it.  What  do  3'Ou  sa3'  to  that?  —  '  London,  JUI3'  4tli.  — 
Five  months  after  date,  I  promise  to  pa3'  to  — '  No,  30U 
don't." 

"La!  Mr.  Hunt,  won't  3'Ou  let  me  look  at  it?"  cries  the 
hostess.  "Whatever  is  it?  A  bill?  M3'  Pa  had  plenty 
of  'em." 

"  What?  with  candles  in  the  room?     No,  3'OU  don't,  I  sa3\" 

' '  What  is  it  ?     Won't  you  tell  me  ? " 


ON  HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  193 

"It's  the  .young  one's  acceptance  of  the  old  man's  draft," 
says  Hunt,  hissing  and  laughing. 

"  For  how  much?  " 

' '  Three  hundred  and  eightj'-six  four  three  —  that's  all ;  and 
I  guess  I  can  get  more  where  that  came  from  !  "  sa3-s  Hunt, 
laughing  more  and  more  cheerfully. 

"  What  will  you  take  for  it?  I'll  buy  it  of  3^ou,"  cries  the 
Little  Sister.  "I  —  I've  seen  plenty  of  my  Pa's  bills;  and 
I'll  —  I'll  discount  this,  if  you  like." 

' '  What !  are  3'ou  a  little  discounter  ?  Is  that  the  way  you 
make  your  money,  and  the  silver  spoons,  and  tlie  nice  supper, 
and  everything  delightful  about  you?  A  little  discountess,  are 
you  —  you  little  rogue?  Little  discountess,  b}'  George  !  How 
much  will  you  give,  little  discountess?"  And  the  reverend 
gentleman  laughs  and  winks,  and  drinks  and  laughs,  and  tears 
twinkle  out  of  his  tipsy  old  eyes,  as  he  wipes  them  with  one 
hand,  and  again  says,  "How  much  will  you  give,  little  dis- 
countess? " 

W^hen  poor  Caroline  went  to  her  cupboard,  and  from  it  took 
the  notes  and  the  gold  which  she  had  had  we  know  from  whom, 
/ind  added  to  tliese  out  of  a  cunning  box  a  little  heap  of  her 
own  private  savings,  and  with  tremljling  hands  poured  the 
notes,  and  the  sovereigns,  and  the  shillings  into  a  dish  on  the 
table,  I  never  heard  accurately  how  much  she  laid  down.  But 
she  must  have  spread  out  everything  she  had  in  the  world  ;  for 
she  felt  her  pockets  and  emptied  them  ;  and,  tai)ping  her  head, 
she  again  applied  to  the  cupboard,  and  took  from  thence  a  little 
store  of  spoons  and  forks,  and  then  a  brooch,  and  then  a  watch  ; 
and  she  piled  these  all  up  in  a  dish,  and  she  said,  "  Now,  Mr. 
Hunt,  I  will  give  you  all  these  for  that  bill."  And  she  looked 
up  at  Philip's  picture,  which  hung  over  the  parson's  bloodshot, 
sat3-r  face.  "Take  these,"  she  said,  "and  give  me  that! 
There's  two  hundi-ed  pound,  I  know ;  and  there's  thirty-four, 
and  two  eighteen,  thirty -six  eighteen,  and  there's  the  plate  and 
watch,  and  I  want  that  bill." 

"  What?  have  you  got  all  this,  you  little  dear?"  cried  Hunt, 
dropping  back  into  his  chair  again.  "Why,  you're  a  little 
fortune,  by  Jove — a  pretty  little  fortune,  a  little  discountess, 
a  little. wife,  a  little  fortune.  I  say,  I'm  a  University  man;  I 
could  write  alcaics  on'ce  as  well  as  any  man.  I'm  a  gentleman. 
I  say,  how  much  have  you  got?  Count  it  over  aoain,  my 
dear."  ^      '      ^ 

And  again  she  told  him  the  amount  of  the  gold,  and  the 
notes,  and  tlie  silver,  and  the  number  of  the  poor  little  si)oons. 


194  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

A  thought  came  across  the  fellow's  booz}^  brain:  "If  jou 
offer  so  much,"  says  he,  "and  3'ou're  a  little  discountess,  the 
bill's  worth  more  ;  that  fellow  must  be  making  his  fortune  ! 
Or  do  you  know  about  it?  I  say,  do  you  know  about  it?  No. 
I'll  have  my  bond.  I'll  have  m}-  bond  !  "  And  he  gave  a  tipsy 
imitation  of  Shylock,  and  lurched  back  into  his  chair,  and 
laughed. 

"Let's  have  a  little  more,  and  talk  about  things,"  said  the 
poor  Little  Sister ;  and  she  daintily  heaped  her  little  treasures 
and  arranged  them  in  her  dish,  and  smiled  upon  the  parson 
laughing  in  his  chair. 

"Caroline,"  says  he,  after  a  pause,  "you  are  still  fond  of 
that  old  bald-headed  scoundrel !  That's  it !  Just  like  you 
women  —  just  like,  but  I  won't  tell.  No,  no,  I  won't  tell! 
You  are  fond  of  that  old  swindler  still,  I  say  !  Wherever  did 
you  get  that  lot  of  money  ?  Look  here  now  —  with  that,  and 
this  little  bill  in  my  pocket,  there's  enough  to  carr}'^  us  on  for  ever 
so  long.  And  when  this  mone3''s  gone,  I  tell  3^ou  I  know  who'U 
give  us  more,  and  who  can't  refuse  us,  I  tell  you.  Look  here, 
Caroline,  dear  Caroline  !  I'm  an  old  fellow,  I  know  ;  but  I'm 
a  good  fellow :  I'm  a  classical  scholar :  and  I'm  a  gentleman."  . 

The  classical  scholar  and  gentleman  bleared  over  his  words 
as  he  uttered  them,  and  with  his  vinous  eyes  and  sordid  face 
gave  a  leer,  which  must  have  frightened  the  poor  little  lad}^  to 
wiiom  he  proffered  himself  as  a  suitor,  for  she  started  back 
with  a  pallid  face,  and  an  aspect  of  such  dislike  and  terror, 
that  even  her  guest  remarked  it. 

"  I  said  I  was  a  scholar  and  gentleman,"  he  shrieked  again. 
"  Do  you  doubt  it?  I  am  as  good  a  man  as  Brummell  Firmin, 
I  sa3\  I  ain't  so  tall.  But  I'll  do  a  copy  of  Latin  alcaics  or 
Greek  iambics  against  him  or  an}^  man  of  ray  weight.  Do  you 
mean  to  insult  me?  Don't  I  know  who  you  are?  Are  3'OU 
better  than  a  Master  of  Arts  and  a  clerg^'man  ?  He  went  out 
in  medicine,  Firmin  did.  Do  3"0U  mean,  when  a  Master  of 
Arts  and  classical  scholar  offers  you  his  hand  and  fortune,  that 
you're  above  him  and  refuse  him,  by  George?" 

The  Little  Sister  was  growing  bewildered  and  frightened  by 
the  man's  energy  and  horrid  looks.  "Oh,  Mr.  Hunt!"  she 
cried,  "  see  here,  take  this  !  See  —  there  are  two  hundred  and 
thirty  —  thirty-six  pounds  and  all  these  things  !  Take  them, 
and  give  me  that  paper." 

"Sovereigns,  and  notes,  and  spoons,  and  a  watch,  and 
what  I  have  in  my  pocket  —  and  that  ain't  much  —  and  Fir- 
min's  bill !     Three  hundred  and  eightj'-six  four  three.     It's  a 


Judith  and  Holofernes. 


I 


ON  HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  195 

fortune,  my  dear,  with  economy  !  I  won't  have  you  gohig  on 
being  a  nurse  and  that  kind  of  thing.  I'm  a  scholar  and  a 
gentleman  —  I  am  —  and  that  place  ain't  fit  for  Mrs.  Hunt. 
We'll  first  spend  j'our  money.  No :  we'll  first  spend  my 
money  —  three  hundred  and  eight3^-six  and  —  and  hang  the 
change  —  and  when  that's  gone,  we'll  have  another  bill  from 
that  bald-headed  old  scoundrel :  and  his  son  who  struck  a  poor 
cler —    We  will,  I  say,  Caroline  —  we  —  " 

The  wretch  was  suiting  actions  to  his  words,  and  rose  once 
more,  advancing  towards  his  hostess,  who  shrank  back,  laugh- 
ing half-hysterically,  and  retreating  as  the  other  neared  her. 
Behind  her  was  that  cupboard  which  had  contained  her  poor 
little  treasure  and  other  stores,  and  appended  to  the  lock  of 
which  her  keys  were  still  hanging.  As  the  brute  approached 
her,  she  flung  back  the  cupboard-door  smartly  upon  him.  The 
keys  struck  him  on  the  head  ;  and  bleeding,  and  with  a  curse 
and  a  crj-,  he  fell  back  on  his  chair. 

In  the  cupboard  was  that  bottle  which  she  had  received  from 
America  not  long  since  ;  and  about  which  she  had  taUvcd  with 
Goodenough  on  that  very  day.  It  has  been  used  twice  or  thrice 
by  his  direction,  by  hospital  surgeons,  and  under  her  eye.  She 
suddenly  seized  this  bottle.  As- the  ruffian  before  her  uttered 
his  imprecations  of  wrath,  she  poured  out  a  quantity  of  the  con- 
tents of  the  bottle  on  her  handkerchief.  She  said,  "  Oh !  Mr. 
Hunt,  have  I  hurt  3-0U?  I  didn't  mean  it.  But  you  shouldn't 
—  you  shouldn't  frighten  a  lonelj^  woman  so!  Here,  let  me 
bathe  you  !  Smell  this  !  It  will  —  it  will  do  you  —  good  —  it 
will  —  it  will,  indeed."  The  handkerchief  was  over  his  face. 
Bewildered  b}-  drink  before,  the  fumes  of  the  liquor  which  he 
was  absorbing  served  almost  instantly  to  overcome  him.  He 
struggled  for  a  moment  or  two.  "  Stop  —  stop  !  you'll  be  bet- 
ter in  a  moment,"  she  whispered.  "Oh,  yes!  better,  quite 
better !  "  She  squeezed  more  of  the  liquor  from  the  bottle  on 
to  the  handkerchief.     In  a  minute  Hunt  was  quite  inanimate. 

Then  the  little  pale  Avoman  leant  over  him,  and  took  the 
pocket-book  out  of  his  pocket,  and  from  it  the  bill  which  bore 
Philip's  name.  As  Hunt  lay  in  stupor  before  her,  she  now 
squeezed  more  of  the  liquor  over  his  head  ;  and  then  thrust 
the  bill  into  the  fire,  and  saw  it  burn  to  ashes.  Then  she  put 
back  the  pocket-book  into  Hunt's  breast.  She  said  afterwards 
that  she  never  should  have  thought  about  that  Chloroform,  but 
for  her  brief  conversation  with  Dr.  Goodenough  that  evening, 
regarding  a  case  in  which  she  had  employed  the  new  remedy 
under  Ms  ordei's. 


196  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

How  long  did  Hunt  lie  in  that  stupor  ?  It  seemed  a  whole 
long  night  to  Caroline.  She  said  afterwards  that  the  thought 
of  that  act  that  night  made  her  hair  grow  gra}-.  Poor  little 
head  !     Indeed,  she  would  have  laid  it  down  for  Philip. 

Hunt,  I  suppose,  came  to  himself  when  the  handkerchief 
was  withdrawn,  and  the  fumes  of  the  potent  liquor  ceased  to 
work  on  his  brain.  He  was  ver}^  much  frightened  and  bewil- 
dered. "  What  was  it?  Where  am  I?"  he  asked  in  a  husky 
voice. 

"  It  was  the  keys  struck  3'ou  in  the  cupboard-door  when  3'ou 
—  3'ou  ran  against  it,"  said  pale  Caroline.  "Look!  you  are 
all  bleeding  on  the  head.     Let  me  dry  it." 

"  No  ;  keep  off!  "  cried  the  terrified  man. 

' '  Will  you  have  a  cab  to  go  home  ?  The  poor  gentleman 
hit  himself  against  the  cupboard-door,  Mary.  You  remember 
him  here  before,  don't  you,  one  night?"  And  Caroline,  with 
a  shrug,  pointed  out  to  her  maid,  whom  she  had  summoned,  the 
great  square  bottle  of  spirits  still  on  the  table,  and  indicated 
that  there  laj^  the  cause  of  Hunt's  bewilderment. 

"  Are  you  better  now  ?  Will  you  —  will  you  —  take  a  little 
more  refreshment?"  asked  Caroline. 

"  No  !  "  he  cried  with  an  oath,  and  with  glaring,  bloodshot 
eyes  he  lurched  towards  his  hat. 

"  Lor',  mum !  what  ever  is  it?  And  this  smell  in  the  room, 
and  all  this  here  heap  of  mone}'  and  things  on  the  table?  " 

Caroline  flung  open  her  window.  "  It's  medicine,  which 
Dr.  Goodenough  has  ordered  for  one  of  his  patients.  I  must 
go  and  see  her  to-night,"  she  said.  And  at  midnight,  looking 
as  pale  as  death,  the  Little  Sister  went  to  the  doctor's  house, 
and  roused  him  up  from  his  bed,  and  told  him  the  story  here 
narrated.  "  I  offered  him  all  you  gave  me,"  she  said,  "  and 
all  I  had  in  the  world  besides,  and  he  wouldn't  —  and  — " 
Here  she  broke  out  into  a  fit  of  hysterics.  The  doctor  had  to 
ring  up  his  servants  ;  to  administer  remedies  to  his  little  nurse  ; 
to  put  her  to  bed  in  his  own  house. 

"By  the  immortal  Jove,"  he  said  afterwards,  "I  had  a 
great  mind  to  beg  her  never  to  leave  it !  But  that  my  house- 
keeper would  tear  Caroline's  eyes  out,  Mrs.  Brandon  should  be 
welcome  to  stay  for  ever.  P^xcept  her  h's,  that  woman  has 
every  virtue  :  constancy,  gentleness,  generosity,  cheerfulness, 
and  the  courage  of  a  lioness  !  To  think  of  that  fool,  that  dan- 
dified idiot,  that  triple  ass,  Firmin" —  (there  were  few  men  in 
the  world  for  whom  Goodenough  entertained  a  greater  scorn 
than  for  his  late  confrere,  Fu-min  of  Old  Parr  Street)  — ' '  think 


ON   HIS  WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  197 

of  the  villain  having  possessed  such  a  treasure  —  let  alone  his 
having  deceived  and  deserted  her  —  of  his  having  possessed 
such  a  treasure  and  flung  it  awa_y !  Sir,  I  always  admired 
Mrs.  Brandon  ;  but  I  think  ten  thousand  times  more  highly 
of  her,  since  her  glorious  crime,  and  most  righteous  robbery. 
If  the  villain  had  died,  dropped  dead  in  the  street  —  the 
drunken  miscreant,  forger,  housebreaker,  assassin — so  that 
no  punishment  could  have  fallen  upon  poor  Brandon,  I  think 
I  should  have  respected  her  onlj'  the  more  !  " 

At  an  early  hour  Dr.  Goodenough  had  thought  proper  to 
send  off  messengers  to  Philip  and  myself,  and  to  make  us  ac- 
quainted with  the  strange  adventure  of  the  previous  night.  We 
both  hastened  to  him,  I  myself  was  summoned,  no  doubt,  in 
consequence  of  my  profound  legal  knowledge,  which  might  be 
of  use  in  poor  little  Caroline's  present  trouble.  And  Philip 
came  because  she  longed  to  see  him.  By  some  instinct  she 
knew  when  he  arrived.  She  crept  down  from  the  chamber 
where  tbe  doctor's  housekeeper  had  laid  her  on  a  bed.  She 
knocked  at  the  doctor's  study,  where  we  were  all  in  consultation. 
She  came  in  quite  pale,  and  tottered  towards  Philip,  and  flung 
herself  into  his  arms,  with  a  burst  of  tears  that  greatl}-  relieved 
her  excitement  and  fever.     Firmin  was  scarcelj'  less  moved. 

"You'll  pardon  me  for  what  I  have  done,  Philip,"  she 
sobbed.  "If  they  —  if  the}'' take  me  up,  vou  won't  forsake 
me?" 

"  Forsake  3'ou?  Pardon  you?  Come  and  live  with  us,  and 
never  leave  us  !  "  cried  Philip. 

"I  don't  think  Mrs.  Philip  would  like  that,  dear,"  said  the 
little  woman  sobbing  on  his  arm;  "but  ever  since  the  Grey 
Friars  school,  when  3'Ou  was  so  ill,  you  have  lieen  like  a  son  to 
me,  and  somehow  I  couldn't  help  doing  that  last  night  to  that 
villain  —  I  couldn't." 

"Serve  the  scoundrel  right.  Never  deserved  to  come  to 
life  again,  my  dear,"  said  Dr.  Goodenough.  "Don't  you  be 
exciting  ^-ourself,  little  Brandon  !  I  must  have  you  sent  back 
to  lie  down  on  3'our  bed.  Take  her  up,  Philip,  to  the  little 
room  next  mine  ;  and  order  her  to  lie  down  and  be  as  quiet 
as  a  mouse.  You  are  not  to  move  till  I  give  you  leave,  Bran- 
don—  mind  that,  and  come  back  to  us,  Firmin,  or  we  shall 
have  the  patients  coming." 

So  Philip  led  away  this  poor  Little  Sister ;  and  trembling, 
and  clinging  to  his  arm,  she  returned  to  the  room  assigned  to 
her. 

"  She  wants  to  be  alone  with  him,"  the  doctor  said  ;  and  be 


198  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

spoke  a  brief  word  or  two  of  that  strange  delusion  under  which 
the  little  woniau  labored,  that  this  was  her  dead  child  come 
back  to  her. 

"I  know  that  is  in  her  mind,"  Goodenough  said;  "she 
never  got  over  that  brain  fever  in  which  I  found  her.  If  I 
were  to  swear  her  on  the  book,  and  say,  '  Brandon,  don't  3'ou 
believe  he  is  your  son  alive  again  ? '  she  would  not  dare  to  sa}^ 
no.  She  will  leave  him  everything  she  has  got.  I  only  gave 
her  so  much  less  than  that  scoundrel's  bill  yesterday,  because 
I  knew  she  would  like  to  contribute  her  own  share.  It  would 
have  offended  her  mortally  to  have  been  left  out  of  the  sub- 
scription. The}'  like  to  sacrifice  themselves.  Why,  there  are 
women  in  India  who,  if  not  allowed  to  roast  with  their  dead 
husbands,  would  die  of  vexation,"  And  by  this  time  Mr. 
Philip  came  striding  back  into  the  room  again,  rubbing  a  pair 
of  very  red  e3'es. 

'•  Long  ere  this,  no  doubt,  that  drunken  ruffian  is  sobered, 
and  knows  that  the  bill  is  gone.  He  is  likely  enough  to  ac- 
cuse her  of  the  robber}',"  sa3'S  the  doctor. 

"  Suppose,"  sa^'s  Philip's  other  friend,  "I  had  put  a  pistol 
to  3'our  head,  and  was  going  to  shoot  3'ou,  and  the  doctor 
took  the  pistol  out  of  my  hand,  and  flung  it  into  the  sea, 
would  3'ou  help  me  to  prosecute  the  doctor  for  robbing  me 
of  the  pistol?" 

"  You  don't  suppose  it  will  be  a  pleasure  to  me  to  pay  that 
bill?  "  said  Philip.  "  I  said,  if  a  certain  bill  were  presented  to 
me,  purporting  to  be  accepted  by  Philip  Firmin,  I  would  pay 
it.  But  if  that  scoundrel.  Hunt,  only  says  that  he  had  such 
a  bill,  and  has  lost  it ;  I  will  cheerfully  take  my  oath  that  I 
have  never  signed  any  bill  at  all  —  and  they  can't  find  Brandon 
guilty  of  stealing  a  thing  which  never  existed." 

"  Let  us  hope,  then,  that  the  bill  was  not  in  duplicate  !  " 

And  to  this  wish  all  three  gentlemen  heartily  said  Amen  ! 

And  now  the  doctor's  door-bell  began  to  be  agitated  by 
arriving  patients.  His  dining-room  was  already  full  of  them. 
The  Little  Sister  must  lie  still,  and  the  discussion  of  her  affairs 
must  be  defen-ed  to  a  more  convenient  hour ;  and  Philip  and 
his  friend  agreed  to  reconnoitre  the  house  in  Thornhaugh 
Street,  and  see  if  anything  had  happened  since  its  mistress 
had  left  it. 

Yes  :  something  had  happened.  Mrs.  Brandon's  maid,  who 
ushered  us  into  her  mistress's  little  room,  told  us  that  in  the 
early  morning  that  horrible  man  who  had  come  over-night,  and 
been   so    tipsy,    and  behaved   so    ill,  —  the   very   same   man 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  199 

who  had  come  there  tipsy  afore  once,  and  whom  Mr,  Philip 
had  flang  into  the  street — had  come  battering  at  the  knocker, 
and  pulling  at  the  bell,  and  swearing  and  cursing  most  dread- 
ful, and  calling  for  "Mrs.  Brandon!  Mrs.  Brandon!  Mrs. 
Brandon ! "  and  frightening  the  whole  street.  After  he  had 
rung,  he  knocked  and  battered  ever  so  long.  Mary  looked 
out  at  him  from  her  upper  window,  and  told  him  to  go  along- 
home,  or  she  would  call  the  police.  On  this  the  man  roared 
out  that  he  would  call  the  police  himself  if  Marj'  did  not  let 
him  in;  and  as  he  went  on  calling  "Police!"  and  yelling 
from  the  door,  Mary  came  down  stairs,  and  opened  the 
hall-door,  keeping  the  chain  fastened,  and  asked  him  what  he 
wanted  ? 

Hunt,  from  the  steps  without,  began  to  swear  and  rage  more 
loudly,  and  to  demand  to  be  let  in.  He  must  and  would  see 
Mrs.  Brandon. 

Mar}',  from  behind  her  chain  barricade,  said  that  her  mis- 
tress was  not  at  homo,  but  that  she  had  been  called  out  that 
night  to  a  patient  of  Dr.  Goodenough's. 

Hunt,  with  more  shrieks  and  curses,  said  it  was  a  lie  ;  and 
that  she  was  at  home  ;  and  that  he  would  see  her ;  and  that 
he  must  go  into  her  room  ;  and  that  he  had  left  something  there  ; 
that  he  had  lost  something  ;  and  that  he  would  have  it. 

"Lost  something  here?"  cried  Marj'.  "  Why  here  ?  when 
3'ou  reeled  out  of  this  house,  3'ou  couldn't  scarce  walk,  and  3'ou 
almost  fell  into  the  gutter,  which  I  have  seen  j-ou  there  before. 
Get  awa}-,  and  go  home !  You  are  not  sober  yd,  you  horrible 
man  ! " 

On  this,  clinging  on  to  the  area-railings,  and  demeaning 
himself  like  a  madman,  Hunt  continued  to  call  out,  "Police, 
police !  I  have  been  robbed,  I've  been  robbed !  Police ! " 
until  astonished  heads  appeared  at  various  windows  in  the  quiet 
street,  and  a  policeman  actuall}'  came  up. 

When  the  policeman  appeared.  Hunt  began  to  sway  and  pull 
at  the  door,  confined  by  its  chain  :  and  he  frantically  reiterated 
his  charge,  that  he  had  been  robbed  and  hocussed  in  that 
house,  that  night,  b}^  Mrs.  Brandon. 

The  policeman,  by  a  familiar  expression,  conveyed  his  utter 
disbelief  of  the  statement,  and  told  the  dirty,  disreputable  man 
to  move  on,  and  go  to  bed.  Mrs.  Brandon  was  known  and 
respected  all  round  the  neighborhood.  She  had  befriended 
numerous  poor  round  about ;  and  was  known  for  a  hundred 
charities.  She  attended  man}^  respectable  fninilics.  In  that 
parish  there  was  no  woman  more  esteemed.     And  !)v  the  word 


200  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

"  Gammon,"  the  policeman  expi'essed  liis  sense  of  the  utter 
absurdity  of  the  cliarge  against  the  good  lady. 

Hunt  still  continued  to  yell  out  that  he  had  been  robbed  and 
hocussed  ;  and  Mary  from  behind  her  door  repeated  to  the 
officer  (with  whom  she  perhaps  had  relations  not  unfriendly) 
her  statement  that  the  beast  had  gone  reeling  away  from  the 
house  the  night  before,  and  if  he  had  lost  anything,  who  knows 
where  he  might  not  have  lost  it? 

"  It  was  taken  out  of  this  pocket,  and  out  of  this  pocket- 
book,"  howled  Hunt,  clinging  to  the  rail.  "I  give  her  in 
charge.     I  give  the  house  in  charge  !     It's  a  den  of  thieves  !  " 

During  this  shouting  and  turmoil,  the  sash  of  a  window  in 
Ridle3^'s  studio  was  thrown  up.  The  painter  was  going  to  his 
morning  work.  He  had  appointed  an  early  model.  The  sun 
could  not  rise  too  soon  for  Ridley  ;  and,  as  soon  as  ever  it  gave 
its  light,  found  him  happy  at  his  labor.  He  had  heard  from 
his  bedroom  the  brawl  going  on  about  the  door. 

"Mr.  Ridley!"  says  the  policeman,  touching  the  glazed 
hat  with  much  respect —  (in  fact,  and  out  of  uniform,  Z  25  has 
figured  in  more  than  one  of  J.  J.'s  pictures)  —  "  Here's  a  fel- 
low disturbing  the  whole  street,  and  shouting  out  that  Mrs. 
Brandon  have  robbed  and  hocussed  him  !  " 

Ridley  ran  down  stairs  in  a  high  state  of  indignation.  He 
is  nervous,  like  men  of  his  tribe  ;  quick  to  feel,  to  pit}',  to  love, 
to  be  angry.     He  undid  the  chain,  and  ran  into  the  street. 

"  I  remember  that  fellow  drunk  here  before,"  said  the 
painter  ;  "  and  lying  in  that  very  gutter." 

"Drunk  and  disorderly!  Come  along !"  cries  Z  25;  and 
his  hand  was  quickly  fastened  on  the  parson's  greasy  collar, 
and  under  its  strong  grasp  Hunt  is  forced  to  move  on.  He 
goes,  still  yelling  out  that  he  has  been  robbed. 

"Tell  that  to  his  worship,"  says  the  incredulous  Z.  And 
this  was  the  news  which  Mrs.  Brandon's  friends  received  from 
her  maid,  when  the}^  called  at  her  house. 


' 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.       '   201 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

IN  WHICH   SEVERAL   PEOPLE   HAVE   THEIR   TRIALS. 

If  Philip  and  his  friend  had  happened  to  pass  through  High 
Street,  Marylebone,  on  their  way  to  Thornhaugh  Street  to 
reconnoitre  the  Little  Sister's  house,  they  would  have  seen  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Hunt,  in  a  very  dirty,  battered,  crestfallen  and 
unsatisfactory  state,  marching  to  Marylebone  from  the  station, 
where  the  reverend  gentleman  had  passed  the  night,  and  under 
the  custody  of  the  police.  A  convoy  of  street  boys  followed 
the  prisoner  and  his  guard,  making  sarcastic  remarks  on  both. 
Hunt's  appearance  was  not  improved  since  we  had  the  pleasure 
of  meeting  him  on  the  previous  evening.  With  a  grizzled 
beard  and  hair,  a  dingy  face,  a  dingy  shirt,  and  a  countenance 
mottled  with  dirt  and  drink,  we  may  fanc}"  the  reverend  man 
passing  in  tattered  raiment  through  the  street  to  make  his  ap- 
pearance before  the  magistrate. 

You  have  no  doubt  forgotten  the  narrative  which  appeared 
in  the  morning  papers  two  da3-s  after  the  Thornhaugh  Street 
incident,  but  my  clerk  has  been  at  the  pains  to  hunt  up  and 
copy  the  police  report,  in  which  events  connected  with  our 
history  are  briefly'  recorded. 

"  Marylebone,  Wednesday.  — Thomas  Tufton  Hunt,  profess- 
ing to  be  a  clergyman,  but  wearing  an  appearance  of  extreme 
squalor,  was  brought  before  Mr.  Beaksby  at  this  office,  charged 
by  Z  25  with  being  drunk  and  very  disorderl}-  on  Tuesday 
se'nnight,  and  "endeavoring  by  force  and  threats  to  effect  his 
re-entrance  into  a  house  in  Thornhaugh  Street,  from  which  he 
had  been  previously  ejected  in  a  most  unclerical  and  inebriated 
state. 

"  On  being  taken  to  the  station-house,  the  reverend  gentle- 
man lodged  a  complaint  on  his  own  side,  and  averred  that  he 
had  been  stupefied  and  hocussed  in  the  house  in  Thornhaugh 
Street  by  means  of  some  drug,  and  that,  whilst  in  this  state, 
he  had  been  robbed  of  a  bill  for  386/.  4s.  3c?.,  drawn  by  a  per- 
son in  New  York,  and  accepted  b}^  Mr.  P.  Firmin,  barrister,  of 
Parchment  Buildings,  Temple. 

"  Mrs.  Brandon,  the  landlady  of  the  house.  No.  — ,  Thorn- 
haugh Street,  has  been  in  the  habit  of  letting  lodgings  for  many 
years  past,  and  several  of  her  friends,  including  Mr.  Firmin, 


202    •  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

Mr.  Ridle}',  the  Rl.  Acad.,  and  other  gentlemen,  were  in  atten- 
dance to  speak  to  her  character,  which  is  most  respectable. 
After  Z  25  had  given  evidence,  the  servant  deposed  that  Hunt 
had  been  more  than  once  disorderl}^  and  drunk  before  that 
house,  and  had  been  forcibly  ejected  from  it.  On  the  night 
when  the  alleged  robber^'  was  said  to  have  taken  place,  he  had 
visited  the  house  in  Thornhaugh  Street,  had  left  it  in  an  in- 
ebriated state,  and  returned  some  hours  afterwards,  vowing 
that  he  had  been  robbed  of  the  document  in  question. 

"  Mr.  P.  Firmin  said  :  '  I  am  a  barrister,  and  have  chambers 
at  Parchment  Buildings,  Temple,  and  know  the  person  calling 
himself  Hunt.  I  have  not  accepted  any  bill  of  exchange,  nor 
is  my  signature  affixed  to  an}'  such  document.' 

"  At  this  stage  the  worthy  magistrate  interposed,  and  said 
that  this  only  went  to  prove  that  the  bill  was  not  completed  Iw 
Mr.  F.'s  acceptance,  and  would  b}'  no  means  conclude  the  ease 
set  up  before  him.  Dealing  with  it,  however,  on  the  merits, 
and  looking  at  the  way  in  which  the  charge  had  been  preferred, 
and  the  entire  absence  of  sufficient  testimony  to  warrant  him 
in  deciding  that  even  a  piece  of  paper  had  been  abstracted  in 
that  house,  or  by  the  person  accused,  and  believing  that  if  he 
were  to  commit,  a  conviction  would  be  impossible,  he  dismissed 
the  charge. 

"  The  lad}-  left  the  court  with  her  friends,  and  the  accuser, 
when  called  upon  to  pay  a  fine  for  drunkenness,  broke  out  into 
\eY}'  miclerical  language,  in  the  midst  of  which  he  was  forcibly 
removed." 

Philip  Firmin's  statement,  that  he  had  given  no  bill  of  ex- 
change, was  made  not  witliout  hesitation  on  his  part,  and  in- 
deed at  his  friends'  strong  entreat}'.  It  was  addressed  not  so 
much  to  the  sitting  magistrate,  as  to  that  elderly  individual  at 
New  York,  who  was  warned  no  more  to  forge  liis  son's  name. 
I  fear  a  coolness  ensued  between  Philip  and  his  parent  in  con- 
sequence of  the  younger  man's  behaAnor.  The  doctor  had 
thought  better  of  his  boy  than  to  suppose  that,  at  a  moment  of 
necessity^  Philip  would  desert  him.  He  forgave  Philip,  never- 
theless. Perhaps  since  his  marriage  other  influences  were  at 
work  upon  him,  &c.  The  parent  made  further  remarks  in  this 
strain.  A  man  who  takes  your  money  is  naturalh'  offended  if 
3-ou  remonstrate  ;  you  wound  his  sense  of  delicac}'  b}'  protest- 
ing against  his  putting  his  hand  in  your  pocket.  The  elegant 
doctor  in  New  York  continued  to  speak  of  his  unhappy  son 
with  a  mournful  shake  of  the  head  ;  he  said,  perhaps  believed, 
that  Philip's  imprudence  was  in  part  the  cause   of  his  own 


» 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  203 

exile.  "This  is  not  the  kind  of  entertainment  to  which  I 
would  have  invited  you  at  ni}-  own  house  in  England,"  he  would 
sa^-.  "I  thought  to  have  ended  my  days  there,  and  to  have 
left  ni}'  son  in  comfort  — ■  na\^,  splendor.  I  am  an  exile  in 
poverty  :  and  he  —  but  I  will  use  no  hard  words."  And  to  his 
female  patients  he  would  say  :  "  No,  my  dear  madam  !  — not  a 
syllable  of  reproach  shall  escape  these  lips  regarding  that  mis- 
guided boy !  But  you  can  feel  for  me  ;  I  know  3'ou  can  feel 
for  me."  In  the  old  days,  a  high-spirited  highwa3man,  who 
took  a  coach-passenger's  purse,  thought  himself  injured,  and 
the  traveller  a  shabb}"  fellow,  if  he  secreted  a  guinea  or  two 
under  the  cushions.  In  the  doctor's  now  rare  letters,  he 
breathed  a  manlj'  sigh  here  and  there,  to  think  that  he  had  lost 
the  confidence  of  his  boy.  I  do  believe  that  certain  ladies  of 
our  acquaintance  were  inclined  to  think  that  the  elder  Firmin 
had  been  not  altogether  well  used,  however  much  the}-  loved 
and  admired  the  Little  Sister  for  her  lawless  act  in  her  boj-'s 
defence.  But  this  main  point  we  had  won.  The  doctor  at  New 
York  took  the  warning,  and  wrote  his  son's  signature  upon  no 
more  bills  of  exchange.  The  good  Goodenough's  loan  was 
carried  back  to  him  in  the  very  coin  which  he  had  supplied. 
He  said  that  his  little  nurse  Brandon  was  splendide  mendax^  and 
that  her  robbery  was  a  sublime  and  courageous  act  of  war. 

In  so  far,  since  his  marriage,  Mr.  Philip  had  been  prett}' 
fortunate.  At  need,  friends  had  come  to  him.  In  moments  of 
peril  he  had  had  succor  and  relief.  Thongli  he  had  married 
without  money,  fate  had  sent  him  a  sufficiency.  His  flask  had 
never  been  empt}',  and  there  was  always  meal  in  his  bin.  But 
now  hard  trials  were  in  store  for  him  :  hard  trials  which  we 
liave  said  were  endurable,  and  which  he  has  long  since  lived 
through.  An}'  man  who  has  played  the  game  of  life  or  whist, 
knows  how  for  one  while  he  will  have  a  series  of  good  cards 
dealt  him,  and  again  will  get  no  trumps  at  all.  After  he  got 
into  his  house  in  Milman  Street  and  quitted  the  Little  Sister's 
kind  roof,  our  friend's  good  fortune  seemed  to  desert  him. 
"Perhaps  it  was  a  punishment  for  my  pride,  because  I  was 
haught}-  with  her,  and  —  and  jealous  of  that  dear  good  little 
creature,"  poor  Charlotte  afterwards  owned  in  conversation  with 
other  friends  :  —  "  but  our  fortune  seemed  to  change  when  we 
were  away  from  her,  and  that  I  must  own." 

Perhaps,  when  she  was  yet  under  Mrs.  Brandon's  roof,  the 
Little  Sister's  provident  care  had  done  a  great  deal  more  for 
Charlotte  than  Charlotte  knew.  Mrs.  Philip  had  the  most  sim- 
ple tastes  in  the  world,  and  upon  herself  never  spent  an  un- 


204  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHlLIP 

necessary  shilling.  Indeed,  it  was  a  wonder,  considering  her 
small  expenses,  how  neat  and  nice  Mrs.  Philip  ever  looked. 
But  she  never  could  deny  herself  when  the  children  were  in 
question  ;  and  had  them  arrayed  in  all  sorts  of  fine  clothes  ;  and 
stitched  and  hemmed  all  day  and  night  to  decorate  their  little 
persons  ;  and  in  reply  to  the  remonstrances  of  the  matrons  her 
friends,  showed  how  it  was  impossible  children  could  be  dressed 
for  less  cost.  If  anything  ailed  them,  quick,  the  doctor  must 
be  sent  for.  Not  worthy  Goodenough,  who  came  without  a  fee, 
and  pooh-poohed  her  alarms  and  anxieties  ;  but  dear  Mr.  Bland, 
who  had  a  feeling  heart,  and  was  himself  a  father  of  children, 
and  who  supported  those  children  by  the  produce  of  the  pihs, 
draughts,  powders,  visits,  which  he  bestowed  on  all  families 
into  whose  doors  he  entered.  Bland's  sympath}-  was  very  con- 
solatory ;  but  it  wjis  found  to  be  very  costly  at  the  end  of  the 
year.  "  And,  what  then  ?  "  says  Charlotte,  with  kindling  cheeks. 
"  Do  you  suppose  we  should  grudge  that  money,  which  was  to 
give  health  to  our  dearest,  dearest  babies?  No.  You  can't 
have  such  a  bad  opinion  of  me  as  that !  "  And  accordingly 
Mr.  Bland  received  a  nice  little  annuity  from  our  friends. 
Philip  had  a  joke  about  his  wife's  housekeeping  which  perhaps 
may  apply  to  other  young  women  who  are  kept  b}'  overwatchful 
mothers  too  much  in  statu  pupillari.  When  they  were  married, 
or  about  to  be  married,  Philip  asked  Charlotte  what  she  would 
order  for  dinner?  She  promptly  said  she  would  order  leg  of 
mutton.  "And  after  leg  of  mutton  ? "  "Leg  of  beef,  to  be 
sure  ! "  says  Mrs.  Charlotte,  looking  ver^'  pleased,  and  know- 
ing. And  the  fact  is,  as  this  little  housekeeper  was  obhged 
demurely  to  admit,  their  household  bills  increased  prodigiously 
after  they  left  Thornhaugh  Street.  "  And  I  can't  understand, 
my  dear,  how  the  grocer's  book  should  mount  up  so ;  and  the 
butterman's,  and  the  beer,"  «fec.  &c.  We  have  often  seen 
the  prett}'  little  head  bent  over  the  dingy  volumes,  puzzling, 
puzzling :  and  the  eldest  child  would  hold  up  a  warning  finger 
to  ours,  and  tell  them  to  be  very  quiet,  as  mamma  was  at  her 
"  atounts." 

And  now,  I  grieve  to  sa}",  money  became  scarce  for  the  pay- 
ment of  these  accounts ;  and  though  Philip  fancied  he  hid  his 
anxieties  from  his  wife,  be  sure  she  loved  him  too  much  to  be 
deceived  by  one  of  the  clumsiest  hypocrites  in  the  world.  Only, 
being  a  much  cleverer  h3'pocrite  than  her  husband,  she  pretended 
to  be  deceived,  and  acted  her  part  so  well  that  poor  Philip  was 
mortified  with  her  gayetN^  and  chose  to  fancy  his  wife  was  in- 
different to  their  misfortunes.     She  ought  not  to  be  so  smiling 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  205 

and  happ3^  he  thought;  and,  as  usual,  bemoaned  his  lot  to  his 
friends.  "  I  come  liome  racked  with  care,  and  thinking  of  those 
inevitable  bills  ;  I  shudder,  sir,  at  every  note  that  lies  on  the 
hall  table,  and  would  tremble  as  I  dashed  them  open  as  the}^  do 
on  the  stage.  But  I  laugh  and  put  on  a  jaunty  air,  and  humbug- 
Char.  And  I  hear  her  singing  about  the  house  and  lauo-hino; 
and  cooing  with  the  children,  by  Jove.  She's  not  aware  of 
anj-thing.  She  does  not  know  how  dreadfull}'  the  res  domi  is 
squeezing  me.  But  before  marriage  she  did,  I  tell  3'ou.  Then, 
if  anything  annoyed  me,  she  divined  it.  If  I  felt  ever  so  little 
unwell,  you  should  have  seen  the  alarm  on  her  face  !  It  was 
'  Philip  dear,  how  pale  you  are  ; '  or,  '  Philip,  how  flushed  you 
are  ; '  or,  '  I  am  sure  you  have  had  a  letter  from  your  father. 
Why  do  you  conceal  anything  from  me,  sir?  You  never  should 
—  never  ! '  And  now  when  the  fox  is  gnawing  at  m}'  side  under 
my  cloak,  I  laugh  and  grin  so  naturally  that  she  believes  I  am 
all  right,  and  she  comes  to  meet  me  flouncing  the  children  about 
in  my  face,  and  wearing  an  air  of  consummate  happiness  !  I 
would  not  deceive  her  for  the  world,  3'Ou  know.  But  it's  morti- 
fying. Don't  tell  me !  It  is  mortifying  to  be  tossing  awake 
all  night,  and  racked  with  care  all  clay,  and  have  the  wife  of 
3-our  bosom  chattering  and  singing  and  laughing,  as  if  there 
were  no  cares,  or  doubts,  or  duns  in  the  world.  If  I  had  the 
gout  and  she  were  to  laugh  and  sing,  I  should  not  call  that 
S3'mpath3\  If  I  were  arrested  for  debt,  and  she  wei'e  to  come 
grinning  and  laughing  to  the  sponging- house,  I  should  not  call 
that  consolation.  Wh3'  doesn't  she  feel?  She  ought  to  feel. 
There's  Bets3',  our  parlor-maid.  There's  the  old  fellow  who 
comes  to  clean  the  boots  and  knives.  They  know  how  hard  up 
I  am.  And  m3'  wife  sings  and  dances  whilst  I  am  on  the  verge* 
of  ruin,  by  Jove  ;  and  giggles  and  laughs  as  if  life  was  a  pan- 
tomime !  " 

Then  the  man  and  woman  into  whose  ears  poor  Philip  roared 
out  his  confessions  and  griefs,  hung  down  their  blushing  heads 
in  humbled  silence.  The3'  are  tolerabl3^  prosperous  in  life,  and, 
I  fear,  are  prett3^  well  satisfied  with  themselves  and  each  other. 
A  woman  who  scai'cely  ever  does  an3^  wrong,  and  rules  and 

governs  her  own  house  and  famil3',  as  my  ,  as  the  wife 

of  the  reader's  humble  servant  most  notoriousl3'  does,  often 
becomes  —  must  it  be  said?  —  too  certain  of  her  own  virtue, 
and  is  too  sure  of  the  correctness  of  her  own  opinion.  We 
virtuous  people  give  advice  a  good  deal,  and  set  a  considerable 
value  upon  that  advice.  We  meet  a  certain  man  who  has  fallen 
among  thieves,  let  us  Ba,y.     We  succor  him  readil3-  enough. 


206  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  rHILIP 

We  take  him  kindly  to  the  inn,  and  pay  his  score  there ;  but 
we  say  to  the  landlord,  "You  must  give  this  poor  man  his 
bed  ;  his  medicine  at  such  a  time,  and  his  broth  at  such  another. 
But,  mind  j^ou,  he  must  have  that  physic,  and  no  other ;  that 
broth  when  we  order  it.  We  take  his  case  in  hand,  you  under- 
stand. Don't  listen  to  him  or  anybody  else.  We  know  all 
about  everything.  Good-by.  Take  care  of  him.  Mind  the 
medicine  and  the  broth  !  "  and  Mr.  Benefactor  or  Lady  Boun- 
tiful goes  awa}^,  perfectl^^  self-satisfied. 

Do  you  take  this  allegory  ?  When  Philip  complained  to  us 
of  his  wife's  friskiness  and  gayety  ;  when  he  bitterly  contrasted 
her  levity  and  carelessness  with  his  own  despondency  and  doubt, 
Charlotte's  two  principal  friends  were  smitten  by  shame.  "  Oh, 
Philip  !  dear  Philip  !  "  his  female  adviser  said,  (having  looked 
at  her  husband  once  or  twice  as  Firmin  spoke,  and  in  vain 
endeavored  to  keep  her  guilty  e3'es  down  on  her  work,)  "  Char- 
lotte has  done  this,  because  she  is  humble,  and  because  she 
takes  the  advice  of  friends  who  are  not.  She  knows  everjthing, 
and  more  than  everything ;  for  her  dear  tender  heart  is  filled 
with  apprehension.  But  we  told  her  to  show  no  sign  of  care, 
lest  her  husband  should  be  disturbed.  And  she  trusted  in  us  ; 
and  she  puts  her  trust  elsewhere,  Philip ;  and  she  has  hidden 
her  own  anxieties,  lest  yours  should  be  increased  ;  and  has  met 
you  gayly  when  her  heart  was  full  of  dread.  We  think  she  has 
done  wrong  now ;  but  she  did  so  because  she  was  so  simple, 
and  trusted  in  us  who  advised  her  wrongl3^  Now  we  see  that 
there  ought  to  have  been  perfect  confidence  always  between 
you,  and  that  it  is  her  simplicity  and  faith  in  us  which  have 
misled  her." 

Philip  hung  down  his  head  for  a  moment,  and  hid  his  ejes  ; 
and  we  knew,  during  that  minute  when  his  face  was  concealed 
from  us,  how  his  grateful  heart  was  employed. 

"  And  3'ou  know,  dear  Philip  —  "  says  Laura,  looking  at  her 
husband,  and  nodding  to  that  person,  who  certainlj'  understood 
the  hint. 

"And  I  say,  Firmin,"  breaks  in  the  lady's  husband,  "  you 
understand,  if  3'ou  are  at  all  —  that  is,  if  you  —  that  is,  if  we 
can  —  " 

"  Hold  your  tongue  !  "  shouts  Firmin,  with  a  face  beaming 
over  with  happiness.  "  I  know  what  }'ou  mean.  You  beggar, 
you  are  going  to  offer  me  money  !  I  see  it  in  3'our  face  ;  bless 
3'ou  both  !  But  we'll  tr3'  and  do  without,  please  heaven.  And 
—  it's  worth  feeling  a  pinch  of  povert3'  to  find  such  friends  as  I 
have  had,  and  to  share  it  with  such  a  —  such  a  —  dash  dear 


ON"  HIS   WAY  THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  207 

little  thing  as  I  have  at  home.  And  I  won't  try  and  humbug 
Char  an}'  more.  I'm  bad  at  that  sort  of  business.  And  good 
night,  and  I'll  never  forget  j'our  kindness,  never !  "  And  he 
is  off  a  moment  afterwards,  and  jumping  down  the  steps  of  our 
door,  and  so  into  the  park.  And  though  tliere  were  not  five 
pounds  in  the  poor  little  house  in  Milmau  Street,  there  were  not 
two  happier  people  in  London  that  night  than  Charlotte  and 
Philip  Firmin.  If  he  had  his  troubles,  our  friend  had  his  im- 
mense consolations.  Fortunate  he,  however  poor,  who  has 
friends  to  help,  and  love  to  console  him  in  his  trials. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

IN   WHICH   THE   LUCK   GOES   VERY   MUCH   AGAINST   US. 

Every  man  and  woman  amongst  us  has  made  his  vo3'^age  to 
Lilliput,  and  his  tour  in  the  kingdom  of  Brobdingnag.  When  I 
go  to  m}'  native  country'  town,  the  local  paper  announces  our 
arrival ;  the  laborers  touch  their  hats,  as  the  pony-chaise  passes, 
the  girls  and  old  women  drop  curtsies  ;  Mr.  Hicks,  the  grocer 
and  hatter,  comes  to  his  door  and  makes  a  bow,  and  smirks  and 
smiles.  When  our  neighbor  Sir  John  arrives  at  the  hall,  he  is  a 
still  greater  personage  ;  the  bell-ringers  greet  the  hall  family 
with  a  peal ;  the  rector  walks  over  on  an  early  da}',  and  pays 
his  visit ;  and  the  farmers  at  market  press  round  for  a  nod  of 
recognition.  Sir  John  at  home  is  in  Lilliput:  in  Belgrave 
Square  he  is  in  Brobdingnag,  where  almost  everybody  we  meet 
is  ever  so  much  taller  than  ourselves.  "Which  do  you  like 
best,  to  be  a  giant  amongst  the  pigmies,  or  a  pigmy  amongst 
the  giants?"  I  know  what  sort  of  company  I  prefer  myself: 
but  that  is  not  the  point.  What  I  would  hint  is,  that  we  possi- 
bl\'  give  ourselves  patronizing  airs  before  small  people,  as  folks 
higher  placed  than  ourselves  give  themselves  airs  before  us. 
Patronizing  airs?  Old  Miss  Mumbles,  the  half-pay  lieutenant's 
daughter,  who  lives  over  the  plumber's,  with  her  maid,  gives 
herself  in  her  degree  more  airs  than  any  duchess  in  Belgravia, 
and  would  leave  the  room  if  a  tradesman's  wife  sat  down 
in  it. 

Now  it  has  been  said  that  few  men  in  this  city  of  London  are 
so  simple  in  their  manners  as  Philip  Firmin,  and  that  he  treated 


208  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

the  patron  whose  bread  he  ate,  and  the  wealthy  relative  who 
condescended  to  visit  him,  with  a  like  freedom.  He  is  blunt, 
but  not  familiar,  and  is  not  a  whit  more  polite  to  m^^  lord  than 
to  Jack  or  Tom  at  the  coffee-house.  He  resents  familiarity 
from  vulgar  persons,  and  those  who  venture  on  it  retire  maimed 
and  mortified  after  coming  into  collision  with  him.  As  for  the 
people  he  loves,  he  grovels  before  them,  worships  their  boot- 
tips,  and  their  gown-hems.  But  he  submits  to  them,  not  for 
their  wealth  or  rank,  but  for  love's  sake.  He  submitted  very 
magnanimously,  at  first,  to  the  kindnesses  and  caresses  of  Lady 
Ringwood  and  her  daughters,  being  softened  and  won  by  the 
regard  which  they  showed  for  his  wife  and  children. 

Although  Sir  John  was  for  the  Rights  of  Man  everywhere, 
all  over  the  world,  and  had  pictures  of  Franklin,  Lafa^-ette,  and 
Washington  in  his  library,  he  likewise  had  portraits  of  his  own 
ancestors  in  that  apartment,  and  entertained  a  verj^  high  opinion 
of  the  present  representative  of  the  Ringwood  family.  The 
character  of  the  late  chief  of  the  house  was  notorious.  Lord 
Ringwood's  life  had  been  irregular  and  his  morals  loose.  His 
talents  were  considerable,  no  doubt,  but  they  had  not  been  de- 
voted to  serious  stud^^  or  directed  to  useful  ends.  A  wild  man 
in  early  life,  he  had  only  changed  his  practices  in  later  life  in 
consequence  of  ill  health,  and  became  a  hermit  as  a  Certain 
Person  became  a  monk.  He  was  a  frivolous  person  to  the  end, 
and  was  not  to  be  considered  as  a  public  man  and  statesman  ; 
and  this  light-minded  man  of  pleasure  had  been  advanced  to 
the  third  rank  of  the  peerage,  whilst  his  successor,  his  superior 
in  intellect  and  morality,  remained  a  Baronet  still.  How  blind 
the  Ministry  was  which  refused  to  recognize  so  much  talent  and 
worth  !  Had  there  been  public  virtue  or  common  sense  in  the 
governors  of  the  nation,  merits  like  Sir  John's  never  could  have 
been  overlooked.  But  Ministers  were  notoriously  a  family 
clique,  and  only  helped  each  other.  Promotion  and  patronage 
Avere  disgracefully  monopolized  by  the  members  of  a  very  few 
families  who  were  not  better  men  of  business,  men  of  better 
character,  men  of  more  ancient  lineage  (though  birth,  of  course, 
was  a  mere  accident)  than  Sir  John  himself.  In  a  word,  until 
they  gave  him  a  peerage,  he  saw  very  little  hope  for  the  cabinet 
or  the  country. 

In  a  very  early  page  of  this  history*,  mention  was  made  of  a 
certain  Philip  Ringwood,  to  whose  protection  Philip  Firmin's 
mother  confided  her  bo}^  when  he  was  first  sent  to  school. 
Philip  Ringwood  was  Firmin's  senior  by  seven  years  ;  he  came 
to  Old  Parr  Street  twice  or  thrice  diuing  his  stay  at  school, 


ON"  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  209 

condescended  to  take  the  "  tips,"  of  which  the  poor  doctor  was 
liberal  enough,  but  never  deigned  to  take  an}'  notice  of  3'oung 
Firmili,  who  looked  up  to  his  kinsman  with  awe  and  ti'embling. 
From  school  Philip  Ringwood  speedily  departed  to  college,  and 
then  entered  upon  public  life.  He  was  the  eldest  son  of 
Sir  Jolin  Ringwood,  with  whom  our  friend  has  of  late  made  ac- 
quaintance. 

Mr.  Ringwood  was  a  much  greater  personage  than  the  baro- 
net his  father.  Even  when  the  latter  succeeded  to  Lord  Rins;- 
wood's  estates  and  came  to  London,  he  could  scarcely  be  said 
to  equal  his  son  in  social  rank  ;  and  the  younger  patronized  his 
parent.  What  is  the  secret  of  great  social  success  ?  It  is  not 
to  be  gained  by  beaut}',  or  wealth,  or  birth,  or  wit,  or  valor,  or 
eminence  of  any  kind.  It  is  a  gift  of  Fortune,  bestowed,  like 
that  goddess's  favors,  capriciously.  Look,  dear  madam,  at  the 
most  fashionable  ladies  at  present  reigning  in  London.  Are 
the}^  better  bred,  or  more  amiable,  or  richer,  or  more  beautiful 
than  3'ourself?  See,  good  sir,  the  men  who  lead  the  fashion, 
and  stand  in  the  bow-window  at  "  Black's  ;  "  are  they  wiser,  or 
wittier,  or  more  agreeable  people  than  you?  And  yet  3'ou 
know  what  your  fate  would  be  if  3'ou  were  put  up  at  that  club. 
Sir  John  Ringwood  never  dared  to  be  proposed  there,  even 
after  his  great  accession  of  fortune  on  the  earl's  death.  His 
son  did  not  encourage  him.  People  even  said  that  Ringwood 
would  blackball  his  father  if  he  dared  to  offer  himself  as  a  can- 
didate. 

I  never,  I  sa}^  could  understand  the  reason  of  Philip  Ring- 
wood's  success  in  life,  thoua-h  vou  must  acknowledge  that  he  is 
one  of  our  most  eminent  dandies.  He  is  affable  to  dukes.  He 
patronizes  marquises.  He  is  not  witty.  He  is  not  clever. 
He  does  not  give  good  dinners.  How  many  baronets  are  there 
in  the  British  empire?  Look  to  your  book,  and  see.  I  tell 
3'ou  there  are  many  of  these  whom  Philip  Ringwood  would 
scarcely  admit  to  wait  at  one  of  his  bad  dinners.  By  calmly 
asserting  himself  in  life,  this  man  has  achieved  his  social  emi- 
nence. We  may  hate  him  ;  but  we  acknowledge  his  superiority. 
For  instance,  I  should  as  soon  think  of  asking  him  to  dine  with 
me,  as  I  should  of  slapping  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  on 
the  l)ack. 

Mr.  Ringwood  has  a  meagre  little  house  in  Maj^  Fair,  and 
belongs  to  a  public  oflice,  where  he  patronizes  his  chef.  His 
own  family  bow  down  before  him  ;  his  mother  is  humble  in  his 
company  ;  his  sisters  are  respectful ;  his  father  does  not  brag 
of  his  own  liberal  principles,  and  never  alludes  to  the  rights  of 

39 


210  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

man  in  the  son's  presence.  He  is  called  "  Mr.  Ringwood"  in 
the  family.  The  person  who  is  least  in  awe  of  him  is  his 
younger  brother,  who  has  been  known  to  make  faces  behind  the 
elder's  back.  But  he  is  a  dreadfuU}-  headstrong  and  ignorant 
child,  and  respects  nothing.  Lady  Ringwood,  b\^  the  wa}',  is 
Mr.  Ringwood's  step-mother.  His  own  mother  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  a  noble  house,  and  died  in  giving  birtli  to  this  paragon. 

Philip  Firmin,  who  had  not  set  eyes  upon  his  kinsman  since 
they  were  at  school  together,  remembered  some  stories  which 
were  current  about  Ringwood,  and  by  no  means  to  that  eminent 
dandy's  credit  —  stories  of  intrigue,  of  pla}',  of  various  libertine 
exploits  on  Mr.  Ringwood's  part.  One  day,  Philip  and  Char- 
lotte dined  with  Sir  John,  who  was  talking  and  chirping,  and 
laying  down  the  law,  and  bragging  away  according  to  his  wont, 
when  his  son  entered  and  asked  for  dinner.  He  had  accepted 
an  invitation  to  dine  at  Garterton  House.  The  Duke  had  one 
of  his  attacks  of  gout  just  before  dinner.  The  dinner  was  off. 
If  Lady  Ringwood  would  give  him  a  slice  of  mutton,  he  would 
be  very  much  obliged  to  her.  A  place  was  soon  found  for 
him.  "And,  Philip,  this  is  your  namesake,  and  our  cousin, 
Mr.  Philip  Firmin,"  said  the  Baronet,  presenting  his  son  to  his 
kinsman. 

"Your  father  used  to  give  me  sovereigns,  when  I  was  at 
school.  I  have  a  faint  recollection  of  j'ou,  too.  Little  white- 
headed  bo3%  weren't  you?  How  is  the  doctor,  and  Mrs.  Fir- 
min?    All  right?" 

"  Wh}',  don't  you  know  his  father  ran  awa^^?"  calls  out  the 
youngest  member  of  the  family.  "Don't  kick  me,  Emily, 
He  did  run  away." 

Then  Mr.  Ringwood  remembered,  and  a  faint  blush  tinged 
his  face.  "Lapse  of  time.  I  know.  Shouldn't  have  asked 
after  such  a  lapse  of  time."  And  he  mentioned  a  case  in  which 
a  duke,  who  was  very  forgetful,  had  asked  a  marquis  about  his 
wife  who  had  run  awa}'  with  an  earl,  and  made  inquiries  about 
the  duke's  son,  who,  as  everybody  knew,  was  not  on  terms 
with  his  father. 

"This  is  Mrs.  Firmin — Mrs.  Philip  Firmin!"  cried  Lady 
Ringwood,  rather  nervously  ;  and  I  suppose  Mrs.  Philip  bluslied, 
and  the  blush  became  her ;  for  Mr.  Ringwood  afterwards  con- 
descended to  say  to  one  of  his  sisters,  that  their  new-found 
relative  seemed  one  of  your  rough-and-ready  sort  of  gentlemen, 
but  his  wife  was  really-  very  well  bred,  and  quite  a  pretty  young 
woman,  and  presentable  anj'where  —  really  anywhere.  Char- 
lotte was  asked  to  sing  one  or  two  of  her  little  songs  after 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  211 

dinner.  Mi-.  Eingwood  was  delighted.  Her  voice  was  per- 
fectly true.  What  she  sang,  she  sang  admirably.  And  he 
was  good  enough  to  hum  over  one  of  her  songs  (during  which 
performance  he  showed  that  his  voice  was  not  .exempt  from 
little  frailties),  and  to  say  he  had  heard  Lady  Philomela  Shak- 
erlej'  sing  that  very  song  at  Glenmavis,  last  autumn ;  and  it 
was  such  a  favorite  that  the  Duchess  asked  for  it  every  night 
—  actuall}' every  night.  When  our  friends  were  going  home, 
Mr.  Eingwood  gave  Philip  almost  the  whole  of  one  finger  to 
shake  ;  and  while  Philip  was  inwardly  raging  at  his  imperti- 
nence, believed  that  he  had  entirely  fascinated  his  humble 
relatives,  and  that  he  had  been  most  good-natured  and 
friendly. 

I  cannot  tell  why  this  man's  patronage  chafed  and  goaded 
our  worthy'  friend  so  as  to  drive  him  beyond  the  bouuds  of  all 
politeness  and  reason.  The  artless  remarks  of  the  little  boy, 
and  the  occasional  simple  speeches  of  the  young  ladies,  had 
oul}^  tickled  Philip's  humor,  and  served  to  amuse  him  when  he 
met  his  relatives.  I  suspect  it  was  a  certain  free-and-easy 
manner  which  Mr.  Eingwood  chose  to  adopt  towards  Mrs. 
Philip,  which  annoyed  her  husband.  He  had  said  nothing  at 
which  offence  could  be  taken  :  perhaps  he  was  quite  unconscious 
of  offending;  nay,  thought  himself  eminentlj' pleasing  :  perhaps 
he  was  not  more  impertinent  towards  her  than  towards  other 
women  :  but  in  talking  about  him,  Mr.  Firmin's  e^-es  flashed 
very  fiercely,  and  he  spoke  of  his  new  acquaintance  and  relative, 
with  his  usual  extreme  candor,  as  an  upstart,  and  an  arrogant 
conceited  puppy  whose  ears  he  would  like  to  pull. 

How  do  good  women  learn  to  discover  men  who  are  not 
good?  Is  it  by  instinct?  How  do  the}'  learn  those  stories 
about  men?  I  protest  I  never  told  m}'  wife  anything  good  or 
bad  regai'ding  this  Mr.  Eingwood,  though  of  course,  as  a  man 
about  town,  I  have  heard  —  who  has  not?  —  little  anecdotes 
regarding  his  career.  His  conduct  in  that  affair  with  Miss 
WiUowby  was  heartless  and  cruel ;  his  behavior  to  that  un- 
happy Blanche  Painter  nobody  can  defend.  M}-  wife  conve^'s 
her  opinion  regarding  Philip  Eingwood,  his  life,  principles,  and 
morality,  by  looks  and  silences  which  are  more  awful  and  kill- 
ing than  the  bitterest  words  of  sarcasm  or  reproof.  Philip 
Firmin,  who  knows  her  ways,  watches  her  features,  and,  as  I 
have  said,  humbles  himself  at  her  feet,  marked  the  lady's  awful 
looks,  when  he  came  to  describe  to  us  his  meeting  with  his 
cousin,  and  the  magnificent  patronizing  airs  which  Mr.  Eing- 
wood assumed. 


212  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

"What?"  he  said,  "3-ou  don't  like  him  any  more  than  I 
do?     I  thought  you  wOuld  not ;  and  I  am  so  glad." 

Philip's  Iriend  said  she  did  not  know  Mr.  Ringwood,  and 
had  never  spoken  a  word  to  him  in  her  life. 

"Yes  ;  but  you  know  of  him,"  cries  the  impetuous  Firmin. 
"  "What  do  you  know  of  him,  with  his  monstrous  puppyism  and 
arrogance?"  Oh,  Mrs.  Laura  knew  very  little  of  him.  She 
did  not  believe  —  she  had  much  rather  not  believe  —  what  the 
world  said  about  Mr.  Ringwood. 

"  Suppose  we  were  to  ask  the  Woolcombs  their  opinion  of 
3'our  character,  Philip?"  cries  that  gentleman's  biographer, 
with  a  laugh. 

"My  dear!"  says  Laura,  with  a  3"et  severer  look,  the 
severity  of  which  glance  I  must  explain.  The  differences  of 
"VVoolcomb  and  his  wife  were  notorious.  Their  unhappiness 
was  known  to  all  the  world.  Society  was  beginning  to  look 
with  a  very,  very  cold  face  upon  Mrs.  Woolcomb.  After 
quarrels,  jealousies,  battles,  reconciliations,  scenes  of  renewed 
violence  and  furious  language,  had  come  incUfference,  and  the 
most  reckless  ga3'ety  on  the  woman's  part.  Her  home  was 
splendid,  but  mean  and  miserable  ;  all  sorts  of  stories  were  rife 
regardhig  her  husband's  brutal  treatment  of  poor  Agnes,  and 
her  own  imprudent  behavior.  Mrs.  Laura  was  indignant  when 
this  unhapp}'  woman's  name  was  ever  mentioned,  except  when 
she  thought  how  our  warm,  true-hearted  Philip  had  escaped 
from  the  heartless  creature.  "What  a  blessing  it  was  that 
j-ou  were  ruined,  Phihp,  and  that  she  deserted  3'ou ! "  Laura 
would  say.  "What  fortune  would  repa}-  you  for  marr3-ing 
such  a  woman  ? " 

"Indeed  it  was  worth  all  I  had  to  lose  her,"  sa3's  Philip, 
"  and  so  the  doctor  and  I  are  quits.  If  he  had  not  spent  m3' 
fortune,  Agnes  would  have  married  me.  If  she  had  married 
me,  I  might  have  turned  Othello,  and  have  been  hung  for 
smothering  her.  Why,  if  I  had  not  been  poor,  I  should  never 
have  been  married  to  little  Char  —  and  fancy  not  being  married 
to  Char  !  "  The  worthy'  fellow  here  lapses  into  silence,  and 
indulges  in  an  inward  rapture  at  the  idea  of  his  own  excessive 
happiness.  Then  he  is  scared  again  at  the  thought  which  his 
own  imagination  has  raised. 

"  I  say  !  Fanc3^  being  without  the  kids  and  Char !  "  he  cries 
with  a  blank  look. 

"  That  horrible  father  —  that  dreadful  mother  —  pardon  me, 
Philip  ;  but  when  I  think  of  the  worldliness  of  those  unhappy 
people,  and  how  that  poor  unhappy  woman  has  been  bred  in 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  213 

it,  and  ruined  b}'  it  —  I  am  so,  so,  so  enraged,  that  I  can't  keep 
ray  temper!"  cries  the  lady.  "Is  the  woman  answerable,  or- 
the  parents,  who  hardened  her  heart,  and  sold  her  —  sold  her 
to  that  —  O  !  "  Our  illustrious  friend  Woolcomb  was  signified 
by  "that  O,"  and  the  lady  once  more  paused,  choked  with 
wrath  as  she  thought  about  that  O,  and  that  O's  wife. 

"I  wonder  he  has  not  Othello'd  her,"  remarks  Philip,  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets.  "I  should,  if  she  had  been  mine, 
and  gone  on  as  they  say  she  is  going  on." 

"It  is  dreadful,  dreadful  to  contemplate!"  continues  the 
lady.  "  To  think  she  was  sold  by  her  own  parents,  poor  thing, 
poor  thing  !     The  guilt  is  with  them  who  led  her  wrong." 

"Nay,"  says  one  of  the  three  interlocutors.  "Why  stop 
at  poor  Mr,  and  Mrs.  Twysden?  Why  not  let  them  off,  and 
accuse  tlieir  parents?  who  lived  worldly  too  in  their  generation. 
Or  stay ;  they  descend  from  AVilham  the  Conqueror.  Let  us 
absolve  poor  Talbot  Twysden  and  his  heartless  wife,  and  have 
the  Norman  into  court." 

"  Ah,  Arthur  !  Did  not  our  sin  begin  with  the  beginning," 
cries  the  lady,  "  and  have  we  not  its  remedy?  Oh,  this  poor 
creature,  this  poor  creature !  May  she  know  where  to  take 
refuge  from  it,  and  learn  to  repent  in  time  !  " 

The  Georgian  and  Circassian  girls,  they  sa}',  used  to  submit 
to  their  lot  very  complacently,  and  were  quite  eager  to  get  to 
market  at  Constantinople  and  be  sold.  Mrs.  Woolcomb  wanted 
nobody'  to  tempt  her  awaj'  from  poor  Philip.  She  hopped  away 
from  the  old  love  as  soon  as  ever  the  new  one  appeared  with 
his  bag  of  money.  She  knew  quite  well  to  whom  she  was  sell- 
ing herself,  and  for  what.  The  tempter  needed  no  skill,  or 
artifice,  or  eloquence.  He  had  none.  But  he  showed  her  a 
purse,  and  three  fine  houses  —  and  she  came.  Innocent  child, 
forsooth !  She  knew  quite  as  much  about  the  world  as  papa 
and  mamma ;  and  the  lawj-ers  did  not  look  to  her  settlement 
more  warily,  and  cooll}^,  than  she  herself  did.  Did  she  not  live 
on  it  afterwards?  I  do  not  say  she  lived  rcputabh',  but  most 
comfortably^ :  as  Paris,  and  Rome,  and  Naples,  and  Florence 
can  tell  you,  where  she  is  well  known  ;  where  she  receives  a 
great  deal  of  a  certain  kind  of  companj^ ;  where  she  is  scorned 
and  flattered,  and  splendid,  and  lonely,  and  miserable.  She  is 
not  miserable  when  she  sees  children  :  she  does  not  care  for  other 
persons'  children,  as  she  never  did  for  her  own,  even  when  they 
were  taken  from  her.  She  is  of  course  hurt  and  angry,  when  quite 
common,  vulgar  people,  not  in  society,  you  understand,  turn  away 
from  her,  and  avoid  her,  and  won't  come  to  her  parties.     She 


214  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

gives  excellent  dinners  which  jolly  fogies,  rattling  bachelors,  and 
doubtful  ladies  frequent :  but  she  is  alone  and  unhappy  —  un- 
happy because  she  does  not  see  parents,  sister,  or  brother? 
Allons,  mon  bon  Monsieur  !  She  never  cared  for  parents,  sister,  or 
brother  ;  or  for  baby  :  or  for  man  (except  once  for  Philip  a  little, 
little  bit,  when  her  pulse  would  sometimes  go  up  two  beats  in  a 
minute  at  his  appearance).  But  she  is  unhapp}-,  because  she  is 
losing  her  figure,  and  from  tight  lacing  her  nose  has  become  very 
red,  and  the  pearl-powder  won't  lie  on  it  somehow.  And  though 
you  may  have  thought  AYoolcomb  an  odious,  ignorant,  and  under- 
bred little  wretch,  you  must  own  that  at  least  he  had  red  blood 
in  his  veins.  Did  he  not  spend  a  great  part  of  his  fortune  for 
the  possession  of  this  cold  wife  ?  For  whom  did  she  ever  make 
a  sacrifice,  or  feel  a  pang?  I  am  sure  a  greater  misfortune  than 
any  which  has  befallen  friend  Philip  might  have  happened  to 
him,  and  so  congratulate  him  on  his  escape. 

Having  vented  his  wrath  upon  the  arrogance  and  impertinence 
of  this  solemn  puppy  of  a  Philip  Ringwood,  our  friend  went 
away  somewhat  soothed  to  his  club  in  8t.  James's  Street.  Tiie 
"  Megatherium  Club  "  is  only  a  ver}^  few  doors  from  the  much 
more  aristocratic  establishment  of  "  Black's."  Mr.  Philip  Ring- 
Avood  and  Mr.  Woolcomb  were  standing  on  the  steps  of 
"Black's."  Mr.  Ringwood  waved  a  graceful  little  kid-gloved 
hand  to  Philip,  and  scniled  on  him.  Mr.  Woolcomb  glared  at 
our  friend  out  of  his  opal  ej'eballs.  Philip  had  once  proposed 
to  kick  Woolcomb  into  the  sea.  He  somehow  felt  as  if  he  would 
like  to  treat  Ringwood  to  the  same  bath.  Meanwhile,  Mr. 
Ringwood  labored  under  the  notion  that  he  and  his  new-found 
acquaintance  were  on  the  ver}'  best  possible  terms. 

At  one  time  poor  little  Woolcomb  loved  to  be  seen  with 
Philip  Ringwood.  He  thought  he  acquired  distinction  from  the 
companionship  of  that  man  of  fashion,  and  would  hang  on 
Ringwood  as  they  walked  the  Pall  Mall  pavement. 

"Do  you  know  that  great  hulking,  overbearing  brute?" 
sa3-s  Woolcomb  to  his  companion  on  the  steps  of  "  Black's." 
Perhaps  somebody  overheard  them  from  the  bow-window.  (I 
tell  3-ou  everything  is  overheard  in  London,  and  a  great  deal 
more  too.) 

"Brute,  is  he?"  sa3's  Ringwood;  "seems  a  rough,  over- 
bearing sort  of  chap." 

"  Blackguard  doctor's  son.  Bankrupt.  Father  ran  away," 
says  the  dusky  man  with  the  opal  e^'eballs. 

"  I  have  heard  he  was  a  rogue  —  the  doctor  ;  but  I  like  him. 
Remember  he  gave  me  three  sovereigns  when  I  was  at  school. 


ON  HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  215 

Always  like  a  fellow  who  tips  j'ou  when  3'ou  are  at  school."  And 
here  Eiugwood  beckoned  his  brougham  which  was  in  waiting. 

"Shall  we  see  3'Ou  at  dinner?  Where  are  3'ou  going?" 
asked  Mr.  AVoolcomb.     "  If  3'ou  are  going  towards  —  " 

"  Towards  Gray's  Inn  to  see  my  lawyer;  have  an  appoint- 
ment there ;  be  with  j'ou  at  eight ! "  And  Mr.  Ringwood 
skipped  into  his  little  brougham  and  was  gone. 

Tom  Eaves  told  Philip.  Tom  Eaves  belongs  to  "Black's 
Club,"  to  "Bays's,"  to  the  "Megatherium,"  I  don't  know  to 
how  many  clubs  in  St.  James's  Street.  Tom  Eaves  knows 
everybod^-'s  business,  and  all  the  scandal  of  all  the  clubs  for  the 
last  fort}"  years.  He  knows  who  has  lost  monc}'  and  to  whom  ; 
what  is  the  tallc  of  the  opera-box  and  what  the  scandal  of  the 
coulisses;  who  is  making  love  to  whose  daughter.  Whatever 
men  and  women  are  doing  in  May  Fair,  is  the  farrago  of  Tom's 
libel.  He  knows  so  man}"  stories,  that  of  course  he  makes  mis- 
takes in  names  sometimes,  and  saj-s  that  Jones  is  on  the  verge 
of  ruin,  when  he  is  thriving  and  prosperous,  and  it  is  poor  Brown 
who  is  in  difficulties  ;  or  informs  us  that  Mrs.  Fann}-  is  flirting 
with  Captain  Ogle  when  both  are  as  innocent  of  a  flirtation  as 
j'ou  and  I  are.  Tom  certainly  is  mischievous,  and  often  is 
wrong  ;  but  when  he  speaks  of  our  neighbors  he  is  amusirig. 

"It  is  as  good  as  a  play  to  see  Ringwood  and  Othello 
together,"  says  Tom  to  Philip.  "  How  prond  the  black  man  is 
to  be  seen  with  him !  Heard  him  abuse  you  to  Ringwood. 
Ringwood  stuck  up  for  you  and  for  your  poor  governor  —  spoke 
up  like  a  man  —  like  a  man  who  sticks  up  for  a  -fellow  wlio  is 
down.  How  the  black  man  brags  about  ha\-ing  Ringwood  to 
dinner  !  Always  having  him  to  dinner.  You  should  liave  seen 
Ringwood  shake  him  off!  Said  he  was  going  to  Gray's  Inn. 
Heard  him  say  Gray's  Inn  Lane  to  his  man.  Don't  believe  a 
word  of  it." 

Now  I  dare  say  you  are  much  too  fashionable  to  know  that 
Milman  Street  is  a  little  cul  de  sac  of  a  street,  which  leads  into 
Guildford  Street,  which  leads  into  Gray's  Inn  Lane.  Philip  went 
his  way  homewards,  shaking  off  Tom  Eaves,  who,  for  his  i^art, 
trotted  off  to  his  other  clubs,  telling  people  how  he  had  just  been 
talking  wnth  that  bankrupt  doctor's  son,  and  wondering  how 
Philip  should  get  money  enough  to  pay  his  club  subscription. 
Philip  then  went  on  his  way,  striding  homewards  at  his  usual 
manly  pace. 

Whose  black  brougham  was  that?  —  the  black  lirougham 
with  the  chestnut  horse  walking  up  and  down  GuikUbrd  Street. 
Mr.   Ringwood's  crest  was  on  the  brougham.      When  Philip 


216  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

entered  his  drawing-room,  having  opened  the  door  with  his  own 
kej- ,  there  sat  Mr.  Ringwood,  talking  to  Mrs.  Cliarlotte,  wlio  was 
talking  a  cup  of  tea  at  five  o'clock.  She  and  the  children  liked 
that  cup  of  tea.  Sometimes  it  served  Mrs.  Char  for  dinner 
when  Philip  dined  from  home. 

"  If  I  had  known  you  were  coming  here,  j-ou  might  have 
brought  me  home  and  saved  me  a  long  walk,"  said  Philip,  wip- 
ing a  burning  forehead. 

"  So  I  might  —  so  1  might!"  said  the  other.  "I  never 
thought  of  it.  I  had  to  see  my  lawyer  in  Gray's  Inn  ;  and  it 
was  then  I  thought  of  coming  on  to  see  you,  as  I  was  telling 
Mrs.  Firmin  ;  and  a  very  nice  quiet  place  3'ou  live  in  !  " 

This  was  very  well.  But  for  the  first  and  only  time  of  his 
life,  Philip  was  jealous. 

"Don't  drub  so  with  3'our  feet!  Don't  like  to  ride  when 
you  jog  so  on  the  floor,"  said  Philip's  eldest  darling,  who  had 
clambered  on  papa's  knee.  "  Whj-  do  you  look  so?  Don't 
squeeze  m}'  arm,  papa  !  " 

Mamma  was  utterly  unaware  that  Philip  had  an}'  cause  for 
agitation.  "You  have  walked  all  the  way  from  Westminster, 
and  the  club,  and  you  are  quite  hot  and  tired !  "  she  said. 
"  Some  tea,  my  dear?" 

Philip  nearly  choked  with  the  tea.  From  under  his  hair, 
which  Itll  over  his  forehead,  he  looked  into  his  wife's  face.  It 
wore  such  a  sweet  look  of  innocence  and  wonder,  that,  as  he 
regarded  her,  the  spasm  of  jealous}'  passed  off.  No  :  there  was 
no  look  of  guilt  in  those  tender  e^'es.  Philip  could  only  read  in 
them  the  wife's  tender  love  and  anxiety  for  himself. 

But  what  of  Mr.  Ringwood's  face?  When  the  first  little 
blush  and  hesitation  had  passed  away,  Mr.  Ringwood's  pale 
countenance  reassumed  that  calm  self-satisfied  smile,  which  it 
customaril}'  wore.  "The  coolness  of  the  man  maddened  me," 
said  Philp,  talking  about  the  little  occurrence  afterwards,  and 
to  his  usual  confidant. 

"Gracious  powers,"  cries  the  other.  "If  I  went  to  see 
Charlotte  and  the  children,  would  you  be  jealous  of  me,  you 
bearded  Turk  ?  Are  you  prepared  with  sack  and  bowstring  for 
every  man  who  visits  Mrs.  Firmin?  If  you  are  to  come  out  in 
this  character,  you  will  lead  yourself  and  3'our  wife  pretty  lives. 
Of  course  you  quarrelled  with  Lovelace  then  and  there,  and 
threatened  to  throw  him  out  of  window  then  and  there  ?  Your 
custom  is  to  strike  when  you  are  hot,  Avitness  —  " 

"Oh,  dear,  no!"  cried  Philip,  interrupting  me.  "I  have 
not  quarrelled  with  him  yet."     And  he  ground  his  teeth,  and 


More  Free  than  Welcome. 


SI  I 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  217 

gave  a  very  fierce  glare  with  his  eyes.  "I  sat  him  out  quite 
civilly.  I  went  with  him  to  the  door ;  and  I  have  left  direc- 
tions that  he  is  never  to  pass  it  again  —  that's  all.  But  I  have 
not  quarrelled  with  him  in  the  least.  Two  men  never  behaved 
more  politely  than  we  did.  We  bowed  and  grinned  at  each 
other  quite  amiabl}'.  But  I  own,  when  he  held  out  his  hand, 
I  was  obliged  to  keep  mine  behind  my  back,  for  they  felt  very 
mischievous,  and  inclined  to  — .  Well,  never  mind.  Perhaps 
it  is,  as  you  say  ;  and  he  meant  no  sort  of  harm." 

Where,  I  say  again,  do  women  learn  all  the  mischief  they 
know?  Wh}^  should  my  wife  have  such  a  mistrust  and  horror 
of  this  gentleman  ?  She  took  Philip's  side  entirely.  She  said 
she  thought  he  was  quite  right  in  keeping  that  person  out  of  his 
house.  What  did  she  know  about  that  person?  Did  I  not 
know  mj'self  ?  He  was  a  libertine,  and  led  a  bad  life.  He  had 
led  3'oung  men  astra}',  and  taught  them  to  gamble,  and  helped 
them  to  ruin  themselves.  We  have  all  heard  stories  about  the 
late  Sir  Philip  Ringwood  ;  that  last  scandal  in  which  he  was 
engaged,  three  years  ago,  and  which  brought  his  career  to  an 
end  at  Naples,  I  need  not,  of  course,  allude  to.  But  fourteen  or 
fifteen  j^ears  ago,  about  which  time  this  present  portion  of  our 
little  story  is  enacted,  what  did  she  know  about  Ringwood's 
misdoings  ? 

No  :  Philip  Firmin  did  not  quarrel  with  Philip  Ringwood  on 
this  occasion.  But  he  shut  his  door  on  Mr.  Ringwood.  He 
refused  all  invitations  to  Sir  John's  house,  which,  of  course, 
came  less  frequently,  and  which  then  ceased  to  come  at  all. 
Rich  folks  do  not  like  to  be  so  treated  by  the  poor.  Had  hady 
Ringwood  a  notion  of  the  reason  why  Philip  kept  away  from 
her  house?  I  think  it  is  more  than  possible.  Some  of  Philip's 
friends  knew  her  ;  and  she  seemed  only  pained,  not  surprised  or 
angr}',  at  a  quarrel  which  somehow  did  take  place  between  the 
two  gentlemen  not  very  long  after  that  visit  of  Mr.  Ringwood 
to  his  kinsman  in  Milman  Street. 

"  Your  friend  seems  very  hot-headed  and  violent-tempered," 
Lady  Ringwood  said,  speaking  of  that  very  quarrel.  "I  am 
sorr3'  he  keeps  that  kind  of  compau}'.  I  am  sure  it  must  be  too 
expensive  for  him." 

As  luck  would  have  it,  Philip's  old  school-friend-,  Lord  Egham, 
met  us  a  ver}'  few  days  after  the  meeting  and  parting  of  Philip 
and  his  cousin  in  Milman  Street,  and  invited  us  to  a  bachelor's 
dinner  on  the  river.  Our  wives  (without  whose  sanction  no 
good  man  would  surely  ever  look  a  whitebait  in  the  face)  gave 
us  permission  to  attend  this  entertainment,  and  remained  at 


218  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

home,  and  partook  of  a  tea-dinner  (blessings  on  them !)  with 
the  dear  cliildren.  Men  grow  3'oung  again  when  they  meet  at 
these  parties.  We  talk  of  flogging,  proctors,  old  cronies  ;  we 
recite  old  school  and  college  jokes.  I  hope  that  some  of  us 
may  carrj^  on  these  pleasant  entertainments  until  we  are  four- 
score, and  that  our  toothless  old  gums  will  mumble  the  old 
stories,  and  will  laugh  over  the  old  jokes  with  ever-renewed 
gusto.  Does  the  kind  reader  remember  the  account  of  such  a 
dinner  at  the  commencement  of  this  history?  On  this  after- 
noon, Egham,  Ma3'nard,  Burroughs  (several  of  the  men  for- 
merly mentioned),  reassembled.  I  think  we  actually'  like  each 
other  well  enough  to  be  pleased  to  hear  of  each  other's  suc- 
cesses. I  know  that  one  or  two  good  fellows,  upon  whom 
fortune  has  frowned,  have  found  other  good  fellows  in  that 
company  to  help  and  aid  them  ;  and  that  all  are  better  for  that 
kindl}'  freemasonry. 

Before  the  dinner  was  served,  the  guests  met  on  the  green 
of  the  hotel,  and  examined  that  fair  landscape,  which  surely 
does  not  lose  its  charm  in  our  eyes  because  it  is  commonlj^  seen 
before  a  good  dinner.  The  crested  elms,  the  shining  river,  the 
emerald  meadows,  the  painted  parterres  of  flowers  around,  all 
wafting  an  agreeable  smell  of  friture^  of  flowers  and  flounders 
exquisitely  commingled.  Who  has  not  enjoyed  these  delights  ? 
May  some  of  us,  I  say,  live  to  drink  the  '58  claret  in  Ihe  3'ear 
1900  !  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  survivors  of  our  society 
will  still  laugh  at  the  jokes  which  we  used  to  relish  when  the 
present  century  was  still  only  middle-aged.  Egham  was  going 
to  be  married.  Would  he  be  allowed  to  dine  next  year  ? 
Frank  Berry's  wife  would  not  let  him  come.  Do  j'ou  remember 
his  tremendous  fight  with  Biggs?  Remember?  who  didn't? 
Marston  was  Berr3''s  bottle-holder ;  poor  Marston,  who  was 
killed  in  India.  And  Biggs  and  Beny  were  the  closest  friends 
in  life  CA^er  after.  AYho  would  ever  have  thought  of  Brackley 
becoming  serious,  and  being  made  an  archdeacon?  Do  3'ou 
remember  his  fight  with  Riugwood?  What  an  infernal  bully 
he  was,  and  how  glad  we  all  were  when  Brackley  thrashed 
him.  What  different  fates  await  men  !  Who  would  ever  have 
imagined  Nosey  Brackley-  a  curate  in  the  mining  districts,  and 
ending  hy  wearing  a  rosette  in  his  hat?  Who  would  ever  have 
thought  of  Riugwood  becoming  such  a  prodigious  swell  and 
leader  of  fashion  ?  He  was  a  very  shy  fellow  ;  not  at  all  a 
good-looking  fellow :  and  what  a  wild  fellow  he  had  become, 
and  what  a  lad^'-killer !  Isn't  he  some  conuection  of  3'ours, 
Firmin?     Philip  said  }es,  but  that  he  had  scarcely  met  Ring- 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  219 

wood  at  all.  And  one  man  after  another  told  anecdotes  of 
Ivingwood  ;  how  he  had  young  men  to  pla}'  iu  his  house  ;  how 
he  had  played  in  that  very  "Star  and  Garter;"  and  how  he 
alwa^'s  won.  You  must  please  to  remember  that  our  story 
dates  back  some  sixteen  3'ears,  when  the  dice-box  still  rattled 
occasional!}',  and  the  king  was  turned. 

As  this  old  school  gossip  is  going  on,  Lord  Egham  arrives, 
and  with  him  this  very  Ringwood  about  whom  the  old  school- 
fc^llows  had  just  been  talking.  He  came  down  in  Egham's 
phaeton.  Of  course,  the  greatest  man  of  the  part}'  alwa^'s 
waits  for  Ringwood.  "  If  we  had  had  a  duke  at  Gre}-  Friars," 
says  some  grumbler,  "Ringwood  would  have  made  the  duke 
bring  him  down." 

Philip's  friend,  when  he  beheld  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Ringwood, 
seized  Plrmin's  big  arm,  and  whispered  — 

"  Hold  your  tongue.  No  fighting.  No  quarrels.  Let  b}- 
gones  be  b3-gones.  Remember,  there  can  be  no  earthly  use  in 
a  scandal." 

"  Leave  me  alone,"  says  Philip,  "  and  don't  be  afraid." 

I  thought  Ringwood  seemed  to  start  back  for  a  moment,  and 
perhaps  fancied  that  he  looked  a  little  pale,  but  he  advanced 
with  a  gracious  smile  towards  Philip,  and  remarked,  "It  is  a 
long  time  since  we  have  seen  3'ou  at  my  father's." 

Philip  grinned  and  smiled  too.  ' '  It  was  a  long  time  since 
he  had  been  in  Hill  Street."  But  Philip's  smile  was  not  at  all 
pleasing  to  behold.  Indeed,  a  worse  performer  of  comedy  than 
our  friend  does  not  walk  the  stage-  of  this  life. 

On  this  the  other  gayly  remarked  he  was  glad  Philip  had 
leave  to  join  the  bachelor's  part}'.  "  Meeting  of  old  school- 
fellows very  pleasant.  Hadn't  been  to  one  of  them  for  a  long 
time :  though  the  '  Friars '  was  an  abominable  hole  :  that  was 
the  truth.  Who  was  that  in  the  shovel-hat?  a  bishop?  what 
bishop?" 

It  was  Brackley,  the  Archdeacon,  who  turned  very  red  on 
seeing  Ringwood.  For  the  fact  is,  Brackley  was  talking  to 
Pennystone,  the  little  boy  about  whom  the  quarrel  and  fight 
had  taken  place  at  school,  when  Ringwood  had  proposed  for- 
cibly to  take  Penny  stone's  money  from  him.  "I  think,  Mr. 
Ringwood,  that  Pennystone  is  big  enough  to  hold  his  own  now, 
don't  you  ?  "  said  the  Archdeacon  ;  and  with  this  the  Venerable 
man  turned  on  his  heel,  leaving  Ringwood  to  face  the  little 
Pennystone  of  former  years  ;  now  a  gigantic  country  squire, 
with  health  ringing  in  his  voice,  and  a  pair  of  great  arms  and 
fists  that  would  have  demolished  six  Ringwoods  in  the  field. 


220  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

The  sight  of  these  quondam  enemies  rather  disturbed  Mr. 
Ringvvood's  tranquillit}'. 

"  I  was  dreadfully'  bullied  at  that  school,"  he  said,  in  an  ap- 
pealing manner,  to  Mr.  Pennystone.  "  I  did  as  others  did.  It 
was  aliorrible  place,  and  I  hate  the  name  of  it.  I  say,  Egham, 
don't  you  think  that  Barnaby's  motion  last  night  was  verj'-  ill- 
timed,  and  that  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  answered  him 
very  neatly  ?  " 

This  became  a  cant  phrase  amongst  some  of  us  wags  after- 
wards. Whenever  we  wished  to  change  a  conversation,  it  was, 
"I  say,  Egham,  don't  you  think  Barnaby's  motion  was  ver}'- 
ill-timed ;  and  that  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  answered 
him  very  neatly  ?  "  You  know  Mr.  Ringwood  would  scarcely 
have  thought  of  coming  amongst  such  common  people  as  his  old 
schoolfellows,  but  seeing  Lord  Egham's  phaeton  at  "  Black's," 
he  condescended  to  drive  down  to  Richmond  with  his  lordship, 
and  I  hope  a  great  number  of  his  friends  in  St.  James's  Street 
saw  him  in  that  noble  compan3^ 

Wiudliam  was  the  chaii-man  of  the  evening  —  elected  to  that 
post  because  he  is  very  fond  of  making  speeches  to  which  he 
does  not  in  the  least  expect  3'ou  to  listen.  All  men  of  sense 
are  glad  to  hand  over  this  office  to  him :  and  I  hope,  for  my 
part,  a  da}'  will  soon  arrive  (but  I  own,  mind  3'ou,  that  I  do  not 
carve  well)  when  we  shall  have  the  speeches  done  bj^  a  skilled 
waiter  at  the  side  table,  as  we  now  have  the  carving.  Don't 
you  find  that  you  splash  the  grav}',  that  3-ou  mangle  the  meat, 
that  3'ou  can't  nick  the  joint  in  helping  the  compan3'  to  a 
dinner-speech?  I,  for  my  part,  own  that  I  am  in  a  state  of 
tremor  and  absence  of  mind  before  the  operation  ;  in  a  condi- 
tion of  imbecility  during  the  business  ;  and  that  I  am  sure  of  a 
headache  and  indigestion  the  next  morning.  What  then  ?  Have 
I  not  seen  one  of  the  bravest  men  in  the  world,  at  a  Citv  dinner 
last  year,  in  a  state  of  equal  panic  ?  —  I  feel  that  I  am  wan- 
dering from  Philip's  adventures  to  his  biographer's,  and  confess 
I  am  thinking  of  the  dismal  fiasco  I  m3'self  made  on  this  occa- 
sion at  the  Richmond  dinner. 

You  see,  the  order  of  the  day  at  these  meetings  is  to  joke  at 
everything  —  to  joke  at  the  chairman,  at  all  the  speakers,  at  the 
arm3-  and  nav3',  at  the  venerable  the  legislature,  at  the  bar  and 
bench,  and  so  forth.  If  we  toast  a  bai'rister,  we  show  how  ad- 
mirabl}'  he  would  have  figured  in  the  dock :  if  a  sailor,  how 
lamentablv  sea-sick  he  was  :  if  a  soldier,  how  nimbl3'  he  ran  awa3'. 
For  example,  we  drank  the  Venerable  Archdeacon  Brackle3'  and 
the  arm3'.     We  deplored  the  perverseness  whicli  bad  led  him  to 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  221 

adopt  a  black  coat  instead  of  a  red.  War  had  evidently  been 
his  vocation,  as  he  had  shown  bj^  the  frequent  battles  in  which 
he  had  been  engaged  at  school.  For  what  was  the  other  great 
warrior  of  the  age  famous  ?  for  that  Roman  feature  in  his  face, 
which  distinguished,  which  gave  a  name  to,  our  Brackle}-  —  a 
name  by  which  we  fondly  clung  (cries  of  "  Nose^-,  jS^osey  ! ") 
Might  that  feature  ornament  ere  long  the  face  of — of  one  of 
the  chiefs  of  that  arm}'  of  which  he  was  a  distinguished  field- 
officer  !  Might  —  liere  I  confess  I  fairl}'  broke  down,  lost  the 
thread  of  my  joke  —  at  which  Brackley  seemed  to  look  rather 
severe  —  and  finished  the  speech  with  a  gobble  about  regard, 
esteem,  everybody  respect  you,  and  good  health,  old  boy  — 
which  answered  quite  as  well  as  a  finished  oration,  however  the 
author  might  be  discontented  with  it. 

The  Archdeacon's  little  sermon  was  very  brief,  as  the  dis- 
courses of  sensible  divines  sometimes  will  be.  He  was  glad  to 
meet  old  friends  —  to  make  friends  with  old  foes  (loud  cries  of 
"  Bravo,  Nosey  !  ")  In  the  battle  of  life,  every  man  must  meet 
with  a  blow  or  two  ;  and  ever}-  brave  one  would  take  his  tacer 
with  good-humor.  Had  he  quarrelled  with  any  old  schoolfellow 
in  old  times  ?  He  wore  peace  not  onl}-  on  his  coat,  but  in  his 
heart.  Peace  and  good-will  were  the  words  of  the  day  in  the 
army  to  which  he  belonged  ;  and  he  hoped  that  all  officers  in  it 
were  animated  b}'  one  esprit  de  corps. 

A  silence  ensued,  during  which  men  looked  towards  Mr. 
Ringwood,  as  the  "  old  foe "  towards  whom  the  Archdeacon 
had  held  out  the  hand  of  amity :  but  Ringwood,  who  had  lis- 
tened to  the  Archdeacon's  speech  with  an  expression  of  great 
disgust,  did  not  rise  from  his  chair  —  only  remarking  to  his 
neighbor  Egham,  "Why  should  I  get  up?  Hang  him,  I  have 
nothing  to  say.  I  say  Egham,  why  did  you  induce  me  to  come 
into  this  kind  of  thing  ?  " 

Fearing  that  a  collision  might  take  place  between  Philip 
and  his  kinsman,  I  had  drawn  Philip  away  from  the  place  in 
the  room  to  which  Lord  Egliam  beckoned  him,  saying  "  Never 
mind,  Philip,  about  sitting  b}'  the  lord,"  by  whose  side  I  knew 
perfectly  well  that  Mr.  Ringwood  would  find  a  place.  But  it 
was  our  lot  to  be  separated  from  his  lordship  by  merely  the 
table's  Itreadth,  and  some  intervening  vases  of  flowers  and 
fruits  thi'ough  which  we  could  see  and  hear  our  opposite  neigh- 
bors. Wlien  Ringwood  spoke  "of  this  kind  of  thing,"  Philip 
glared  across  the  table,  and  started  as  if  he  was  going  to 
speak  ;  but  his  neighbor  pinched  him  on  the  knee,  and  whis- 
pered  to   him,    "  ISileuce  —  no   scandal.     Remember!"     The 


222  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

other  fell  back,  swallowed  a  glass  of  wine,  and  made  me  far 
from  comfortable  by  performing  a  tattoo  on  mj^  chair. 

The  speeches  went  on.  If  they  were  not  more  eloquent 
thej^  were  more  noisy  and  lively  than  before.  Then  the  aid 
of  song  was  called  in  to  enliven  the  banquet.  The  Archdea- 
con, who  had  looked  a  little  uneas}'  for  the  last  half-hour,  rose 
up  at  the  call  for  a  song,  and  quitted  the  room.  "  Let  us  go 
too,  Philip,"  said  Philip's  neighbor.  "  You  don't  want  to  hear 
those  dreadful  old  college  songs  over  again?"  But  Philip 
sulkily  said,  "You  go,  I  should  like  to  stay." 

Lord  Egham  was  seeing  the  last  of  his  bachelor  life.  He 
liked  those  last  evenings  to  be  merry ;  he  lingered  over  them, 
and  did  not  wish  them  to  end  too  quickly.  His  neighbor  was 
long  since  tired  of  the  entertainment,  ancl  sick  of  our  compan3% 
Mr.  Ringwood  had  lived  of  late  in  a  world  of  such  fashion  that 
ordinary  mortals  were  despicable  to  him.  He  had  no  affec- 
tionate rememlDrance  of  his  earl^'  days,  or  of  anybody  belonging 
to  them.  Whilst  Philip  was  singing  his  song  of  "  Doctor 
Luther,"  I  was  glad  that  he  could  not  see  the  face  of  surprise 
and  disgust  which  his  kinsman  bore.  Other  vocal  performances 
followed,  including  a  song  by  Lord  Egham,  which  I  am  bound 
to  sa}',  was  hideously  out  of  tune  ;  but  was  received  by  his  near 
neighbor  complacently  enough. 

The  noise  now  began  to  increase,  the  choruses  were  fuller, 
the  speeches  were  louder  and  more  incoherent.  I  don't  think 
the  company  heard  a  speech  by  little  Mr.  Van  John,  wliose 
health  was  drunk  as  representative  of  the  British  Turf,  and 
who  said  that  he  had  never  known  anything  about  the  turf  or 
about  play  until  their  old  schoolfellow,  his  dear  friend  —  his 
swell  friend,  if  he  might  be  permitted  the  expression  —  Mr.  Ring- 
wood,  tauglit  him  the  use  of  cards  ;  and  once,  in  his  own  house, 
in  May  Fair,  and  once  in  this  very  house,  the  "  Star  and  Gar- 
ter," showed  him  how  to  play  the  noble  game  of  Blind  Hooke}-. 
"  The  men  are  drunk.  Let  us  go  aAva}^  Egham.  I  didn't  come 
for  this  kind  of  thing ! "  cried  Ringwood,  furious,  by  Lord 
Egham's  side. 

This  was  the  expression  which  Mr.  Ringwood  had  used  a 
short  time  before,  when  Philip  was  about  to  interrupt  him.  He 
had  lifted  his  gun  to  fire  then,  but  his  hand  had  been  held 
back.  The  bird  passed  him  once  more,  and  he  could  not  help 
taking  aim.  "This  kind  of  thing  is  very  dull,  isn't  it.  Ring- 
wood?"  he  called  across  the  table,  pulling  away  a  flower,  and 
glaring  at  the  other  through  the  little  open  space. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  22 


o 


"Dull,  old  boy?  I  call  it  cloosed  good  fun,"  cries  Lord 
Egham,  in  the  height  of  good-humor. 

"  Dull?     What  do  you  mean?  "  asked  my  lord's  neighbor. 

"  I  mean  you  would  prefer  having  a  couple  of  packs  of 
cards,  and  a  little  room,  where  you  could  win  three  or  four 
hundred  from  a  young  fellow?  It's  more  profitable  and  more 
quiet  than  '  this  kind  of  thing.' " 

"  I  say,  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  !  "  cries  the  other. 

"  What !  You  have  forgotten  already?  Has  not  Van  John 
just  told  you  how  you  and  Mr.  Deuceace  brought  him  down 
here,  and  "won  his  money  from  him;  and  then  how  you  gave 
him  his  revenge  at  your  own  house  in  —  " 

"  Did  I  come  here  to  be  insulted  by  that  fellow?"  cries  Mr. 
Ringwood,  appealing  to  his  neighbor. 

"If  that  is  an  insult,  you  may  put  it  in  your  pipe  and 
smoke  it,  Mr.  Ringwood  !  "  cries  Philip. 

"Come  away,  come  away,  Egham!  Don't  keep  me  here 
listening  to  this  bla —  " 

"  If  you  say  another  word,"  says  Philip,  "  Pll  send  this  de- 
canter at  your  head  !  " 

"  Come,  come  —  nonsense  !  No  quarrelling !  Make  it  up  ! 
Everybody  has  had  too  much!  Get  the  bill,  and  order  the 
omnibus  round  !  "  A  crowd  was  on  one  side  of  the  table,  and 
the  other.  One  of  the  cousins  had  not  the  least  wish  that  the 
quarrel  should  proceed  any  further. 

When,  being  in  a  quarrel,  Phihp  Firmin  assumes  the  calm 
and  stately  manner,  he  is  perhaps  in  his  most  dangerous  state. 
Lord  Egham's  phaeton  (in  which  Mr.  Ringwood  showed  a  great 
unwillingness  to  take  a  seat  by  the  driver)  was  at  the  hotel 
gate,  an  omnibus  and  a  private  carriage  or  two  were  in  readi- 
ness to  take  home  the  other  guests  of  the  feast.  Egham  went 
into  the  hotel  to  light  a  final  cigar,  and  now  Philip  springing 
forward,  caught  by  the  arm  the  gentleman  sitting  on  the  front 
seat  of  the  phaeton. 

"  Stop  !  "  he  said.     "  Y''ou  used  a  word  just  now  —  " 

"  What  word?  I  don't  know  anything  about  words  !  "  ci'les 
the  other,  in  a  loud  voice. 

"Y"ou  said  'insulted,'"  murmured  Philip,  in  the  gentlest 
tone. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  said,"  said  Ringwood  peevishly. 

"I  said,  in  reply  to  the  words  which  you  forget,  'that  I 
would  knock  you  down,'  or  words  to  that  effect.  If  3'ou  feel 
in  the  least  aggrieved,  you  know  where  my  chambers  are  — 
with  Mr.  Van  John,  whom  you  and  your  mistress  inveigled  to 


224  THE   ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

play  cards  -when  he  was  a  boy.  You  are  not  fit  to  come  into  an 
lionest  man's  liouse.  It  was  only  because  I  wished  to  spare  a 
lady's  feelings  that  I  refrained  from  turning  you  out  of  mine. 
Good-night,  Egham  !  "  and  with  great  majesty  Mr.  Philip  re- 
turned to  his  companion  and  the  Hansom  cab  which  was  in 
waiting  to  convey  these  two  gentlemen  to  London. 

I  was  quite  correct  in  my  surmise  that  Philip's  antagonist 
would  take  no  further  notice  of  the  quarrel  to  Philip  personally. 
Indeed,  he  affected  to  treat  it  as  a  drunken  brawl,  regarding 
which  no  man  of  sense  would  allow  himself  to  be  seriously 
disturbed.  A  quarrel  between  two  men  of  the  same  family : 
—  between  Philip  and  his  own  relative  who  had  only  wished 
him  well? — It  was  absurd  and  impossible.  What  Mr.  Ring- 
wood  deplored  was  the  obstinate  ill  temper  and  known  violence 
of  Philip,  which  were  for  ever  leading  him  into  these  brawls, 
and  estranging  his  family  from  him.  A  man  seized  by  the 
coat,  insulted,  threatened  with  a  decanter !  A  man  of  station 
so  treated  by  a  person  whose  own  position  was  most  question- 
able, whose  father  was  a  fugitive,  and  who  himself  was  strug- 
gling for  precarious  subsistence  !  The  arrogance  was  too  great. 
With  tlie  best  wishes  for  the  unhappy  young  man,  and  his 
amiable  (but  empty-headed)  little  wife,  it  was  impossible  to 
take  further  notice  of  them.  Let  the  visits  cease.  Let  the 
carriage  no  more  drive  from  Berkeley  Square  to  Milman  Street. 
Let  there  be  no  presents  of  game,  poultry,  legs  of  mutton, 
old  clothes,  and  what  not.  Henceforth,  therefore,  the  Ringwood 
carriage  was  unknown  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Foundling, 
and  the  Ringwood  footmen  no  more  scented  with  their  pow- 
dered heads  the  Firmins'  little  hall  ceiling.  Sir  John  said  to 
the  end  that  he  was  about  to  procure  a  comfortable  place  for 
Philip,  when  his  deplorable  violence  obliged  Sir  John  to  break 
off  all  relations  with  the  most  misguided  young  man. 

Nor  was  the  end  of  the  mischief  here.  We  have  all  read 
how  the  gods  never  appear  alone  —  the  gods  bringing  good  or 
evil  fortune.  When  two  or  three  httle  pieces  of  good  luck  had 
befallen  our  poor  friend,  my  wife  triumphantly  cried  out,  "  I 
told  you  so  !  Did  I  not  always  say  that  heaven  would  befriend 
that  dear,  innocent  wife  and  children ;  that  brave,  generous, 
imprudent  father?"  And  now  when  the  evil  days  came,  this 
monstrous  logician  insisted  that  poverty,  sickness,  dreadful 
doubt  and  terror,  hunger  and  want  almost,  were  all  equally 
intended  for  Philip's  advantage,  and  would  woi'k  for  good  in 
the  end.  So  that  rain  was  good,  and  sunshine  was  good ;  so 
that  sickness  was  good,  and  health  was  good ;  that  Phihp  ill 


ox  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  225 

was  to  be  as  liapp}'  as  Philip  well,  and  as  thankful  for  a  sick 
house  and  an  empty  pocket  as  for  a  warm  fireside  and  a  com- 
fortable larder.  Mind,  I  ask  no  Christian  philosopher  to  revile 
at  his  ill  fortunes,  or  to  despair.  I  will  accept  a  toothache  (or 
an}'  evil  of  life),  and  bear  it  without  too  much  grumbling. 
But  I  cannot  say  that  to  have  a  tooth  pulled  out  is  a  blessing, 
or  fondle  the  hand  which  wrenches  at  m}'  jaw. 

"  They  can  live  without  their  fine  relations,  and  tlieir  dona- 
tions of  mutton  and  turnips,"  cries  my  wife  with  a  toss  of  her 
head.  "The  way  in  which  those  people  patronized  Philip  and 
dear  Charlotte  was  perfectl}'  intolerable.  Lady  Ringwood  knows 
how  dreadful  the  conduct  of  that  Mr.  Ringwood  is,  and — and 
I  have  no  patience  with  her  !  "  How,  I  repeat,  do  women  know 
about  men  ?  How  do  they  telegraph  to  each  other  their  notices 
of  alarm  and  mistrust?  and  fly  as  birds  rise  up  with  a  rush  and 
a  skurry  when  danger  appears  to  be  near?  All  this  was  very 
well.  But  Mr.  Tregarvan  heard  some  account  of  the  dispute 
lietween  Philip  and  Mr.  Ringwood,  and  applied  to  Sir  John  for 
further  particulars  ;  and  Sir  John  —  liberal  man  as  he  was  and 
ever  had  been,  and  priding  himself  little,  heaven  knew,  on  the 
privilege  of  rank,  which  was  merely  adventitious  —  was  con- 
strained to  confess  that  this  young  man's  conduct  showed  a 
great  deal  too  much  laissez  aller.  He  had  constantly,  at  Sir 
John's  own  house,  manifested  an  independence  which  had  bor- 
dered on  rudeness  ;  he  was  always  notorious  for  his  quarrel- 
some disposition,  and  latel}-  had  so  disgraced  himself  in  a 
scene  with  Sir  John's  eldest  son,  Mr.  Ringwood  —  had  exhib- 
ited such  brutality,  ingratitude,  and  —  and  inebriation,  that  Sir 
John  was  free  to  confess  he  had  forbidden  the  gentleman  his 
door. 

"  An  insubordinate,  ill-conditioned  fellow,  certainly  ! "  thinks 
Tregarvan.  (And  I  do  not  say,  though  Philip  is  my  friend, 
that  Tregarvan  and  Sir  John  were  altogether  wrong  regarding 
their  protege.)  Twice  Tregarvan  had  invited  him  to  breakfast, 
and  Philip  had  not  appeared.  More  than  once  he  had  con- 
tradicted Tregarvan  about  the  Review.  He  had  said  that  the 
Review  was  not  getting  on,  and  if  you  asked  Philip  his  candid 
opinion,  it  would  not  get  on.  Six  numl>ers  had  appeared,  and 
it  did  not  meet  with  that  attention  which  the  public  ought  to 
pay  to  it.  The  public  was  careless  as  to  the  designs  of  that 
Great  Power  which  it  was  Tregarvan's  aim  to  defy  and  con- 
found. He  took  counsel  with  himself.  He  walked  over  to  the 
publisher's,  and  inspected  the  l)ooks  ;  and  the  result  of  that 
inspection  was  so  disagreeable,  that  he  went  home  straightway 

40 


226  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

and  wrote  a  letter  to  Philip  Firmin,  Esq.,  New  Milman  Street, 
Guildford  Street,  which  that  poor  fellow  brought  to  his  usual 
advisers. 

That  letter  contained  a  cheque  for  a  quarter's  salary,  and 
bade  adieu  to  Mr.  Firmin.  The  writer  would  not  recapitulate 
the  causes  of  dissatisfaction  which  he  felt  respecting  the  con- 
duct of  the  Review.  He  was  much  disappointed  in  its  progress, 
and  dissatisfied  with  its  general  management.  He  thought  an 
opportunity  was  lost  which  never  could  be  recovered  for  ex 
posing  the  designs  of  a  Power  which  menaced  the  liberty  and 
tranquillity  of  Europe.  Had  it  been  directed  with  proper  energy 
that  Review  might  have  been  an  «gis  to  that  threatened  libert3% 
a  lamp  to  lighten  the  darkness  of  that  menaced  freedom.  It 
might  have  pointed  the  way  to  the  cultivation  bonarum  litera- 
rum  ;  it  miglit  have  fostered  rising  talent,  it  might  have  chas- 
tised the  arrogance  of  so-called  critics  ;  it  might  have  served 
the  cause  of  truth.  Tregarvan's  hopes  were  disappointed  :  he 
would  not  say  by  whose  remissness  or  fault.  He  had  done  his 
utmost  in  the  good  work,  and,  finally,  would  thank  Mr.  Firmin 
to  print  off  the  articles  already  purchased  and  paid  for,  and  to 
prepare  a  brief  notice  for  the  next  number,  announcing  the 
discontinuance  of  the  Revieio ;  and  Trcgarvan  showed  my  wife 
a  cold  shoulder  for  a  considerable  time  afterwards,  nor  were  we 
asked  to  his  tea-parties,  I  forget  for  how  many  seasons. 

This  to  us  was  no  great  loss  or  subject  of  annoyance :  but 
to  poor  Philip  ?  It  was  a  matter  of  life  and  almost  death  to 
him.  He  never  could  save  much  out  of  his  little  pittance. 
Here  were  fifty  pounds  in  his  hand,  it  is  true  ;  but  bills,  taxes, 
rent,  the  hundred  little  obligations  of  a  house,  were  due  and 
pressing  upon  him  ;  and  in  the  midst  of  his  anxiety,  our  dear 
little  Mrs.  Philip  was  about  to  present  him  with  a  third  orna- 
ment to  his  nursery.  Poor  little  Tertius  arrived  duly  enough  ; 
and,  such  hypocrites  were  we,  that  the  poor  mother  was  abso- 
lute U'  thinking  of  calling  the  child  Tregarvan  Firmin,  as  a 
compliment  to  Mr.  Tregarvan,  who  had  been  so  kind  to  them, 
and  Tregarvan  Firmin  would  be  such  a  pretty  name,  she 
thought.  We  imagined  the  Little  Sister  knew  nothing  about 
Philip's  anxieties.  Of  course,  she  attended  Mrs.  Philip  through 
her  troubles,  and  we  vow  that  we  never  said  a  word  to  her 
regarding  Philip's  own.  But  Mrs.  Brandon  went  in  to  Philip 
one  da}^,  as  he  was  sitting  very  grave  and  sad  with  his  two 
first-born  children,  and  she  took  both  his  hands,  and  said, 
"You  know,  dear,  I  have  saved  ever  so  much:  and  I  always 
intended  it  for  —  you  know  who."     And  here  she  loosened  one 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  227 

hand  from  him,  and  felt  in  her  pocket  for  a  purse,  and  put  it 
into  Philip's  hand,  and  wept  on  his  shoulder.  And  Phihp  kissed 
her,  and  thanked  God  for  sending  him  such  a  dear  friend,  and 
gave  her  back  her  purse,  though  indeed  he  had  but  five  pounds 
left  in  his  own  when  this  benefactress  came  to  him. 

Yes  :  but  there  were  debts  owing  to  him.  There  was  his 
wife's  little  portion  of  fifty  pounds  a  year,  which  had  never 
been  paid  since  the  second  quarter  after  their  marriage,  which 
had  happened  now  more  than  three  years  ago.  As  Philip  had 
scarce  a  guinea  in  the  world,  he  wrote  to  Mrs.  Baynes,  his  wife's 
mother,  to  explain  his  extreme  want,  and  to  remind  her  that 
this  mone}' was  due.  Mrs.  General  Baynes  was  living  at  Jersey 
at  this  time  in  a  choice  society  of  half-pay  ladies,  clergymen, 
captains,  and  the  like,  among  whom  I  have  no  doubt  she  moved 
as  a  great  ladj'.  She  wore  a  large  medallion  of  the  deceased 
General  on  her  neck.  She  wept  dry  tears  over  that  interesting 
cameo  at  frequent  tea-parties.  She  never  could  forgive  Philip 
for  taking  away  her  child  from  her,  and  if  any  one  would  take 
away  others  of  her  girls,  she  would  be  equally  unforgiving. 
Endowed  with  that  wonderful  logic  with  which  women  are 
blessed,  I  believe  she  never  admitted,  or  has  been  able  to 
admit  to  her  own  mind  that  she  did  Philip  or  her  daughter  a 
wrong.  In  the  tea-parties  of  her  acquaintance  she  groaned 
over  the  extravagance  of  her  son-in-law  and  his  brutal  treat- 
ment of  her  blessed  child.  Many  good  people  agreed  with  her 
and  shook  their  respectable  noddles  when  the  name  of  that 
prodigal  Philip  was  mentioned  over  her  muffins  and  Bohea.  He 
was  prayed  for ;  his  dear  widowed  mother-in-law  was  pitied, 
and  blessed  with  all  the  comfort  reverend  gentlemen  could  sup- 
pl}'  on  the  spot.  "  Upon  my  honor,  Firmin,  Emil}-  and  I  were 
made  to  believe  that  you  were  a  monster,  sir,"  the  stout  Major 
MacWhirter  once  said  ;  "  and  now  I  have  heard  your  story,  by 
Jove,  I  think  it  is  you,  and  not  Eliza  Ba3'nes,  who  were  wronged. 
She  has  a  deuce  of  a  tongue,  Eliza  has  :  and  a  temper  —  poor 
Charles  knew  what  that  was  !  "  In  fine,  when  Philip,  reduced 
to  his  last  guinea,  asked  Charlotte's  mother  to  pay  her  debt 
to  her  sick  daughter,  Mrs.  General  B.  sent  Philip  a  ten-pound 
note,  open,  l\y  Captain  Swang,  of  the  Indian  arm}',  who  hap- 
pened to  be  coming  to  England.  And  that,  Philip  says,  of  all 
the  hard  knocks  of  fate,  has  been  the  ver}^  hardest  which  he  has 
had  to  endure. 

But  the  poor  little  wife  knew  nothing  of  this  cruelty,  nor, 
iifdeed,  of  the  very  poverty  which  was  hemming  round  her 
curtain ;  and  in  the  midst  of  his  griefs,  Philip  Firmin  was  im- 


228  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

mensely  consoled  by  the  tender  fidelit}^  of  the  friends  whom 
God  had  sent  him.  Theii-  griefs  were  drawing  to  an  end  now. 
Kind  readers  all,  may  your  sorrows,  maj'  mine,  leave  us  with 
hearts  not  embittered,  and  humbly  acquiescent  to  the  Great 
WiU! 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

IN  WHICH  WE  REACH  THE   LAST  STAGE  BUT  ONE  OF  THIS  JOURNEY. 

Although  poverty  was  knocking  at  Philip's  humble  door, 
little  Charlotte  in  all  her  trouble  never  knew  how  menacing  the 
grim  visitor  had  been.  She  did  not  quite  understand  that 
her  husband  in  his  last  necessity  sent  to  her  mother  for  his  due, 
and  that  the  mother  turned  awaj  and  refused  him.  "Ah," 
thouglit  poor  Pliilip,  groaning  in  his  despair,  "I  wonder 
whether  the  thieves  who  attacked  the  man  in  the  parable  were 
robbers  of  his  own  family,  who  knew  that  he  carried  money 
with  him  to  Jerusalem,  and  wa^'laid  him  on  the  journey?  "  But 
again  and  again  he  has  thanked  God,  with  grateful  heart,  for 
the  Samaritans  whom  he  has  met  on  life's  road,  and  if  he  has 
not  forgiven,  it  must  be  owned  he  has  never  done  any  wrong  to 
those  who  robbed  him. 

Charlotte  did  not  know  that  her  husband  was  at  his  last 
guinea,  and  a  pre}'  to  dreadful  anxiety  for  her  dear  sake,  for 
after  the  birth  of  her  child  a  fever  came  upon  her ;  in  the 
delirium  consequent  upon  which  the  poor  thing  was  ignorant 
of  all  that  happened  round  her.  A  fortnight  with  a  wife  in 
extremit}',  with  crying  infants,  with  hunger  menacing  at  the 
door,  passed  for  Philip  somehow.  The  young  man  became  an 
old  man  in  this  time.  Indeed,  his  fair  hair  was  streaked  with 
white  at  the  temples  afterwards.  But  it  must  not  be  imagined 
that  he  had  not  friends  during  his  affliction,  and  he  always  can 
gratefully  count  up  the  names  of  many  persons  to  whom  lie 
might  have  applied  had  he  been  in  need.  He  did  not  look 
or  "ask  for  these  succors  from  his  relatives.  Aunt  and  uncle 
Twysden  shrieked  and  cried  out  at  his  extravagance,  impru- 
dence, and  folly.  Sir  John  Ringwood  said  he  must  really  wash 
his  hands  of  a  young  man  who  menaced  the  life  of  his  own  son. 
Grenville  Woolcomb,  with  many  oaths,  in  which  brother-in-la'W 
Ringwood  joined  chorus,  cui-sed  Philip,  and  said  he  didn't  care, 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  229 

and  the  beggar  ought  to  be  hung,  and  his  father  ought  to  be 
hung.  But  I  think  I  know  half  a  dozen  good  men  and  true 
who  told  a  different  tale,  and  who  were  ready  with  their  sym- 
pathy and  succor.  Did  not  Mrs.  Flanagan,  the  Irish  laundress, 
in  a  voice  broken  by  sobs  and  gin,  offer  to  go  and  chare  at  Philip's 
house  for  nothing,  and  nurse  the  dear  children  ?  Did  not  Good- 
enough  say,  "  If  30U  are  in  need,  my  dear  fellow,  of  course  you 
know  where  to  come  ;  "  and  did  he  not  actually  give  two  pre- 
scriptions, one  for  poor  Charlotte,  and  one  for  fifty  pounds  to 
be  taken  immediately,  which  he  handed  to  the  nurse  by  mistake  ? 
You  may  be  sure  s'he  did  not  appropriate  the  money,  for  of 
course  you  know  that  the  nurse  was  Mrs.  Brandon.  Charlotte 
has  one  remorse  in  her  life.  She  owns  she  was  jealous  of  the 
Little  Sister.  And  now  when  that  gentle  life  is  over,  when 
Philip's  poverty  trials  are  ended,  when  the  children  go  some- 
times and  look  wistfully  at  the  grave  of  their  dear  Caroline, 
friend  Charlotte  leans  her  head  against  her  husband's  shoulder, 
and  owns  humbly  how  good,  how  brave,  how  generous  a  friend 
heaven  sent  them  in  that  humble  defender. 

Have  you  ever  felt  the  pinch  of  poverty?  In  many  cases  it 
is  like  the  dentist's  chair,  more  dreadful  in  the  contemplation 
than  in  the  actual  suttering.  Philip  says  he  never  was  fairly 
beaten,  but  on  that  day  when,  in  reply  to  his  solicitation  to 
have  his  due,  Mrs.  Baynes's  friend,  Captain  Swang,  brought 
him  the  open  ten-pound  note.  It  was  not  much  of  a  blow  ;  the 
hand  which  dealt  it  made  the  hurt  so  keen.  "  I  remember,"  saj'S 
he,  "  bursting  out  crying  at  school,  because  a  big  boy  hit  me 
a  slight  tap,  and  other  boys  said,  '  Oh,  3'ou  coward.'  It  was 
that  I  knew  tlie  bo}'  at  home,,  and  my  parents  had  been  kind  to 
him.  It  seemed  to  me  a  wrong  that  Bumps  should  strike  me," 
said  Philip  ;  and  he  looked,  while  telling  the  story,  as  if  he 
could  cry  about  this  injury  now.  I  hope  he  has  revenged 
himself  by  presenting  coals  of  fire  to  his  wife's  relations.  But 
this  da}',  when  he  is  enjoying  good  health,  and  competence,  it 
is  not  safe  to  mention  mothers-in-law  in  his  presence.  He 
fumes,  shouts,  and  rages  against  them,  as  if  all  were  like  his  ; 
and  his,  I  have  been  told,  is  a  lad}^  perfectly  well  satisfied  with 
herself  and  her  conduct  in  this  world  ;  and  as  for  the  next  — 
but  our  stor}'  does  not  dare  to  point  so  far.  It  onl}'  interests 
itself  about  a  little  clique  of  people  here  below  —  their  griefs, 
their  trials,  their  weaknesses,  their  kindl}'  hearts. 

People  there  are  in  our  histor}'  who  do  not  seem  to  me  to 
have  kindl}-  hearts  at  all ;  and  yet,  perhaps,  if  a  biography 
could  be  written  from  their  point  of  view,  some  other  novelist 


230  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

might  show  how  Phihp  and  his  biographer  were  a  pair  of  selfish 
worlclUngs  unwortliy  of  credit :  how  uncle  and  aunt  Tw^-sden 
were  most  exemplary  people,  and  so  forth.  Have  I  not  told 
you  how  many  people  at  New  York  shook  their  heads  when 
Philip's  name  was  mentioned,  and  intimated  a  strong  opinion 
that  he  used  his  father  very  ill  ?  When  he  fell  wounded  and 
bleeding,  patron  Tregarvan  dropped  him  off  his  horse,  and 
cousin  Ringwood  did  not  look  behind  to  see  how  he  fared. 
But  these,  again,  may  have  had  their  opinion  regarding  our 
friend,  wlio  may  have  been  misrepresented  to  them  —  I  protest 
as  I  look  back  at  the  past  portions  of  this  history,  I  begin  to 
have  qualms,  and  ask  myself  whether  the  folks  of  whom  we  have 
been  prattling  have  had  justice  done  to  them  ;  whether  Agnes 
Twysden  is  not  a  suffering  martyr  justly  offended  by  Philip's 
turbulent  behavior,  and  whether  Philip  deserves  any  particular 
attention  or  kindness  at  all.  He  is  not  transcendently  clever ; 
he  is  not  gloriously  beautiful.  He  is  not  about  to  illuminate 
the  darkness  in  which  the  people  grovel,  with  the  flashing  ema- 
nations of  his  truth.  He  sometimes  owes  money,  which  he 
cannot  pay.  He  slips,  stumbles,  blunders,  brags.  Ah!  he  sins 
and  repents  — pray  heaven  —  of  faults,  of  vanities,  of  pride, 
of  a  thousand  shortcomings  !  This  I  say  —  Bffo  —  as  my 
friend's  biographer.  Perhaps  I  do  not  understand  the  other 
characters  round  about  him  so  well,  and  have  overlooked  a 
number  of  their  merits,  and  caricatured  and  exaggerated  their 
little  defects. 

Among  the  Samaritans  who  came  to  Philip's  help  in  these 
his  straits,  he  loves  to  remember  the  name  of  J.  J.,  the  paint- 
er, whom  he  found  sitting  with  the  children  one  day  making 
drawings  for  them,  which  the  good  painter  never  tired  to 
sketch. 

Now  if  those  children  would  but  have  kept  Ridley's  sketches, 
and  waited  for  a  good  season  at  Christie's  I  have  no  doubt  they 
might  have  got  scores  of  pounds  for  the  drawings  ;  but  then, 
you  see,  they  chose  to  improve  the  drawings  with  their  own 
hands.  They  painted  the  soldiers  yellow,  the  horses  blue,  and 
so  forth.  On  the  horses  they  put  soldiers  of  their  own  con- 
struction. Ridley's  landscapes  were  enriched  with  representa- 
tions of  "  omnibuses,"  which  the  children  saw  and  admired  in 
the  neighboring  New  Road.  I  dare  say,  as  the  fever  left  her, 
and  as  "she  came  to  see  things  as  they  were,  Charlotte's  ej-es 
dwelt  fondly  on  the  pictures  of  the  omnibuses  inserted  in  Mr. 
Ridley's  sketches,  and  she  put  some  aside  and  showed  tliem  to 
her  friends,  and  said,  "  Doesn't  our  darling  show  extraordinary 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  231 

talent  for  drawing?    Mr.  Ridlej^  says  he  does.     He  did  a  great 
part  of  this  etching." 

But,  besides  the  drawings,  what  do  you  tliink  Master  Ridley 
offered  to  draw  for  his  friends  ?  Besides  the  prescriptions  of 
medicine,  what  drafts  did  Dr.  Goodenough  prescribe?  When 
nurse  Brandon  came  to  Mrs.  Philip  in  her  anxious  time,  we 
know  what  sort  of  payment  she  proposed  for  her  services. 
Who  says  the  world  is  all  cold?  There  is  the  sun  and  the 
shadows.  And  the  heaven  which  ordains  poverty  and  sickness 
sends  pity,  and  love,  and  succor. 

During  Charlotte's  fever  and  illness,  the  Little  Sister  had  left 
her  but  for  one 'day,  when  her  patient  was  quiet,  and  pro- 
nounced to  be  mending.  It  appears  that  Mrs.  Charlotte  was 
very  ill  indeed  on  this  occasion  ;  so  ill  that  Dr.  Goodenough 
thought  she  might  have  given  us  all  the  slip  :  so  ill  that,  but  for 
Brandon,  she  would,  in  all  probability,  have  escaped  out  of  this 
troublous  world,  and  left  Philip  and  her  oiphaned  little  ones. 
Charlotte  mended  then  :  could  take  food,  and  liked  it,  and  was 
specially  pleased  with  some  chickens  which  her  nurse  informed 
her  were  "  from  the  country."  "  From  Sir  John  Ringwood,  no 
doubt?  "  said  Mrs.  Firmin,  remembering  the  presents  sent  from 
Berkeley  Square,  and  the  mutton  and  the  turnips.  ° 

"Well,  eat  and  be  thankful!"  says  the  Little  Sister,  w^ho 
was  as  gay  as  a  little  sister  could  be,  and  who  had  prepared  a 
beautiful  bread  sauce  for  the  fowl ;  and  who  had  tossed  the 
baby,  and  who  showed  it  to  its  admiring  brother  and  sister  ever 
so  many  times  ;  and  who  saw  that  Mr.  Philip  had  his  dinner 
comfortable  ;  and  who  never  took  so  much  as  a  drop  of  porter 

—  at  home  a  little  glass  sometimes  was  comfortable,  but  on 
duty,  never,  never !  No,  not  if  Dr.  Goodenough  ordered  it ! 
she  vowed.  And  the  doctor  wished  he  could  say  as  much,  or 
believe  as  much,  of  all  his  nurses. 

Milraan  Street  is  such  a  quiet  little  street  that  our  friends 
had  not  carpeted  it  in  the  usual  way ;  and  three  da3-s  after  her 
temporary  absence,  as  nurse  Brandon  sits  by  her  patient's  bed, 
powdering  the  back  of  a  small  pink  infant  that  makes  believe 
to  swim  upon  her  apron,  a  rattle  of  wheels  is  heard  in  the  quiet 
street  —  of  four  wheels,  of  one  horse,  of  a  jingling  carriage, 
which  stops  before  Philip's  door.  "It's  the  trap,"  says  nurse 
Brandon,  delighted.  "  It  must  be  those  kind  Ringwoods,"  sa3-s 
Mrs.  PhiHp.     "  But  stop,  Brandon.     Did  not  the}',  did  not  we? 

—  oh,  how  kind  of  them  !  "  She  was  trying  to  recall  the  past. 
Past  and  present  for  days  had  been  strangely-  mingled  in  her 
fevered   brain.     "Hush,  my  dear!   you  are  to  be  kep'  quite 


232  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

still,"  says  the  nurse  —  and  then  proceeded  to  finish  the  polish- 
ing and  powdering  of  the  pink  frog  on  her  lap. 

The  bedroom  window  was  open  towards  the  sunny  street : 
but  Mrs.  Philip  did  not  hear  a  female  voice  say,  "  'Old  the 
'orse's  'ead,  Jim,"  or  she  might  have  been  agitated.  The 
horse's  head  was  held,  and  a  gentleman  and  a  lady  with  a 
great  basket  containing  pease,  butter,  greens,  flowers,  and 
other  rural  produce,  descended  from  the  vehicle  and  rang  at 

the  bell.  . 

Philip  opened  it ;  with  his  little  ones,  as  usual,  trottmg  at 

his  knees. 

"  Why,  my  darlings,  how  you  air  grown  !     cries  the  lady.  ^ 

"  Bygones  be  bygones.  Give  us  your  'and,  Firmin  :  here's 
mine.  My  missus  has  brought  some  country  butter  and  things 
for  your  dear  good  lady.  And  we  hope  you  liked  the  chickens. 
And  God  bless  you,  old  fellow,  how  are  you?  "  The  tears  were 
rolling  down  the  good  man's  cheeks  as  he  spoke.  And  Mrs. 
Mugford  was  likewise  exceedingly  hot,  and  very  much  affected. 
And  the  children  said  to  her,  "  Mamma  is  betternow  :  and  we 
have  a  little  brother,  and  he  is  crying  now  up  stairs." 

"  Bless  you,  my  darlings  !  "  Mrs.  Mugford  was  off  by  this 
time.  She  put  down  her  peace-offering  of  carrots,  chickens, 
bacon,  butter.  She  cried  plentifully.  "  It  was  Brandon  came 
and  told  us,"  she  said;  "  and  when  she  told  us  how  all  your 
great  people  had  flung  you  over,  and  you'd  been  quarrelling 
again,  you  naughty  fellar,  I  says  to  Mugford,  '  Let's  go  and 
see  after  that  dear  thing,  Mugford,'  I  says.  And  here  we  are. 
And  year's  two  nice  cakes  for  A'our  children  "  (after  a  forage  in 
the  cornucopia),  "  and,  lor',  how  they  are  grown  !  " 

A  little  nurse  from  the  up-stairs  regions  here  makes  her  ap- 
pearance, holding  a  bundle  of  cashmere  shawls,  part  of  which  is 
removed,  and  discloses  a  being  pronounced  to  be  ravishingly 
beautiful,  and  "jest  like  Mrs.  Mugford's  Emaly  !  " 

"  I  say,"  says  Mugford,  "  the  old  shop's  still  open  to  you. 
T'other  chap  wouldn't'do  at  all.  He  was  wild  when  he  got  the 
drink  on  board.  Hirish.  Pitched  into  Bickerton,  and  black'd 
'is  eye.  It  was  Bickerton  who  told  you  lies  about  that  poor 
lady.  Don't  see  'im  no  more  now.  Borrowed  some  money  of 
me  ;  haven't  seen  him  since.  We  were  both  wrong,  and  we 
must  make  it  up  —  the  missus  sa3's  we  must." 

"  Amen!  "  said  Philip,  with  a  grasp  of  the  honest  fellow's 
hand.  And  next  Sunday  he  and  a  trim  little  sister,  and  two 
children,  went  to  an  old  church  in  Queen  Square,  Bloomsbury, 
which  was  fashionable  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne,  when  Rich- 


Thanksgiving. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  233 

arcl  Steele  kei)t  house,  and  did  not  pay  rent,  hard  b}'.  And 
when  the  clergyman  in  the  Thanksgiving  particularized  those 
who  desired  now  to  "  offer  up  their  praises  and  thanksgiving 
for  late  mercies  vouchsafed  to  them,"  once  more  Philip  Firmin 
said  "  Amen,"  on  his  knees,  and  with  all  his  heart. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

THE    REALMS    OF    BLISS. 

You  know  —  all  good  bo^-s  and  girls  at  Christmas  know  — 
that,  before  the  last  scene  of  the  pantomime,  when  the  Good 
Fairy  ascends  in  a  blaze  of  glorj',  and  Harlequin  and  Columbine 
take  hands,  having  danced  through  all  their  tricks  and  troubles 
and  tumbles,  there  is  a  dark,  brief,  seemingly  meaningless, 
penultimate  scene,  in  which  the  performers  appear  to  grope 
about  perplexed,  whilst  the  music  of  bassoons  and  trombones, 
and  the  like,  groans  tragically.  As  the  actors,  with  gestures  of 
dismay  and  outstretched  arms,  move  hither  and  thither,  the 
war}'  frequenter  of  pantomimes  sees  the  illuminators  of  the 
Abode  of  Bliss  and  the  Hall  of  Prismatic  Splendor  nimbi}'  mov- 
ing behind  the  canvas,  and  streaking  the  darkness  with  twink- 
ling fires  —  flres  which  shall  blaze  out  presently  in  a  thousand 
colors  round  the  Good  Fairy  in  the  Revolving  Temple  of  Blind- 
ing Bliss.  Be  happy.  Harlequin  !  Love  and  be  happy  and 
dance,  pretty  Columbine  !  Children,  mamma  bids  you  put  j^our 
shawls  on.  And  Jack  and  Mar}-  (who  are  young  and  love  pan- 
tomimes,) look  lingeringl}'  still  over  the  ledge  of  the  box,  whilst 
the  fairy  temple  yet  revolves,  wliilst  the  fireworks  play,  and  ere 
the  Great  Dark  Curtain  descends. 

M}'  dear  3'oung  people,  who  have  sat  kindl}'  through  the 
scenes  during  which  our  entertainment  has  lasted,  be  it  known 
to  you  that  last  chapter  was  the  dark  scene.  Look  to  3'our 
cloaks,  and  tie  up  your  little  throats,  for  I  tell  you  the  great 
baize  will  soon  fall  down.  Have  I  had  any  secrets  from  you  all 
through  the  piece  ?  I  tell  you  the  house  will  be  empty  and  you 
will  be  in  the  cold  air.  When  the  boxes  have  got  their  night- 
gowns on,  and  you  are  all  gone,  and  I  have  turned  off  the  gas, 
and  am  in  the  empty  theatre  alone  in  the  darkness,  I  promise 
you  I  shall  not  be  merry.     Never  mind !     We  can  make  jokes 


234  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


though  we  are  ever  so  sad.  We  can  jump  over  head  and  heels, 
though  I  declare  the  pit  is  half  emptied  already,  and  the  last 
orange- woman  has  slunk  away.  Encore  une  pirouette,  Colom- 
bine  !  Saute,  Arlequin,  mon  ami !  Though  there  are  but  five 
bars  more  of  the  music,  my  good  people,  we  must  jump  over 
them  briskl}-,  and  then  go  home  to  supper  and  bed. 

Philip  Firmin,  then,  was  immensely  moved  by  this  mag- 
nanimity and  kindness  on  the  part  of  his  old  employer,  and 
has  always  considered  Mugford's  arrival  and  friendhness  as  a 
special  interposition  in  his  favor.  He  owes  it  all  to  Brandon, 
he  says.  It  was  she  who  bethought  herself  of  his  condition, 
represented  it  to  Mugford,  and  reconciled  him  to  his  enemy. 
Others  were  most  ready  with  their  money.  It  was  Brandon 
who  brought  him  work  rather  than  alms,  and  enabled  him  to 
face  fortune  cheerfully.  His  interval  of  poverty  was  so  short, 
that  he  actually  had  not  occasion  to  borrow.  A  week  more, 
and  he  could  not  have  held  out,  and  poor  Brandon's  little  mar- 
riage present  must  have  gone  to  the  cenotaph  of  sovereigns  — 
the  dear  Little  Sister's  gift  which  Philip's  family  cherish  to  this 
hour. 

So  Philip,  T\ath  a  humbled  heart  and  demeanor,  clambered 
up  on  his  sub-editorial  stool  once  more  at  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette, 
and  again  brandished  the  paste-pot  and  the  scissors.  I  forget 
whether  Bickerton  still  remained  in  command  at  the  Pall  Mall 
Gazette,  or  was  more  kind  to  Philip  than  before,  or  was  afraid 
of  him,  having  heard  of  his  exploits  as  a  fire-eater  ;  but  certain 
it  is,  the  two  did  not  come  to  a  quarrel,  giving  each  other  a 
wide  berth,  as  the  saying  is,  and  each  doing  his  own  duty. 
Good-by,  Monsieur  Bickerton.  Except  mayhap,  in  the  final 
group,  round  the  Fairy  Chariot  (when,  I  promise  you,  there 
will  be  such  a  blaze  of  glory  that  he  will  be  invisible) ,  we  shall 
never  see  the  little  spiteful  envious  creature  more.  Let  him 
pop  down  his  appointed  trap-door ;  and,  quick  fiddles  !  let  the 
brisk  music  jig  on. 

Owing  to  the  coolness  which  had  arisen  between  Philip  and 
his  father  on  account  of  their  different  views  regarding  the  use 
to  be  made  of  Philip's  signature,  the  old  gentleman  drew  no 
further  bills  in  his  son's  name,  and  our  friend  was  spared  from 
the  unpleasant  persecution.  Mr.  Hunt  loved  Dr.  Firmin  so 
ardently  that  he  could  not  bear  to  be  separated  from  the  doctor 
long.  Without  the  doctor,  London  was  a  dreary  wilderness  to 
Hunt.  Unfortunate  remembrances  of  past  pecuniary  transac- 
tions haunted  him  here.     We  were  all  of  us  glad  when  he  finally 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  235 

retired  from  the  Covent  Garden  taverns  and  betook  himself  to 
the  Bowery  once  more. 

And  now  friend  Philip  was  at  work  again,  hardly  earning  a 
scanty  meal  for  self,  wife,  servant,  children.  It  was  indeed  a 
meagre  meal,  and  a  small  wage.  Charlotte's  illness,  and  other 
mishaps,  had  swept  awa}^  poor  Philip's  little  savings.  It  was 
determined  that  we  would  let  the  elegantl}''  furnished  apart- 
ments on  the  first  floor.  You  might  have  fancied  the  proud 
Mr.  Firmin  rather  repugnant  to  such  a  measure.  And  so  he 
was  on  the  score  of  convenience,  but  of  dignity,  not  a  whit. 
To  this  day,  if  necessity  called,  Philip  would  turn  a  mangle 
with  perfect  gravity.  I  believe  the  thought  of  Mi"S.  General 
Bajaies's  horror  at  the  idea  of  her  son-in-law  letting  lodgings 
g»eatly  soothed  and  comforted  Philip.  The  lodgings  were  ab- 
solutely taken  b}^  our  country  acquaintance.  Miss  P^-bus,  who 
was  coming  up  for  the  May  meetings,  and  whom  we  persuaded 
(heaven  be  good  to  us)  that  she  would  find  a  most  desirable 
quiet  residence  in  the  house  of  a  man  with  three  squalling 
children.  Miss  P.  came,  then,  with  my  wife  to  look  at  the 
apartments  ;  and  we  allured  her  by  describing  to  her  the  de- 
lightful musical  services  at  the  Foundling  hard  b}^ ;  and  she 
was  very  much  pleased  with  Mrs.  Philip,  and  did  not  even 
wince  at  the  elder  children,  whose  prett}'  faces  won  the  kind 
old  lady's  heart :  and  I  am  ashamed  to  say  we  were  mum  about 
the  haby :  and  Pybus  was  going  to  close  for  the  lodgings, 
when  Philip  burst  out  of  his  little  room,  without  his  coat,  I 
believe,  and  objurgated  a  little  printer's  boy,  who  was  sitting 
in  the  hall,  waiting  for  some  "  copj' "  regarding  which  he  had 
made  a  blunder ;  and  Philip  used  such  violent  language  towards 
the  little  lazj-  boy,  that  Pybus  said  ' '  she  never  could  think  of 
taking  apartments  in  that  house,"  and  hui'ried  thence  in  a  panic. 
When  Brandon  heard  of  this  project  of  letting  lodgings,  she 
was  in  a  fur}'.  She  might  let  lodgin's,  but  it  wasn't  for  Philip 
to  do  so.  "  Let  lodgin's,  indeed !  Buy  a  broom,  and  sweep  a 
crossin' !  "  Brandon  always  thought  Charlotte  a  poor-spirited 
creature,  and  the  wa}^  she  scolded  Mrs.  Firmin  about  this  trans- 
action was  not  a  little  amusing.  Charlotte  was  not  angr3\  She 
liked  the  scheme  as  little  as  Brandon.  No  other  person  ever 
asked  for  lodgings  in  Charlotte's  house.  May  and  its  meetings 
came  to  an  end.  The  old  ladies  went  back  to  their  country 
towns.  The  missionaries  returned  to  Caffraria.  (Ah  !  where 
are  the  pleasant-looking  Quakeresses  of  our  youth,  with  their 
cornel}'  faces,  and  pretty  dove-colored  robes?  They  say  the. 
goodly  sect  is  dwindling  —  dwindling.)     The  Quakeresses  went 


236  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

out  of  town :  then  the  fashionable  world  began  to  move :  the 
Parliament  went  out  of  town.  In  a  word,  everybod}^  who  could, 
made  away  for  a  holiday,  whilst  poor  Philip  remained  at  his 
work,  snipping  and  pasting  his  paragraphs,  and  doing  his  hum- 
ble drudgery. 

A  sojourn  on  the  sea-shore  was  prescribed  by  Dr.  Goode- 
nough,  as  absolutely  necessary  for  Charlotte  and  her  young  ones, 
and  when  Philip  pleaded  certain  cogent  reasons  why  the  family 
could  not  take  the  medicine  prescribed  by  the  doctor,  that  ec- 
centric physician  had  recourse  to  the  same  pocket-book  which 
we  have  known  him  to  produce  on  a  former  occasion  ;  and  took 
from  it,  for  what  I  know,  some  of  the  very  same  notes  which 
he  had  formerly  given  to  the  Little  Sister.  "I  suppose  you 
may  as  well  have  them  as  that  rascal  Hunt?"  said  the  Doctor, 
scowling  very  fiercely.  "Don't  tell  me.  Stuff  and  nonsense. 
Pooh  !  Pay  me  when  you  are  a  rich  man  !  "  And  this  Samari- 
tan had  jumped  into  his  carriage,  and  was  gone,  before  Philip 
or  Mrs.  Philip  could  say  a  word  of  thanks.  Look  at  him  as 
he  is  going  off.  See  the  green  brougham  drive  away,  and  turn 
westward,  and  mark  it  well.  A  shoe  go  after  thee,  John 
Goodenough ;  we  shall  see  thee  no  more  in  this  stor3\  You 
are  not  in  the  secret,  good  reader :  but  I,  who  have  been  living 
with  certain  people  for  many  months  past,  and  have  a  hearty 
liking  for  some  of  them,  grow  very  soft  when  the  hour  for  shak- 
ing hands  comes,  to  think  we  are  to  meet  no  more.  Go  to  ! 
when  this  tale  began,  and  for  some  months  after,  a  pair  of  kind 
old  eyes  used  to  read  these  pages,  which  are  now  closed  in  the 
sleep  appointed  for  all  of  us.  And  so  page  is  turned  after 
page,  and  behold  Finis  and  the  volume's  end. 

So  Philip  and  his  young  folks  came  down  to  Periwinkle 
Bay,  where  we  were  staying,  and  the  girls  in  the  two  families 
nursed  the  baby,  and  the  child  and  mother  got  health  and  com- 
fort from  the  fresh  air,  and  Mr.  Mugford  —  who  believes  him- 
self to  be  the  finest  sub-editor  in  the  world,  and  I  can  tell  you 
there  is  a  great  art  in  sub-edil.ing  a  paper  —  Mr.  Mugford,  I 
say,  took  Philip's  scissors  and  paste-pot,  whilst  the  latter  en- 
joyed his  holiday.  And  J.  J.  Ridley,  R.A.,  came  and  joined 
us  presently,  and  we  had  many  sketching  parties,  and  my  draw- 
ings of  the  various  points  about  the  bay,  viz.,  Lobster  Head, 
the  Mollusc  Rocks,  &c.  &c.,  are  considered  to  be  very  spirited, 
though  my  little  boy  (who  certainly  has  not  his  father's  taste 
for  art)  mistook  for  the  rock  a  really  capital  portrait  of  Philip,  in 
a  gray  hat  and  paletot,  sprawling  on  the  sand. 

Some  twelve  miles  inland  from  the  bay  is  the  little  town  of 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  237 

Whipham  Market,  and  Whipham  skirts  the  park  palings  of  that 
castle  where  Lord  Ringwood  had  lived,  and  where  Philip's 
mother  was  born  and  bred.  There  is  a  statue  of  the  late  lord 
in  Whipham  market-place.  Could  he  have  had  his  will,  the 
borough  would  have  continued  to  return  two  Members  to  Par- 
liament, as  in  the  good  old  times  before  us.  In  that  ancient 
and  grass-grown  little  place,  where  your  footsteps  echo  as  you 
pass  through  the  street,  where  you  hear  distinctly  the  creaking 
of  the  sign  of  the  "  Ringwood  Arms"  hotel  and  posting-house, 
and  the  opposition  creaking  of  the  ' '  Ram  Inn "  over  the  way 
—  where  the  half-pay  captain,  the  curate,  and  the  medical  man 
stand  before  the  fly-blown  window-blind  of  the  "  Ringwood  In- 
stitute "  and  survey  the  strangers  —  there  is  still  a  respect  felt 
for  the  memory  of  the  great  lord  who  dwelt  behind  the  oaks  in 
yonder  hall.  He  had  his  faults.  His  lordship's  life  was  not 
that  of  an  anchorite.  The  company  his  lordship  kept,  es- 
pecially in  his  latter  days,  was  not  of  that  select  description 
which  a  nobleman  of  his  lordship's  rank  might  command.  But 
he  was  a  good  friend  to  Whipham.  He  was  a  good  landlord 
to  a  good  tenant.  If  he  had  his  will,  Whipham  would  have 
kept  its  own.  His  lordship  paid  half  the  expense  after  the 
burning  of  the  town-hall.  He  was  an  arbitrary  man,  certainly, 
and  he  flogged  Alderman  Duffle  before  his  own  shop,  but  he 
apologized  for  it  most  handsome  afterwards.  W^ould  the  gen- 
llemen  like  port  or  sherry  ?  Claret  not  called  for  in  Whipham  ; 
not  at  all :  and  no  fish,  because  all  the  fish  at  Periwinkle  Bay 
is  bought  up  and  goes  to  London.  Such  were  the  remarks 
made  by  the  landlord  of  the  "  Ringwood  Arms"  to  three  cava- 
liers who  entered  that  hostelry.  And  you  may  be  sure  he  told 
us  about  Lord  Ringwood's  death  in  the  post-chaise  as  he  came 
from  Turreys  Regum  ;  and  how  his  lordship  went  through  them 
gates  (pointing  to  a  pair  of  gates  and  lodges  which  skirt  the 
town) ,  and  was  drove  up  to  the  castle  and  laid  in  state  ;  and 
his  lordship  never  would  take  the  railway,  never ;  and  he 
alwa3's  travelled  like  a  nobleman,  and  when  he  came  to  a  hotel 
and  changed  horses,  he  alwaj's  called  for  a  bottle  of  wine,  and 
only  took  a  glass,  and  sometimes  not  even  that.  And  the 
present  Sir  John  has  kept  no  company  here  as  yet ;  and  they 
say  he  is  close  of  his  money,  they  say  he  is.  And  this  is  cer- 
tain, Whipham  haven't  seen  much  of  it,  Whipham  haven't. 

We  went  into  the  inn-3'ard,  which  may  have  been  once  a 
stirring  place,  and  then  sauntered  up  to  the  park  gate,  sur- 
mounted by  the  supporters  and  armorial  bearings  of  the  Ring- 
woods.     "  I  wonder  whether  my  poor  mother  came  out  of  that 


238  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

gate  when  she  eloped  with  m}^  father?"  said  Philip.  "  Poor 
thing,  poor  thing  !  "  The  great  gates  were  shut.  The  wester- 
ing sun  cast  shadows  over  the  sward  where  here  and  there  the 
deer  were  browsing,  and  at  some  mile  distance  lay  the  house, 
with  its  towers  and  porticos  and  vanes  flaming  in  the  sun. 
The  smaller  gate  was  open,  and  a  girl  was  standing  by  the 
lodge-door.     Was  the  house  to  be  seen  ? 

"  Yes,"  says  a  little  red-cheeked  girl,  with  a  curtsy. 

"No!"  calls  out  a  harsh  voice  from  within,  and  an  old 
woman  comes  out  from  the  lodge  and  looks  at  us  fiercely. 
"Nobody  is  to  go  to  the  house.     The  family  is  a-coming." 

That  was  provoking.  Philip  would  have  liked  to  behold  the 
great  house  where  his  mother  and  her  ancestors  were  born. 

"Marry,  good  dame,"  Philip's  companion  said  to  the  old 
beldame,  "  this  goodly  gentleman  hath  a  right  of  entrance  to 
yonder  castle,  which,!  trow,  ye  wot  not  of.  Heard  ye  never 
tell  of  one  Philip  Ringwood,  slain  at  Busaco's  glorious  fi — " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  and  don't  chafl"  her.  Pen,"  growled 
Firm  in . 

"Nay,  and  she  knows  not  Philip  Ringwood's  grandson," 
the  other  wag  continued,  in  a  softened  tone,  "this  will  con- 
vince her  of  our  right  to  enter.  Canst  recognize  this  image  of 
your  queen  ?  " 

"Well,  I  suppose 'ee  can  go  up,"  said  the  old  woman,  at 
the  sight  of  this  talisman.  "  There's  only  two  of  them  staying 
there,  and  they're  out  a-driviu'." 

Philip  was  bent  on  seeing  the  halls  of  his  ancestors.  Gray 
and  huge,  with  towers,  and  vanes,  and  porticos,  they  lay  before 
us  a  mile  off,  separated  from  us  by  a  streak  of  glistening  river. 
A  great  chestnut  avenue  led  up  to  the  river,  and  in  the  dappled 
grass  the  deer  were  browsing. 

You  know  the  house  of  course.  There  is  a  picture  of  it  in 
Watts,  bearing  date  1783.  A  gentleman  in  a  cocked  hat  and 
pigtail  is  rowing  a  lady  in  a  boat  on  the  shining  river.  Another 
nobleman  in  a  cocked  hat  is  anghng  in  the  glistening  river  from 
the  bridge,  over  which  a  post-chaise  is  passing. 

"  Yes,  the  place  is  like  enough,"  said  Philip  ;  "  but  I  miss 
the  post-chaise  going  over  the  bridge,  and  the  lady  in  the  punt 
with  the  tall  parasol.  Don't  you  remember  the  print  in  our 
housekeeper's  room  in  Old  Parr  Street?  My  poor  mother  used 
to  tell  me  about  the  house,  and  I  imagined  it  grander  than  the 
palace  of  Aladdin.  It  is  a  very  handsome  house,"  Philip  went 
on.  "  '  It  extends  two  hundred  and  sixty  feet  by  seventy-five, 
and  consists  of  a  rustic  basement  and  principal  story,  with  an 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  239 

attic  in  the  centre,  the  whole  executed  in  stone.  The  grand 
front  towards  the  park  is  adorned  with  a  noble  portico  of  the 
Corinthian  order,  and  ma}"  with  pi'opriet}'  be  considered  one  of 

the  finest  elevations  in  the .'     I  tell  3"ou  I  am  quoting  out 

of  Watts's  '  Seats  of  the  Nobility  and  Gentrj','  published  by 
John  and  Josiah  Bo3"dell,  and  l^ing  in  our  drawing-room.     Ah, 
dear  me  !     I  painted  the  boat  and  the  lady  and  gentleman  in 
the  drawing-room  cop^',  and  m}'  father  boxed  my  ears,  and  my 
mother  cried  out,  poor  dear  soul !     And  this  is  the  river,  is  it  ? 
And  over  this  the  post-chaise  went  with  the  club-tailed  horses, 
and  here  was  the  pig-tailed  gentleman  fishing.     It  gives  me  a 
queer  sensation,"  says   Philip,  standing  on   the   bridge,  and 
stretching  out  his  big  arms.     "  Yes,  there  are  the  two  people 
in  the  punt  by  the  rushes.     I  can  see  them,  but  you  can't ;  and 
I  hope,  sir,  you  will  have  good  sport."     And  here  he  iook  oflf 
his  hat  to  an  imaginary  gentleman  supposed  to  be  angling  from 
the  balustrade  for  ghostl}^  gudgeon.     We  reach  the  house  pres- 
ently.    W^e  ring  at  the  door  in  the  basement  under  the  portico. 
The  porter  demurs,  and  says  some  of  the  family  is  down,  but 
they  are  out,  to  be  sui;e.     The  same  half-crown  argument  an- 
swers with  him  which  persuaded  the  keeper  at  the  lodge.     We 
go  through  the  show-rooms  of  the  stately  but  somewhat  faded 
and  melanchol}'  palace.     In  the  cedar  dining-room  there  hangs 
the  grim  portrait  of  the  late  earl ;  and  that  fair-haired  officer  in 
red  ?  that  must  be  Philip's  grandfather.     And  those  two  slim 
girls  embracing,  surely  those  are  his  mother   and   his   aunt. 
Philip  walks  softly  through  the  vacant  rooms.     He  gives  the 
porter  a  gold  piece  ere  he  goes  out  of  the  great  hall,  fort}'  feet 
cube,  ornamented  with  statues  brought  from  Rome  by  John 
first  Baron,  namely,  Heliogabalus,  Nero's  mother,  a  priestess 
of  Isis,  and  a  river  god  ;  the  pictures  over  the  doors  by  Pedi- 
mento ;  the  ceihng  by  Leotardi,  &c.  ;  and  in  a  window  in  the 
great  hall  there  is  a  table  with  a  visitors'  book,  in  which  Philip 
writes  his  name.     As  we  went  awa}^,  we  met  a  carriage  which 
drove  rapidly-  toAtards  the  house,  and  which  no  doubt  contained 
the  members  of  the  Ringwood  family,  regarding  whom  the  por- 
teress  had  spoken.      After  the   family  differences  previousl}'' 
related,  we  did  not  care  to  face  these  kinsfolks  of  Philip,  and 
passed  on  quickly  in  twilight  beneath  the  rustling  umbrage  of 
the  chestnuts.     J.  J.  saw  a  hundred  fine  pictorial  effects  as  we 
walked  ;  the  palace  reflected  in  the  water  ;  the  dappled  deer  un- 
der the  chequered  shadow  of  the  trees.     It  was,  "  Oh,  what  a 
jolly  bit  of  color,"  and,  "  I  sa}',  look,  how  well  that  old  woman's 
red  cloak  comes  in  !  "  and  so  forth.     Painters  never  seem  tired 


240  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

of  their  work.  At  seventy  they  are  students  still,  p&tient, 
docile,  happ}-.  May  we  too,  mj^  good  sir,  live  for  fourscore 
years,  and  never  be  too  old  to  learn  !  The  walk,  the  brisk  ac- 
companying conversation,  amid  stately  scener}-  around,  brought 
us  with  good  appetites  and  spirits  to  our  inn,  where  we  were 
told  that  dinner  would  be  served  when  the  omnibus  arrived  from 
the  railwa}'. 

At  a  short  distance  from  the  "  Ringwood  Arms,"  and  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  is  the  "Ram  Inn,"  neat  post- 
chaises  and  farmers'  ordinary ;  a  house,  of  which  the  preten- 
sions seemed  less,  though  .the  trade  was  somewhat  more  livch'. 
When  the  tooting  of  the  horn  announced  the  arrival  of  the 
omnibus  from  the  railway,  I  should  think  a  crowd  of  at  least 
fifteen  people  assembled  at  various  doors  of  the  High  Street 
and  Market.  The  half-pay  captain  and  the  curate  came  out 
from  the  "  Ringwood  Athenaeum."  The  doctor's  apprentice 
stood  on  the  step  of  the  surgery  door,  and  the  surgeon's  lady 
looked  out  from  the  first  floor.  We  shared  the  general  CLiriosit3\ 
We  and  the  waiter  stood  at  the  door  of  the  "  Ringwood  Arms." 
We  were  mortified  to  see  that  of  the  five,  persons  conve^-ed  by 
the  'bus,  one  was  a  tradesman,  who  descended  at  his  door, 
(Mr.  Packwood,  the  saddler,  so  the  waiter  informed  us,)  three 
travellers  were  discharged  at  the  "  Ram,"  and  only  one  came 
to  us. 

"  Most!}'  bagmen  goes  to  the  '  Ram,'  "  the  waiter  said,  with 
a  scornful  air ;  and  these  bagmen,  and  their  bags,  quitted  the 
omnibus.     ^—    - 

Only  one  passenger  remained  for  the  "  Ringwood  Arms 
Hotel,"  and  he  presently  descended  under  the  porte-cockere ; 
and  the  omnibus  —  I  own,  with  regret,  it  was  but  a  one-horse 
machine  — drove  rattling  into  the  court-yarl,  whei^e  the  bells 
of  the  "  Star,"  the  "  George,"  the  "  Rodney  ,"  the  "  Dolphin," 
and  so  on,  had  once  been  wont  to  jingle,  and  the  court  had 
echoed  with  the  noise  and  clatter  of  hoofs  and  ostlers,  and  the 
cries  of  "  P^'irst  and  second,  turn  out." 

AYho  was  the  merry-faced  little  gentleman  in  black,  who  got 
out  of  the  omnibus,  and  cried,  when  he  saw  us,  "What,  you 
here?"  It  was  Mr.  Bradgate,  that  law3^er  of  Lord  Ringwood's 
with  whom  we  made  a  brief  acquaintance  just  after  his  lord- 
ship's death.  "What,  you  here?"  cries  Bradgate,  then,  to 
Philip.  "Come  down  about  this  business,  of  course?  Very 
glad  that  you  and  —  and  certain  parties  have  made  it  up. 
Thought  3-ou  weren't  friends." 

What  business?    What  parties?     We  had  not  heard  the 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  241 

news  ?  We  had  only  come  over  from  Periwinkle  Bay  by  chance, 
in  order  to  see  the  house. 

' '  How  very  singular !  Did  you  meet  the  —  the  people  who 
were  staying  there  ?  " 

We  said  we  had  seen  a  carriage  pass,  but  did  not  remark 
who  was  in  it.  What,  however,  was  the  news?  Well.  It 
would  be  known  immediately',  and  would  appear  in  Tuesday's 
Gazette.  The  news  was  that  Sir  John  Ringwood  was  going 
to  take  a  peerage,  and  that  the  seat  for  Whipham  would  be 
vacant.  And  herewith  our  friend  produced  from  his  travelling 
bag  a  proclamation,  which  he  read  to  us,  and  which  was  ad- 
dressed — 

"  To  THE  WORTHY  AND  INDEPENDENT  ELECTORS  OF  THE  BOROUGH 

OF  RiNGWOOD. 

"  London,  Wednesday. 

' '  Gentlemen,  —  A  gracious  Sovereign  having  been  pleased 
to  order  that  the  family  of  Ringwood  should  continue  to  be 
represented  in  the  House  of  Peers,  I  take  leave  of  my  friends 
and  constituents  who  have  given  me  their  kind  confidence 
hitherto,  and  promise  them  that  my  regard  for  them  will  never 
cease,  or  m}^  interest  in  the  town  and  neighborhood  where  my 
famil}'  have  dwelt  for  man}-  centuries.  The  late  lamented  Lord 
Ringwood's  brother  died  in  the  service  of  his  Sovereign  in 
Portugal,  following  the  same  flag  under  which  his  ancestors  for 
centuries  have  fought  and  bled.  My  own  son  serves  the  Crown 
in  a  civil  capacity.  It  was  natural  that  one  of  our  name  and 
family  should  continue  the  relations  which  so  long  have  sub- 
sisted between  us  and  this  lo^'al,  affectionate,  but  independent 
borough.  Mr.  Ringwood's  onerous  duties  in  the  office  which 
he  holds  are  sufficient  to  occup}-  his  time.  A  gentleman  united 
to  our  family  by  the  closest  ties  will  oflTer  himself  as  a  candidate 
for  your  suffrages  —  " 

"  Why,  who  is  it  ?  He  is  not  going  to  put  in  uncle  Twj'sden, 
or  my  sneak  of  a  cousin  ? " 

"No,"  saj's  Mr.  Bradgate. 

"Well,  bless  m}'  soul!  he  can't  mean  me,"  said  Philip. 
"  Who  is  the  dark  horse  he  has  in  his  stable?  " 

Then  Mr.  Bradgate  laughed.  "Dark  horse  yon  may  call 
him.  The  new  Member  is  to  be  Grenville  A\'"oolcomb,  Esq., 
your  West  India  relative,  and  no  other." 

Those  who  know  the  extreme  energj'  of  Mr.  P.  Firmin's 

41 


242  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

language  when  he  is  excited,  may  imagine  the  explosion  of 
Philippine  wrath  which  ensued  as  our  friend  heard  this  name. 
"That  miscreant :  that  skinflint :  that  wealthy  ci'ossing-sweeper : 
that  ignoramus  who  scarce  could  do  more  than  sign  his  name  ! 
Oh,  it  was  horrible,  shameful !  Why,  the  man  is  on  such  ill 
terms  with  his  wife  that  the}^  say  he  strikes  her.  AVhen  I  see 
him  1  feel  inclined  to  choke  him,  and  murder  him.  That  brute 
going  into  Parliament,  and  the  republican  Sir  John  Ringwood 
sending  him  there  !     It's  monstrous  !  " 

"  Famil}'  arrangements.  Sir  John,  or,  I  should  sa}^  my 
Lord  Ringwood,  is  one  of  the  most  aflfectionate  of  parents," 
Mr.  Bradgate  remarked.  "  He  has  a  large  famih*  by  his  second 
marriage,  and  his  estates  go  to  his  eldest  sou.  We  must  not 
quarrel  with  Lord  Ringwood  for  wishing  to  provide  for  his 
3"oung  ones.  I  don't  say  that  he  quite  acts  up  to  the  extreme 
Liberal  principle  of  which  he  was  once  rather  fond  of  boasting. 
But  if  you  were  offered  a  peerage,  what  would  yon  do ;  what 
would  i  do?  If  3'ou  wanted  money  for  3'our  3'oung  ones,  and 
could  get  it,  would  you  not  take  it?  Come,  come,  don't  let  us 
have  too  much  of  this  Spartan  virtue !  If  we  were  tried,  my 
good  friend,  we  should  not  be  much  worse  or  better  than  our 
neighbors.  Is  my  fly  coming,  waiter?"  We  asked  Mr.  Brad- 
gate  to  defer  his  departure,  and  to  share  our  dinner.  But  he 
declined,  and  said  he  must  go  up  to  the  great  house,  where 
he  and  his  client  had  plenty  of  business  to  arrange,  and  where 
no  doubt  he  would  stay  for  the  night.  He  bade  the  inn  servants 
put  his  portmanteau  into  his  carriage  when  it  came.  "The 
old  lord  had  some  famous  port  wine,"  he  said;  "I  hope  my 
friends  have  the  key  of  the  cellar." 

The  waiter  was  just  putting  our  meal  on  the  table,  as  we 
stood  in  the  bow-window  of  the  "Ringwood  Arms"  coffee- 
room,  engaged  in  this  colloqu^^  Hence  we  could  see  the  street, 
and  the  opposition  inn  of  the  "  Ram,"  where  presentlj'  a  great 
placard  was  posted.  At  least  a  dozen  street-boys,  shopmen, 
and  rustics  were  quickl}'  gathered  round  this  manifesto,  and 
we  ourselves  went  out  to  examine  it.  The  "Ram"  placard 
denounced,  in  terms  of  unmeasured  wrath,  the  impudent  attempt 
from  the  Castle  to  dictate  to  the  free  and  independent  electors 
of  the  borough.  Freemen  were  invited  not  to  promise  their 
votes  ;  to  show  themselves  worthy  of  their  name  ;  to  submit 
to  no  Castle  dictation.  A  county  gentleman  of  property,  of 
influence,  of  liberal  principles  —  no  West  Indian,  no  Castle 
Flunky,  but  a  True  English  Gentleman,  would  come  for- 
ward  to   rescue   them    from    the    tyranny  under  which   they 


ON  HIS   WAY  THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  243 

labored.     On  this  point  the  electors  might  rely  on  the  word 
of  A  Briton. 

"  This  was  brought  down  by  the  clerk  from  Bedloe's, 
He  and  a  newspaper  man  came  down  in  the  train  with  me ; 
a  Mr. ." 

As  he  spoke,  there  came  forth  from  the  "Ram"  the  news- 
paper man  of  whom  Mr.  Bradgate  spolce  —  an  old  friend  and 
comrade  of  Philip,  that  energetic  man  and  able  reporter,  Phipps 
of  the  Daily  Intelligencer^  who  recognized  Philip,  and  cordially 
greeting  him,  asked  what  he  did  down  here,  and  supposed  he 
had  come  to  support  his  family. 

Philip  explained  that  we  were  strangers,  had  come  from  a 
neighboring  watering-place  to  see  the  home  of  Philip's  ancestors, 
and  were  not  even  aware,  until  then,  that  an  electioneering 
contest  was  pending  in  the  place,  or  that  Sir  John  Ringwood 
was  about  to  be  promoted  to  the  peerage.  Meanwhile,  Mr. 
Bradgate's  fly  had  driven  out  of  the  hotel  3-ard  of  the  "  Ring- 
wood  Arms,"  and  the  lawyer  running  to  the  house  for  a  bag  of 
papers,  jumped  into  the  carriage  and  called  to  the  coachman 
to  drive  to  the  Castle. 

"  Bon  appetit!"  sa3"s  he,  in  a  confident  tone,  and  he  was 
gone. 

"  Would  Phipps  dine  with  us?"  Phipps  whispered,  "  I  am 
on  the  other  side,  and  the  '  Ram'  is  our  house." 

We,  who  were  on  no  side,  entered  into  the  "  Ringwood 
Arms,"  and  sat  down  to  our  meal  —  to  the  mutton  and  the 
catsup,  cauliflower  and  potatoes,  the  copper-edged  side-dishes, 
and  the  water}^  melted  butter,  with  which  strangers  are  regaled 
in  inns  in  declining  towns.  The  town  badauds,  who  had  read 
the  placard  at  the  "  Ram,"  now  came  to  peruse  the  proclama- 
tion in  our  window.  I  dare  say  thirty  pairs  of  clinking  boots 
stopped  before  the  one  window  and  the  other,  the  while  we  ate 
tough  mutton  and  drank  fiery  sherry-.  And  J.  J.,  leaving  his 
dinner,  sketched  some  of  the  figures  of  the  townsfolk  staring  at 
the  manifesto,  with  the  old-fashioned  "Ram  Inn"  for  a  back- 
ground—  a  picturesque  gable  enough. 

Our  meal  was  just  over,  when,  somewhat  to  our  surprise, 
our  friend  Mr.  Bradgate  the  lawyer  returned  to  the  "  Ringwood 
Arms."  He  wore  a  disturbed  countenance.  He  asked  what 
he  could  have  for  dinner?  Mutton,  neither  hot  nor  cold. 
Hum  !  That  must  do.  So  he  had  not  been  invited  to  dine  at 
the  Park?  We  rallied  him  with  much  facetiousness  on  this 
disappointment. 

Little  Bradgate's  eves  started  with  wrath.     "What  a  churl 


•o- 


244  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

the  little  black  fellow  is  !  "  he  cried.  "  I  took  him  his  papers. 
I  talked  with  him  till  dinner  was  laid  in  the  very  room  where 
we  were.  French  beans  and  neck  of  venison  —  I  saw  the 
housekeeper  and  his  man  bring  them  in  !  And  Mr.  Woolcomb 
did  not  so  much  as  ask  me  to  sit  down  to  dinner  —  but  told 
me  to  come  again  at  nine  o'clock  !  Confound  this  mutton  — 
it's  neither  hot  nor  cold  !  The  little  skinflint ! "  The  glasses 
of  fiery  sherry  which  Bradgate  now  swallowed  served  rather  to 
choke  than  appease  the  lawj'er.  We  laughed,  and  this  jocu- 
larity angered  him  more.  "  Oh,"  said  he,  "  I  am  not  the  only 
person  Woolcomb  was  rude  to.  He  was  in  a  dreadful  ill  temper. 
He  abused  his  wife :  and  when  he  read  somebody's  name  in 
the  strangers'  book,  I  promise  you,  Firmin,  he  abused  you. 
I  had  a  mind  to  say  to  him,  '  Sir,  Mr.  Firmin  is  dining  at  the 
"  Eingwood  Arms,"  and  I  will  tell  him  what  you  say  of  him,' 
What  india-rubber  mutton  this  is !  What  villanous  sherry ! 
Go  back  to  him  at  nine  o'clock,  indeed !  Be  hanged  to  his 
impudence !  " 

"You  must  not  abuse  Woolcobab  before  Firmin,"  said  one 
of  our  part}-.  "  Philip  is  so  fond  of  his  cousin's  husband,  that 
he  cannot  bear  to  hear  the  black  man  abused." 

This  was  not  a  ver}'  brilliant  joke,  but  Philip  grinned  at  it 
with  much  savage  satisfaction. 

"  Hit  Woolcomb  as  hard  as  you  please,  he  has  no  friends 
here,  Mr.  Bradgate,"  growled  Philip.  "So  he  is  rude  to  his 
law}' er,  is  he  ?  " 

"I  tell  you  he  is  worse  than  the  old  earl,"  cried  the  indig- 
nant Bradgate.  "  At  least  the  old  man  was  a  peer  of  England, 
and  could  be  a  gentleman  Avhen  he  wished.  But  to  be  bullied 
by  a  fellow  who  might  be  a  black  footman,  or  ought  to  be 
sweeping  a  crossing  !     It's  monstrous  !  " 

"Don't  speak  ill  of  a  man  and  a  brother,  Mr.  Bradgate. 
Woolcomb  can't  help  his  complexion." 

"But  he  can  help  his  confounded  impudence,  and  shan't 
practise  it  on  me  !  "  the  attorney  cried. 

As  Bradgate  called  out  from  his  box,  puffing  and  fuming, 
friend  J.  J.  was  scribbling  in  the  little  sketch-book  which  he 
always  carried.  He  smiled  over  his  work.  "  I  know,"  he  said, 
"  the  Black  Prince  well  enough.  I  have  often  seen  him  driving 
his  chestnut  mares  in  the  Park,  with  that  bewildered  white  wife 
by  his  side.  I  am  sure  that  woman  is  miserable,  and,  poor 
thing  —  " 

' '  Serve  her  right !  What  did  an  English  lady  mean  by 
marrying  such  a  fellow  !  "  cries  Bradgate. 


ON  HIS.  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  245 

"  A  fellow  who  does  not  ask  his  lawyer  to  dinner  !  "  remarks 
one  of  the  company  ;  perhaps  the  reader's  verj-  humble  servant. 
' '  But  what  an  imprudent  lawyer  he  has  chosen  —  a  lawyer  who 
speaks  his  mind." 

"  I  have  spoken  my  mind  to  his  betters,  and  be  hanged  to 
him  !  Do  3'ou  think  I  am  going  to  be  afraid  of  him  ?  "  bawls 
the  irascible  solicitor. 

' '  Contempsi  Catilince  gladios  —  do  you  remember  the  old 
quotation  at  school,  Philip  ?  "  And  here  there  was  a  break  in 
our  conversation,  for  chancing  to  look  at  friend  J.  J.'s  sketch- 
book, we  saw  that  he  had  made  a  wonderful  little  drawing, 
representing  Woolcomb  and  Woolcomb's  wife,  grooms,  phaeton, 
and  chestnut  mares,  as  they  were  to  be  seen  any  afternoon  in 
Hyde  Park,  during  the  London  season. 

Admirable  !  Capital !  Everybody  at  once  knew  the  likeness 
of  the  dusky  charioteer.  Iracundus  himself  smiled  and  snig- 
gered over  it.  "Unless  you  behave  yourself,  Mr.  Bradgate, 
Ridley  will  make  a  picture  of  you^"  says  Philip.  Bradgate 
made  a  comical  face,  and  retreated  into  his  box,  of  which  he 
pretended  to  draw  the  curtain.  But  the  sociable  little  man  did 
not  long  remain  in  his  retirement ;  he  emerged  from  it  in  a 
short  time,  his  wine  decanter  in  his  hand,  and  joined  our 
little  party ;  and  then  we  fell  to  tallving  of  old  times  ;  and 
we  all  remembered  a  famous  drawing  by  H.  B.,  of  the  late 
Earl  of  Ringwood,  in  the  old-fashioned  swallow-tailed  coat  and 
tight  trousers,  on  the  old-fashioned  horse,  with  the  old-fashioned 
groom  behind  him,  as  he  used  to  be  seen  pounding  along  Rot- 
ten Row. 

"I  speak  my  mind,  do  I?"  sa^^s  Mr.  Bradgate,  presently. 
"I  know  somebody  who  spoke  his  mind  to  that  old  man,  and 
who  would  have  been  better  off  if  he  had  held  his  tongue." 

"  Come,  tell  me,  Bradgate,"  cried  Philip.  "It  is  all  over 
and  past  now.  Had  Lord  Ringwood  left  me  something?  I 
declare  I  thought  at  one  time  that  he  intended  to  do  so." 

"Nay,  has  not  your  friend  here  been  rebuking  me  for 
speaking  my  mind?  I  am  going  to  be  as  mum  as  a  mouse. 
Let  us  talk  about  the  election,"  and  the  provoking  lawyer 
would  say  no  more  on  a  subject  possessing  a  dismal  interest 
for  poor  Phil. 

''I  have  no  more  right  to  repine,"  said  that  philosopher, 
'"*  than  a  man  would  have  who  drew  number  x  in  the  lottery, 
when  the  winning  ticket  was  numlier  y.  Let  us  talk,  as  you 
say,  about  the  election.     Who  is  to  oppose  Mr.  Woolcomb?" 

Mr.  Bradgate  believed  a  neighboring  squire,  Mr.  Hornblow, 


246  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

was  to  be  the  candidate   put  forward  against  the  Eingwood 
nominee. 

'•  Ilornblow  !  what,  Hornblow  of  Gre}^  Friars  ?  "  cries  Phihp. 
"A  better  fellow  never  lived.  In  this  case  he  shall  have  our 
vote  and  interest ;  and  I  think  we  ought  to  go  over  and  take 
another  dinner  at  the  '  Ram.'  " 

The  new  candidate  actually  turned  out  to  be  Philip's  old 
school  and  college  friend,  Mr.  Hornblow.  After  dinner  we 
met  him  with  a  staff  of  canvassers  on  the  tramp  throuo-h  the 
little  town.  Mr.  Hornblow  was  paying  his  respects  to  such 
tradesmen  as  had  their  shops  yet  open.  Next  day  being  mar- 
ket-day, he  proposed  to  canvass  the  market-people.  "  If  I 
meet  the  black  man,  Firmin,"  said  the  burly  squire,  "I  think 
I  can  ehatr  him  off  his  legs.  He  is  a  bad  one  at  speaking,  I 
am  told." 

As  if  the  tongue  of  Plato  would  have  prevailed  in  Whipham 
and  against  the  nominee  of  the  great  house  !  The  hour  was 
late  to  be  sure,  but  the  companions  of  Mr.  Hornblow  on  his 
canvass  augured  ill  of  his  success  after  half  an  hour's  walk  at 
his  heels.  Baker  Jones  would  not  promise  nohow  :  that  meant 
Jones  would  vote  for  the  Castle,  Mr.  Hornblow's  legal  aide-de- 
camp, Mr.  Batley,  was  forced  to  allow.  Butcher  Brown  was 
having  his  tea,  —  his  shrill-voiced  wife  told  us,  looking  out 
from  her  glazed  back  parlor :  Brown  would  vote  for  the  Castle. 
Saddler  Briggs  would  see  about  it.  Grocer  Adams  fairly  said 
he  would  vote  against  us  —  against  us?  ■ —  against  Hornblow, 
whose  part  we  were  taking  already.  I  fear  the  flattering  prom- 
ises of  support  of  a  great  body  of  free  and  unbiassed  electors, 
which  had  induced  Mr.  Hornblow  to  come  forward  and,  &c., 
were  but  inventions  of  that  little  lawyer,  Batle}',  who  found  his 
account  in  having  a  contest  in  the  borough.  When  the  polling- 
day  came  —  j-ou  see,  I  disdain  to  make  any  mysteries  in  this 
simple  and  veracious  story  —  Mr.  Grenville  Woolcomb, 
whose  solicitor  and  agent  spoke  for  him  —  Mr.  Grenville 
Woolcomb,  who  could  not  spell  or  speak  two  sentences  of 
decent  English,  and  whose  character  for  dulness,  ferocit}', 
penuriousness,  jealousy,  almost  fatuity,  was  notorious  to  all 
the  world  —  was  returned  by  an  immense  majority,  and  the 
country  gentleman  brought  scarce  a  hundred  votes  to  the 
poll. 

We  who  were  in  nowise  engaged  in  the  contest,  nevertheless 
found  amusement  from  it  in  a  quiet  countr}-  place  where  little 
else  was  stirring.  We  came  over  once  or  twice  from  Peri- 
winkle  Bay.     We  mounted  Hornblow's  colors  openly.     We 


ON  HIS  WAY   THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  247 

drove  up  ostentatiously  to  the  '•'Ram,"  forsaking  the  "Ring- 
wood  Arms,"  where  Mr.  Grenville  Woolcomb's  Committee 
Room  was  now  established  in  tliat  ver}^  coffee-room  wliere  we 
had  dined  in  Mr.  Bradgate's  company.  We  warmed  in  the 
contest.  We  met  Bradgate  and  his  principal  more  than  once, 
and  our  Montagus  and  Capulets  defied  each  other  in  the  public 
street.  It  was  fine  to  see  Philip's  great  figure  and  noble  scowl 
when  he  met  Woolcomb  at  the  canvass.  Gleams  of  mulattcf 
hate  quivered  from  the  e3'es  of  the  little  captain.  Darts  of  fire 
flashed  from  beneath  Philip's  eyebrows  as  he  elbowed  his  way 
forward,  and  hustled  Woolcomb  off  the  pavement.  Mr.  Philip 
never  disguised  any  sentiment  of  his.  "Hate  the  little  igno- 
rant, spiteful,  vulgar,  avaricious  beast?  Of  course  I  hate  him, 
and  I  should  like  to  pitch  him  into  the  river."  "  Oh,  Philip  !  " 
Charlotte  pleaded.  But  there  was  no  reasoning  with  this  savage 
when  in  wrath.  I  deplored,  though  perhaps  I  was  amused  by, 
his  ferocitj-. 

The  local  paper  on  our  side  was,  filled  with  withering  epi- 
grams against  this  poor  Woolcomb,  of  which,  I  suspect,  Philip 
was  the  author.  I  think  I  know  that  fierce  style  and  tremen- 
dous invective.  In  the  man  whom  he  hates  he  can  see  no 
good :  and  in  his  friend  no  fault.  When  we  met  Bradgate 
apart  from  his  principal,  we  were  friendly  enough.  He  said 
we  had  no  chance  in  the  contest.  He  did  not  conceal  his  dis- 
lilve  and  contempt  for  his  client.  He  amused  us  in  later  days 
(when  he  actuall}'  became  Philip's  man  of  law)  b}'  recounting 
anecdotes  of  Woolcomb,  his  fury,  his  jealous}-,  his  avarice,  his 
brutal  behavior.  Poor  Agnes  had  married  for  money,  and  he 
gave  her  none.  Old  Twysden,  in  giving  his  daughter  to  this 
man,  had  hoped  to  have  the  run  of  a  fine  house  ;  to  ride  in 
Woolcomb's  carriages,  and  feast  at  his  table.  But  Woolcomb 
was  so  stingy  that  lie  grudged  the  meat  which  his  wife  ate,  and 
would  give  none  to  her  relations.  He  turned  those  relations 
out  of  his  doors.  Talbot  and  Ringwood  Twysden,  he  drove 
them  both  away.  lie  lost  a  child,  because  he  would  not  send 
for  a  physician.  His  wife  never  forgave  him  that  meanness. 
Her  hatred  for  him  became  open  and  avowed.  They  parted, 
and  she  led  a  life  into  which  we  will  look  no  farther.  She 
quarrelled  with  parents  as  well  as  husband.  "  Why,"  she  said, 
"did  they  sell  me  to  that  man?"  Why  did  she  sell  herself? 
She  required  little  persuasion  from  father  ccnd  mother  when  she 
committed  that  crime.  To  be  sure,  they  had  educated  her  so 
well  to  worldliuess,  that  when  the  occasion  came  she  was 
ready. 


248  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

We  used  to  see  this  luckless  woman,  with  her  horses  and 
servants  decked  with  Woolcomb's  ribbons,  driving  about  the 
little  town,  and  making  feeble  efforts  to  canvass  the  towns- 
people. They  all  knew  how  she  and  her  husband  quar- 
relled. Reports  came  very  quickly  from  the  Hall  to  the  town. 
Woolcomb  had  not  been  at  Whipham  a  week  when  people 
began  to  hoot  and  jeer  at  him  as  he  passed  in  his  carriage. 
^'  Think  how  weak  j-ou  must  be,"  Bradgate  said,  "  when  we 
can  win  with  this  horse  !  I  wish  he  would  stay  awa}',  though. 
We  could  manage  much  better  without  him.  He  has  insulted 
I  don't  know  how  many  free  and  independent  electors,  and  in- 
furiated others,  because  he  will  not  give  them  beer  when  they 
come  to  the  house.  If  Woolcomb  would  sta^-  in  the  place,  and 
we  could  have  the  election  next  3'ear,  I  think  3'our  man  might 
win.  But,  as  it  is,  he  may  as  well  give  in,  and  spare  the 
expense  of  a. poll."  Meanwhile  Hornblow  was  very  confident. 
We  believe  what  we  wish  to  believe.  It  is  marvellous  what 
faith  an  enthusiastic  elecljoneering  agent  can  inspire  in  his 
client.  At  any  rate,  if  Hornblow  did  not  win  this  time,  he 
■would  at  the  next  election.  The  old  Ringwood  domination  in 
Whipham  was  gone  henceforth  for  ever. 

When  the  day  of  election  arrived,  30U  maj^  be  sure  we  came 
over  from  Periwinkle  Bay  to  see  the  battle.  By  this  time 
Philip  had  grown  so  enthusiastic  in  Plornblow's  cause —  (Philip, 
by  the  way,  never  would  allow  the  possibility  of  a  defeat)  — 
that  he  had  his  children  decked  in  the  Hornblow  ribbons,  and 
drove  from  the  baj',  wearing  a  cockade  as  large  as  a  pancake. 
He,  I,  and  Ridley  the  painter,  went  together  in  a  dog-cart. 
We  were  hopeful,  though  we  knew  the  enemy  was  strong ;  and 
cheerful,  though,  ere  we  had  driven  five  miles,  the  rain  began 
to  fall. 

Philip  was  very  anxious  about  a  certain  great  roll  of  paper 
which  we  carried  with  us.  When  I  asked  him  wliat  it  con- 
tained, he  said  it  was  a  gun  ;  which  was  absurd.  Ridlej' smiled 
in  his  silent  wa}'.  When  the  rain  came,  Philip  cast  a  cloak 
over  his  artillerj',  and  sheltered  his  powder.  We  little  guessed 
at  the  time  what  strange  game  his  shot  would  bring  down. 

When  we  reached  Whipham,  the  polling  had  continued  for 
some  hours.  The  confounded  black  misci'eant,  as  Philip  called 
his  cousin's  husband,  was  at  the  head  of  the  poll,  and  with 
every  hour  his  majority  increased.  The  free  and  independent 
electors  did  not  seem  to  be  in  the  least  influenced  by  Philip's 
articles  in  the  county  paper,  or  b^'  the  placards  which  our  side 
had  pasted  over  the  little  town,  and  in  which  freemen  were 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  249 

called  upon  to  do  their  duty,  to  support  a  fine  old  English  gen- 
tleman, to  submit  to  no  Castle  nominee,  and  so  forth.  The 
pressure  of  the  Ringwood  steward  and  bailiffs  was  too  strong. 
However  much  they  disliked  the  black  man,  tradesman  after 
tradesman,  and  tenant  after  tenant,  came  up  to  vote  for  him. 
Our  drums  and  trumpets  at  the  "  Ram  "  blew  loud  defiance  to 
the  brass  band  at  the  "  Ringwood  Arms."  From  our  balcony, 
I  flatter  myself,  we  made  much  finer  speeches  than  the  Ring- 
wood  people  could  deliver.  Hornblow  was  a  popular  man  in 
the  count}'.  When  he  came  forward  to  speak,  the  market- 
place echoed  with  applause.  The  farmers  and  small  tradesmen 
touched  their  hats  to  him  kindl}',  but  slunk  off  sadly  to  the 
polling-booth,  and  voted  according  to  order.  A  fine,  healthy, 
handsome,  red-cheeked  squire,  our  champion's  personal  appear- 
ance enlisted  all  the  ladies  in  his  favor. 

"if  the  two  men,"  bawled  Philip,  from  the  "Ram"  win- 
dow, "  could  decide  the  contest  with  their  coats  oft'  before  the 
market-house  yonder,  which  do  you  think  would  win  —  the  fair 
man  or  the  darky?"  (Loud  cries  of  "Hornblow  for  iver!" 
or  "  Mr.  Phihp,  we'll  have  yeio")  "  But  you  see,  my  friends, 
Mr.  Woolcomb  does  not  like  a  fair  fight.  Why  doesn't  he 
show  at  the  '  Ringwood  Arms  '  and  speak?  I  don't  believe  he 
can  speak  —  not  English.  Are  you  men  ?  Are  jou  English- 
men? Are  you  white  slaves  to  be  sold  to  that  fellow?"  (Im- 
mense uproar.  Mr.  Finch,  the  Ringwood  agent,  in  vain  tries 
to  get  a  hearing  from  the  ])alcony  of  the  "  Ringwood  Arms.") 
"  Wh}'  does  not  Sir  John  Ringwood  —  ni}'  Lord  Ringwood  now 

—  come  down  amongst  his  tenantr}^,  and  back  the  man  he  has 
sent  down?  I  suppose  he  is  ashamed  to  look  his  tenants  in 
the  face.  I  should  be,  if  I  ordered  them  to  do  such  a  degrad- 
ing job.  You  know,  gentlemen,  that  I  am  a  Ringwood  myself. 
My  grandfather  lies  buried  —  no,  not  buried  —  in  yonder  church. 
His  tomb  is  there.  His  body  lies  on  the  glorious  field  of  Bu- 
saco  !  "    ("  Hurray  !  ")     "  I  am  a  Ringwood."     (Cries  of  "  Hoo 

—  down.  No  Ringwoods  year.  We  wunt  haxQ  un  ! ")  "  And 
before  George,  if  I  had  a  vote,  I  would  give  it  for  the  gallant, 
the  good,  the  admirable,  the  excellent  Hornblow.  Some  one 
holds  up  tlie  state  of  the  poll,  and  AVoolcomb  is  ahead  !  I  can 
only  say,  electors  of  AVhipham,  the  more  shame  for  youl" 
"  Hoora}' !  Bravo  !  "  The  boys,  the  people,  the  shouting,  are 
all  on  our  side.  The  voting,  I  regret  to  say,  steadily  continues 
in  favor  of  the  enemy. 

As  Philip  was  making  his  speech,  an  immense  banging  of 
drums  and  blowing  of  trumpets  arose  from  the  balcony  of  the 


250  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

"  Ringwood  Arms,"  and  a  something  resembling  the  song  of 
triumph  called,  "  See  the  Conquering  Hero  comes,"  was  per- 
formed by  the  opposition  orchestra.  The  lodge-gates  of  the 
park  were  now  decorated  with  the  Ringwood  and  Woolcomb 
flags.  The}^  were  flung  open,  and  a  dark  green  chariot  with 
four  gra}^  horses  issued  from  the  pai'k.  On  the  chariot  was  an 
earl's  coronet,  and  the  people  looked  rather  scared  as  it  came 
towards  us,  and  said — "  Do'ee  look,  now,  'tis  my  lard's  own 
post-chaise  !  "  On  former  days  Mr.  Woolcomb,  and  his  wife  as 
his  aide-de-camp,  had  driven  through  the  town  in  an  open  ba- 
rouche, but,  to-day  being  rainy,  preferred  the  shelter  of  the  old 
chariot,  and  we  saw,  presently,  within,  Mr.  Bradgate,  the  Lon- 
don agent,  and  by  his  side  the  darkling  figure  of  Mr.  Wool- 
comb. He  had  passed  many  agonizing  hours,  we  were  told 
subsequently,  in  attempting  to  learn  a  speech.  He  cried  over 
it.  He  never  could  get  it  by  heart.  He  swore  like  a  frantic 
child  at  his  wife,  who  endeavored  to  teach  him  his  lesson. 

"  Now's  the  time,  Mr.  Briggs  !  "  Philip  said  to  Mr.  B.,  our 
lawyer's  clerk,  and  tlie  intelligent  Briggs  sprang  down  stairs  to 
obey  his  orders.  Clear  the  road  there  !  make  way  !  was  heard 
from  the  crowd  below  us.  The  gates  of  our  inn  court-yard, 
which  had  been  closed,  were  suddenly  flung  open,  and,  amidst 
the  roar  of  the  multitude,  there  issued  out  a  cart  drawn  by  two 
donke3S,  and  driven  b}'  a  negro,  beasts  and  man  all  wearing 
Woolcomb's  colors.  In  the  cart  was  fixed  a  placard,  on  which 
a  most  undeniable  likeness  of  Mr.  Woolcomb  was  designed : 
w^ho  was  made  to  say,  ••'  Vote  for  me  !  Am  I  not  a  man  and 
A  BRUDDER?  "  This  cart  trotted  out  of  the  yard  of  the  "  Ram," 
and,  with  a  cortege  of  shouting  bo^'s,  advanced  into  the  market- 
place, which  Mr.  Woolcomb's  carriage  was  then  crossing. 

Before  the  market-house  stands  the  statue  of  the  late  earl, 
whereof  mention  has  been  made.  In  his  peer's  robes,  a  hand 
extended,  he  points  towards  his  park  gates.  An  inscription, 
not  more  mendacious  than  many  other  epigraphs,  records  his 
rank,  age,  virtues,  and  the  esteem  in  which  the  people  of  Whip- 
ham  held  him.  The  mulatto  who  drove  the  team  of  donkeys 
was  an  itinerant  tradesman  who  brought  fish  from  the  ba}'  to 
the  little  town  ;  a  J0II3'  wag,  a  fellow  of  indiflTerent  character, 
a  frequenter  of  all  the  ale-houses  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
rather  celebrated  for  his  skill  as  a  bruiser.  He  and  his  steeds 
streamed  with  AVoolcomb  ribbons.  With  ironical  shouts  of 
"Woolcomb  for  ever !"  Yellow  Jack  urged  his  cart  towards 
the  chariot  with  the  white  hoi'ses.  He  took  off  his  hat  with 
mock  respect  to  the  candidate  sitting  within  the  green  chariot. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  251 

From  the  balcony  of  the  "  Earn"  we  could  see  the  two  vehicles 
ajDproaching  each  other ;  and  Yellow  Jack  waving  his  ribboned 
hat,  kicking  his  bandy  legs  here  and  there,  and  urging  on  his 
donkeys.  What  with  the  roar  of  the  people,  and  the  banging 
and  trumpeting  of  the  rival  bands,  we  could  hear  but  little  : 
but  I  saw  AYoolcomb  thrust  his  yellow  head  out  of  his  chaise- 
window  —  he  pointed  towards  that  impudent  donke^'-cart,  and 
urged,  seemingly,  his  postilions  to  ride  it  down.  Plying  their 
whips,  the  post-boys  galloped  towards  Yellow  Jack  and  his 
vehicle,  a  yelling  crowd  scattering  from  before  the  horses,  and 
rall3'ing  behind  them,  to  utter  execrations  at  Woolcomb.  His 
horses  were  frightened,  no  doubt;  for  just  as  Yellow  Jack 
wheeled  nimbly  round  one  side  of  the  Ringwood  statue.  Wool- 
comb's  horses  were  all  huddled  together  and  plunging  in  con- 
fusion beside  it,  the  fore-wheel  came  in  abrupt  collision  with  the 
stonework  of  the  statue-railing :  and  then  we  saw  the  vehicle 
turn  over  altogether,  one  of  the  wheelers  down  with  its  rider, 
and  the  leaders  kicking,  plunging,  lashing  out  right  and  left, 
wild  and  maddened  with  fear.  Mr.  Philip's  countenance,  I  am 
bound  to  say,  wore  a  most  guilty  and  queer  expression.  This 
accident,  this  collision,  this  injury,  perhaps  death  of  Woolcomb 
and  his  lawyer,  arose  out  of  our  fine  joke  about  the  Man  and 
the  Brother. 

We  dashed  down  the  stairs  from  the  "  Ram  "  — Hornblow, 
Philip,  and  half  a  dozen  more  —  and  made  a  way  through  the 
crowd  towards  the  carriage,  with  its  prostrate  occupants.  The 
mob  made  way  civilly  for  the  popular  candidate  —  the  losing 
candidate.  When  we  reached  the  chaise,  the  traces  had  been 
cut :  the  horses  were  free  :  the  fallen  postilion  was  up  and  rub- 
bing his  leg :  and,  as  soon  as  the  wheelers  were  taken  out  of 
the  chaise,  AYoolcomb  emerged  from  it.  He  had  said  from 
within  (accompanying  his  speech  with  many  oaths,  which  need 
not  be  repeated,  and  showing  a  just  sense  of  his  danger),  "  Cut 
the  traces,  hang  30U  !  And  take  the  horses  away  :  I  can  wait 
until  they're  gone.  I'm  sittin'  on  my  lawyer ;  I  ain't  goin'  to 
have  my  head  kicked  off  b}-  those  wheelers."  And  just  as  we 
reached  the  fallen  post-chaise  he  emerged  from  it,  laughing  and 
saying,  "  Lie  still,  you  old  beggar  !  "  to  Mr.  Bradgate,  who  was 
writhing  underneath  him.  His  issue  from  the  carriage  was 
received  with  shouts  of  laughter,  which  increased  prodigiously 
when  Yellow  Jack,  nimbly  clambering  up  the  statue-railings, 
thrust  the  outstretched  arm  of  the  statue  through  the  picture 
of  the  Man  and  the  Brother,  and  left  that  cartoon  "flapping  in  the 
air  over  Woolcomb's  head. 


252  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

Then  a  shout  arose,  the  like  of  which  has  seldom  been  heard 
in  that  quiet  little  town.  Then  Woolcomb,  who  had  been  quite 
good-humored  as  he  issued  out  of  the  broken  post-chaise,  began 
to  shriek,  curse,  and  revile  more  shrilly  than  before ;  and  was 
heard,  in  the  midst  of  his  oaths,  and  wrath,  to  say,  "He  would 
give  any  man  a  shillin'  who  would  bring  him  down  that  con- 
founded thing  !  "  Then  scared,  bruised,  contused,  confused, 
poor  Mr.  Bradgate  came  out  of  the  carriage,  his  employer  taking 
not  the  least  notice  of  him. 

Hornblow  hoped  Woolcomb  was  not  hurt,  on  which  the  little 
gentleman  turned  round  and  said,  "Hurt?  no;  whoarej'ou? 
Is  no  fellah  goin'  to  bring  me  down  that  confounded  thing?  I'll 
give  a  shillin',  I  say,  to  the  fellah  who  does  !  "  - 

"  A  shilling  is  offered  for  that  picture  !  "  shouts  Philip  with 
a  red  face,  and  wild  with  excitement.  "  Who  will  take  a  whole 
shilling  for  that  beauty  ?  " 

On  which  Woolcomb  began  to  scream,  curse,  and  revile  more 
bitterly  than  before.  "You  here?  Hang  you,  why  are  you 
here?  Don't  come  bullj'in'  me.  Take  that  fellah  away,  some 
of  you  fellahs.  Bradgate,  come  to  my  committee-room.  I  won't 
stay  here,  I  sa}'.  Let's  have  the  beast  of  a  carriage,  and  — 
Well,  what's  up  now  ?  " 

While  he  was  talking,  shrieking,  and  swearing,  half  a  dozen 
shoulders  in  the  crowd  had  raised  the  carriage  up  on  its  three 
wheels.  The  panel  which  had  fallen  towards  the  ground  had 
split  against  a  stone,  and  a  great  gap  was  seen  in  the  side.  A 
lad  was  about  to  thrust  his  hand  into  the  orifice,  when  Wool- 
comb turned  upon  him. 

"Hands  off,  you  little  beggar!"  he  cried,  "no  priggin' ! 
Drive  away  some  of  these  fellahs,  you  post-boys  !  Don't  stand 
rubbin' 3'our  knee  there,  you  great  fool.  What's  this?"  and 
he  thrusts  his  own  hand  into  the  place  where  the  boy  had  just 
been  marauding. 

In  the  old  travelling  carriages  there  used  to  be  a  well  or 
swordcase,  in  which  travellers  used  to  put  swords  and  pistols 
in  da3-s  when  such  weapons  of  defence  were  needful  on  the  road. 
Out  of  this  swordcase  of  Lord  Ringwood's  old  post-chariot, 
Woolcomb  did  not  draw  a  sword,  but  a  foolscap  paper  folded 
and  tied  with  a  red  tape.  And  he  began  to  read  the  superscrip- 
tion—  "Will  of  the  Right  Honorable  John,  Earl  of  Ringwood. 
Bradgate,  Smith,  and  Burrows." 

"  God  bless  ray  soul !  It's  the  will  he  had  back  from  my 
office,  and  which  I  thought  he  had  destroyed.  My  dear  fellow, 
I  congratulate  you  with  aU  my  heart !  "     And  herewith  Mr. 


ON  ins  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.     25 


o 


Bradgate  the  lawyer  began  to  shake  Philip's  hand  with  much 
warmth.  "  Allow  me  to  look  at  that  paper.  Yes,  this  is  in 
m}^  handwriting.  Let  us  come  into  the  '  Ringwood  Arms '  — 
the  '  Ram  '  ^-  anywhere,  and  read  it  to  you  !  " 

.  .  Here  we  looked  up  to  the  balcony  of  the  "  Ringwood 
Arms,"  and  beheld  a  great  placard  announcing  the  state  of  the 
poll  at  one  o'clock. 

WOOLCOMB 216 

HORNBLOW 92 

"  We  are  beaten,"  said  Mr.  Hornblow,  very  good-naturedly. 
"  We  may  take  our  flag  down.     Mr.  Woolcomb,  I  congratulate 

you." 

"  I  knew  we  should  do  it,"  said  Mr.  W^oolcomb,  putting  out 
a  little  yellow-kidded  hand.  "Had  all  the  votes  beforehand 
—  knew  we  should  do  the  trick,  I  s&j.  Hi!  30U — What-do- 
you-call-'im  —  Bradgate  !  What  is  it  about,  that  will  ?  It  does 
not  do  any  good  to  that  beggar,  does  it?"  and  with  laughter 
and  shouts,  and  cries  of  "Woolcomb  for  ever,"  and  "Give 
us  something  to  drink,  3'our  honor,"  the  successful  candidate 
marched  into  his  hotel. 

And  was  the  tawny  Woolcomb  the  fairy  who  was  to  rescue 
Philip  from  grief,  debt,  and  poverty?  Yes.  And  the  old  post- 
chaise  of  the  late  Lord  Ringwood  was  the  fair}'  chariot.  You 
have  read  in  a  past  chapter  how  the  old  lord,  being  transported 
with  anger  against  Philip,  desired  his  law^'er  to  bring  back  a 
will  in  which  he  had  left  a  handsome  legacy  to  the  3'oung  man, 
as  his  mother's  son.  My  lord  had  intended  to  make  a  provision 
for  Mrs.  Firmin,  when  she  was  his  dutiful  niece,  and  yet  under 
his  roof.  When  she  eloped  with  Mr.  Firmin,  Lord  Ringwood 
vowed  he  would  give  his  niece  nothing.  But  he  was  pleased 
with  the  independent  and  forgiving  spirit  exhibited  by  her  son  ; 
and,  being  a  person  of  much  grim  humor,  I  dare  say  chuckled 
inwardl}^  at  thinking  how  furious  the  Twysdens  would  be,  when 
the}'  found  Philip  was  the  old  lord's  favorite.  Then  Mr.  Philip 
chose  to  be  insubordinate,  and  to  excite  the  wrath  of  his  great- 
«ancle,  who  desired  to  have  his  will  back  again.  He  put  the 
document  into  his  carriage,  in  the  secret  box,  as  he  drove  away 
on  that  last  journey,  in  the  midst  of  which  death  seized  him. 
Had  he  survived,  would  he  have  made  another  will,  leaving  out 
all  mention  of  Philip?  Who  shall  sa}-?  M}'  lord  made  and 
cancelled  many  wills.  This  certainh',  duly  drawn  and  wit- 
nessed, was  the  last  he  ever  signed ;  and  by  it  Philip  is  put  in 


254  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

possession  of  a  sum  of  money  which  is  sufficient  to  ensure  a 
provision  for  those  whom  he  loves.  Kind  readers,  I  know  not 
whether  the  fairies  be  rife  now,  or  banished  from  this  work-a-day 
earth,  but  Philip's  biographer  wishes  you  some  of  those  blessings 
which  never  forsook  Philip  in  his  trials  :  a  dear  wife  and  children 
to  love  3"0U,  a  true  friend  or  two  to  stand  b}'  you,  and  in  health 
or  sickness  a  clear  conscience,  and  a  kindlj'  heart.  If  you  fall 
upon  the  wa}^  may  succor  reach  3-ou.  And  may  joa,  in  your 
turn,  have  help  and  pitj^  in  store  for  the  unfortunate  whom  you 
overtake  on  life's  journey. 

Would  3-ou  care  to  know  what  happened  to  the  other  person- 
ages of  our  narrative?  Old  Twysden  is  still  babbling  and 
bragging  at  clubs,  and  though  aged  is  not  the  least  venerable. 
He  has  quarrelled  with  his  son  for  not  calling  Woolcomb  out, 
when  that  unhappy  difference  arose  between  the  Black  Prince 
and  his  wife.  ^  He  saj's  his  family  has  been  treated  with  cruel 
injustice  b}'  the  late  Lord  Ringwood,  but  as  soon  as  Philip  had 
a  little  fortune  left  him  he  instantly  was  reconciled  to  his  wife's 
nephew.  There  are  other  friends  of  Firmin's  who  were  kind 
enough  to  him  in  his  evil  da^'s,  but  cannot  pardon  his  prosperity'. 
Being  in  that  benevolent  mood  which  must  accompany  any 
leave-taking,  we  will  not  name  these  ill-wishers  of  Philip,  but 
wish  that  all  readers  of  his  story  may  have  like  reason  to  make 
some  of  their  acquaintances  angry. 

Our  dear  Little  Sister  would  never  live  with  Philip  and  his 
Charlotte,  though  the  latter  especially  and  with  all  her  heart 
besought  Mrs.  Brandon  to  come  to  them.  That  pure  and  use- 
ful and  modest  life  ended  a  few  years  since.  She  died  of  a 
fever  caught  from  one  of  her  patients.  She  would  not  allow 
Philip  or  Charlotte  to  come  near  her.  She  said  she  was  justly 
punished  for  being  so  proud  as  to  refuse  to  live  with  them. 
All  her  little  store  she  left  to  Philip.  He  has  now  in  his  desk 
the  five  guineas  which  she  gave  him  at  his  marriage  ;  and  J.  J. 
has  made  a  little  picture  of  her,  with  her  sad  smile  and  her 
sweet  face,  which  hangs  in  Philip's  drawing-room,  where  father, 
mother,  and  children  talk  of  the  Little  Sister  as  though  she  were 
among  them  still. 

She  was  dreadfully  agitated  when  the  news  came  from  New 
York  of  Doctor  Firmin's  second  marriage.  "  His  second  ?  His 
third?"  she  said.  "The  villain,  the  villain!"  That  strange 
delusion  which  we  have  described  as  sometimes  possessing  her 
increased  in  intensity  after  this  news.  More  than  ever,  she 
lielieved  that  Philip  was  her  own  child.  She  came  wildly  to 
him,  and  cried  that  his  father  had  forsaken  them.     It  was  only 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  255 

when  she  was  excited  that  she  gave  utterance  to  this  opinion. 
Doctor  Goodenough  says  that  though  generally  silent  about  it, 
it  never  left  her. 

Upon  his  marriage  Dr.  Finnin  wrote  one  of  his  long  letters 
to  his  sou,  announcing  the  event.  He  described  the  wealth  of 
the  lady  (a  widow  from  Norfolk,  in  Virginia)  to  whom  he  was 
about  to  be  united.  He  would  pay  back,  ay,  with  interest, 
ever}^  pound,  every  dollar,  ever}-  cent  he  owed  his  son.  Was 
the  lad}-  wealthy?     We  had  only  the  poor  doctor's  word. 

Three  montlis  after  his  marriage  he  died  of  yellow  feveh,  on 
his  wife's  estate.  It  was  then  the  Little  Sister  came  to  see  us 
in  widow's  mourning,  very  wild  and  flushed.  She  bade  our 
servant  say,  "  Mrs.  Firmin  was  at  the  door ;  "  to  the  astonish- 
ment of  the  man,  who  knew  her.  She  had  even  caused  a 
mourning-card  to  be  printed.  Ah,  there  is  rest  now  for  that 
little  fevered  brain,  and  peace,  let  us  pra}-,  for  that  fond  faithful 
heart. 

The  mothers  in  Philip's -household  and  mine  have  alread}' 
made  a  match  between  our  children.  We  had  a  great  gathering 
the  other  day  at  Roehampton,  at  the  house  of  our  friend,  Mr. 
Clive  Newcome  (whose  tall  bo}',  m}-  wife  saj-s,  was  very  atten- 
tive to  our  Helen),  and,  having  been  educated  at  the  same 
school,  we  sat  ever  so  long  at  dessert,  telling  old  stories,  whilst 
the  children  danced  to  piano  music  on  the  laMn.  Dance  on  the 
lawn,  young  folks,  whilst  the  elders  talk  in  the  shade !  Wliat? 
The  night  is  falling :  we  have  talked  enough  over  our  wine : 
and  it  is  time  to  go  home?  Good  night.  Good  night,  friends, 
old  and  young !  The  night  will  fall :  the  stories  must  end  :  and 
the  best  friends  must  part. 


CATHEKINE:    A    STORY. 

By  IKEY  SOLOMONS,  ESQ.,  JUNIOR. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


The  story  of  "Catherine,"  which  appeared  in  Eraser's  Magazine  in 
1839-40,  was  written  by  Mr.  Thackeray,  under  the  name  of  Ikey  Solomons, 
Jun.,  to  counteract  the  injurious  influence  of  some  popular  fictions  of  that 
day,  wliich  made  heroes  of  highwaymen  and  burglars,  and  created  a  false 
sympathy  for  the  vicious  and  criminal. 

With  this  purpose,  the  author  chose  for  the  subject  of  his  story  a 
woman  named  Catherine  Hayes,  who  was  burned  at  Tyburn,  in  1726,  for 
the  deliberate  murder  of  her  husband,  under  very  revolting  circumstances. 
Mr.  Thackeray's  aim  obviously  was  to  describe  the  career  of  this  wretched 
woman  and  her  associates  with  such  fidelity  to  truth  as  to  exhibit  the 
danger  and  folly  of  investing  such  persons  with  heroic  and  romantic 
qualities. 


CATHEBINE: 

A     STOEY. 


CHAPTER  I. 


INTRODUCING    TO   THE   READER  THE   CHIEF    PERSONAGES    OF    THIS 

NARRATIVE. 

/ 

At  that  famous  period  of  histoiy,  when  the  seventeenth 
centur}'  (after  a  deal  of  quarrelhng,  king-killing,  reforming, 
republicanizing,  restoring,  re-restoring,  plaj-- writing,  sermon- 
writing,  Oliver-Cromwelhzing,  Stuartizing,  and  Orangizing,  to 
be  sure)  had  sunk  into  its  grave,  giving  place  to  the  lusty 
eighteenth  ;  when  Mr.  Isaac  Newton  was  a  tutor  of  Trinity, 
and  Mr.  Joseph  Addison  Commissioner  of  Appeals  ;  when  the 
presiding  genius  that  watched  over  the  destinies  of  the  French 
nation  had  played  out  all  the  best  cards  in  his  hand,  and  his 
adversaries  began  to  pour  in  their  trumps ;  when  there  were 
two  kings  in  Spain  emplo^'ed  perpetually  in  running  awa}-  from 
one  another ;  when  there  was  a  queen  in  England,  with  such 
rogues  for  Ministers  as  have  never  been  seen,  no,  not  in  our 
own  day ;  and  a  General,  of  whom  it  may  be  severely  argued, 
whether  he  was  the  meanest  miser  or  the  greatest  hero  in  the 
world ;  when  Mrs.  Masham  had  not  j^et  put  Madam  Marl- 
borough's nose  out  of  joint ;  when  people  had  their  ears  cut 
off  for  writing  very  meek  political  pamphlets ;  and  very  large 
full-bottomed  wigs  were  just  beginning  to  be  wojn  with  pow- 
der ;  and  the  face  of  Louis  the  Great,  as  his  was  handed  in  to 
him  behind  the  bed-curtains,  was,  when  issuing  thence,  ob- 
served to  look  longer,  older,  and  more  dismal  dailj'. 

About  the  year  One  thousand  seven  hundred  and  five,  that 
is,  in  the  glorious  reign  of  Queen  Anne,  there  existed  certain 
characters,  and  befell  a  series  of  adventures,  wiiich,  since  they 
are  strictly  in  accordance  with  the  present  fashionable  style  and 
taste  ;  since  they  have  been  already  partly  described  in  the 
"Newgate  Calendar;"  since  they  are  (as  shall  be  seen  anon) 


260  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

agreeably  low,  delightfully  disgusting,  and  at  the  same  time 
eminently  pleasing  and  pathetic,  may  properly  be  set  down 

here.  | 

And  though  it  may  be  said,  with  some  considerable  show  of 
reason,  that  agreeably  low  and  delightfully  disgusting  charac- 
ters have  already  been  treated,  both  copiously  and  ably,  by 
some  eminent  writers  of  the  present  (and,  indeed,  of  future) 
ao-es  ;  though  to  tread  in  the  footsteps  of  the  immortal  Fagin 
requires  a  genius  of  inordinate  stride,  and  to  go  a-robbing  after 
the  late  though  deathless  Turpin,  the  renowned  Jack  Shep- 
PARD,  or  the  embyro  Duval,  may  be  impossible,  and  not  an 
infringement,  but  a  wasteful  indication  of  ill-will  towards  the 
eighth  commandment;  though  it  may,  on  the  one  hand,  be 
asserted  that  only  vain  coxcombs  would  dare  to  write*  on  sub- 
jects already  described  by  men  really  and  deservedly  eminent ; 
on  the  other  hand,  that  these  subjects  have  been  described  so 
fully,  that  nothing  more  can  be  said  about  them  ;  on  the  third 
hand  (allowing,  for  the  sake  of  argument,  three  hands  to  one 
figure  of  speech),  that  the  pubhc  has  heard  so  much  of  them,  as 
to  be  quite  tired  of  rogues,  thieves,  cut-throats,  and  Newgate 
altogether; — though  all  these  objections  may  be  urged,  and 
each  is  excellent,  yet  we  intend  to  take  a  few  more  pages  from 
the  "  Old  Bailey  Calendar,"  to  bless  the  public  with  one  more 
draught  from  the  Stone  Jug:* — yet  awhile  to  listen,  hurdle- 
mounted,  and  riding  down  the  Oxford  Road,  to  the  bland  con- 
versation of  Jack  Ketch,  and  to  hang  with  him  round  the  neck 
of  his  patient,  at  the  end  of  our  and  his  history.  We  give  the 
reader  fair  notice,  that  we  shall  tickle  him  with  a  few  such 
scenes  of  villany,  throat-cutting,  and  bodily  suffering  in  gen- 
eral, as  are  not  to  be  found,  no,  not  in ;  never  mind  com- 
parisons, for  such  ai-e  odious. 

In  the  year  1705,  then,  whether  it  was  that  the  Queen  of 
England  did  feel  seriously  alarmed  at  the  notice  that  a  French 
prince  should  occupy  the  Spanish  throne  ;  or  whether  she  was 
tenderly  attached  to"  the  Emperor  of  Germany  ;  or  whether  she 
was  obliged  to  fight  out  the  quarrel  of  William  of  Orange,  who 
made  us  pay  and  fight  for  his  Dutch  provinces  ;  or  whether  poor 
old  Louis  Quatorze  did  really  frighten  her ;  or  whether  Sarah 
Jennings  and  her  husband  wanted  to  make  a  fight,  knowing 
how  much  they  should  gain  by  it ;  —  whatever  the  reason  was, 
it  was  evident  that  the  war  was  to  continue,  and  there  was 
almost  as  much  soldiering  and  recruiting,  parading,  pike  and 

*  This,  as  your  ladyship  is  aware,  is  the  polite  name  for  her  Majesty's 
prison  of  Newgate. 


CATHERIXE:    A   STORY.  261 

gun-exercising,  flag-flying,  drura-beating,  powder-blazing,  and 
military  enthusiasm,  as  we  can  all  remember  in  the  ^-ear  1801, 
what  time  the  Corsican  upstart  menaced  our  shores.  A  recruit- 
ing-party and  captain  of  Cutts's  regiment  (which  had  been  so 
mangled  at  Blenheim  the  year  before,)  were  now  in  Warwick- 
shire ;  and  having  their  depot  at  Warwick,  the  captain  and  his 
attendant,  the  corporal,  were  used  to  travel  through  the  coun- 
try, seeking  for  heroes  to  fill  up  the  gaps  in  Cutts's  corps,  — 
and  for  adventures  to  pass  away  the  weary  time  of  a  country 
life. 

Our  Captain  Plume  and  Sergeant  Kite  (it  was  at  this  time, 
by  the  way,  that  those  famous  recruiting-officers  were  playing 
their  pranks  in  Shrewsbury-,)  were  occupied  very  much  in  the 
same  manner  with  Farquhar's  heroes.  They  roamed  from 
Warwick  to  Stratford,  and  from  Stratford  to  Birmingham,  per- 
suading the  swains  of  Warwickshire  to  leave  the  plough  for 
the  pike,  and  despatching,  from  time  to  time,  small  detach- 
ments of  recruits  to  extend  Marlborough's  lines,  and  to  act  as 
food  for  the  hungry  cannon  at  Ramillies  and  Malplaquet. 

Of  those  two  gentlemen  who  are  about  to  act  a  ver}'  impor- 
tant part  in  our  history,  one  only  was  probabl3'  a  native  of  Brit- 
ain, —  we  say  probably,  because  the  individual  in  question  was 
himself  quite  uncertain,  and,  it  must  be  added,  entirely  indiffer- 
ent about  his  birthplace  ;  but  speaking  the  English  language, 
and  having  been  during  the  course  of  his  life  prett}^  generally 
engaged  in  the  British  service,  he  had  a  tolerabh'  fair  claim  to 
the  majestic  title  of  Briton.  His  name  was  Peter  Brock,  other- 
wise Corporal  Brock,  of  Lord  Cutts's  regiment  of  dragoons  ;flie 
was  of  age  about  fifty-seven  (even  that  point  has  never  been 
ascertained)  ;  in  height,  about  five  feet  six  inches  ;  in  weight, 
nearl}^  thirteen  stone  ;  with  a  chest  that  the  celebrated  Leitch 
himself  might  env}' ;  an  arm,  that  was  like  an  opera-dancer's 
leg ;  a  stomach  so  elastic  that  it  would  accommodate  itself  to 
au}^  given  or  stolen  quantity  of  food  ;  a  great  aptitude  for 
strong  liquors  ;  a  considerable  skill  in  singing  chansons  de  table 
of  not  the  most  delicate  kind  ;  he  was  a  lover  of  jokes,  of  which 
he  made  many,  and  passably  bad  ;  when  pleased,  simply  coarse, 
boisterous,  and  jovial ;  when  angr}',  a  perfect  demon  :  bullying, 
cursing,  storming,  fighting,  as  is  sometimes  the  wont  with  gen- 
tlemen of  his  cloth  and  education,  f 

Mr.  Brock  was  strictly,  what  the  Marquis  of  Rodil  styled  him- 
self in  a  proclamation  to  his  soldiers  after  running  awa^*,  a  hijo 
de  Ja  guerra  —  a  child  of  war.  Not  seven  cities,  but  one  or  two 
regiments,  might  contend  for  the  honor  of  giving  him  birth  :  for 


262  CATHERINE:    A  STORY. 

his  mother,  whose  name  he  took,  had  acted  as  camp-follower 
to  a  Royalist  regiment ;  had  then  obeyed  the  Parliamentarians  ; 
died  in  Scotland  when  Monk  was  commanding  in  that  country- ; 
and  the  first  appearance  of  Mr.  Brock  in  a  public  capacity  dis- 
played him  as  a  fifer  in  the  General's  own  regiment  of  Cold- 
streamers,  when  they  marched  from  Scotland  to  London,  and 
from  a  republic  at  once  into  a  monarch)-.  Since  that  period, 
Brock  had  been  always  with  the  army  ;  he  had  had,  too,  some 
promotion,  for  he  spake  of  having  a  command  at  the  battle  of 
the  Boyne  ;  though  probably  (as  he  never  mentioned  the  fact) 
upon  the  losing  side.  The  ver}'  year  before  this  narrative  com- 
mences, he  had  been  one  of  Mordaunt's  forlorn  hope  at  Schel- 
lenberg,  for  which  service  he  was  promised  a  pair  of  colors  :  he 
lost  them,  however,  and  was  almost  shot  (but  fate  did  not  or- 
dain that  his  career  should  close  in  that  wa}')  for  drunkenness 
and  insubordination  immediately  after  the  battle  ;  but  having 
in  some  measure  reinstated  himself  b}^  a  display  of  much  gal- 
lantry at  Blenheim,  it  was  found  advisable  to  send  him  to  Eng- 
land for  the  purpose  of  recruiting,  and  remove  liim  altogether 
from  the  regiment,  where  his  gallantr)-  only  rendered  the  exam- 
ple of  his  riot  more  dangerous. 

Mr.  Brock's  commander  was  a  slim  young  gentleman  of 
twentj'-six,  about  whom  there  was  likewise  a  history,  if  one 
would  take  the  trouble  to  inquire.  Pie  was  a  Bavarian  b)'  birtli 
(his  mother  being  an  English  lady),  and  enjoyed  along  with 
a  dozen  other  brothers  the  title  of  count :  eleven  of  these,  of 
course,  were  penniless ;  one  or  two  were  priests,  one  a  monk, 
six  or  seven  in  various  military  services,  and  the  elder  at  home 
at  Schloss  Galgenstein  breeding  horses,  hunting  wild  boars, 
swindling  tenants,  living  in  a  great  house  with  small  means  ; 
obliged  to  be  sordid  at  home  all  the  j-ear,  to  be  splendid  for  a 
month  at  the  capital,  as  is  the  waj'  with  many  other  noblemen/ 
Our  young  count.  Count  Gustavus  Adolphus  Maximilian  von 
Galgenstein,  had  been  in  the  service  of  the  French,  as  page  to  a 
nobleman;  then  of  his  Majest3^'s  gardes  du  corps ;  then  a  lieu- 
tenant and  captain  in  the  Bavarian  service  ;  and  when,  after  the 
battle  of  Blenheim,  two  regiments  of  Germans  came  over  to  the 
winning  side,  Gustavus  Adolphus  Maximilian  found  himself 
among  them  ;  and  at  the  epoch  when  this  storj^  commences,  had 
enjoyed  English  pa)-  for  a  3'ear  or  more.  It  is  unnecessary  to  saj' 
how  he  exchanged  into  his  present  regiiBcnt ;  how  it  appeared 
that,  before  her  marriage,  handsome  John  Churchill  had  known 
the  3'oung  gentleman's  mother,  when  they  were  both  penniless 
hangers-on  at  Charles  the  Second's  court ;  — it  is,  we  say,  quite 


CATHERINE:    A  STORY.  263 

useless  to  repeat  all  the  scandal  of  which  we  are  perfecth' 
masters,  and  to  trace  step  by  step  the  events  of  his  history. 
Here,  however,  was  Gustavus  Adolphus,  in  a  small  inn,  in  a 
small  village  of  Warwickshii'e,  on  an  autumn  evening  in  the 
year  1705  ;  and  at  tlie  very  moment  when  this  history  begins, 
he  and  Mr.  Brock,  his  corporal  and  friend,  were  seated  at  a  round 
table  before  the  kitchen  fire,  while  a  small  groom  of  the  estab- 
lishment was  leading  up  and  down  on  the  village  green,  before 
the  inn  door,  two  black,  glossy,  long-tailed,  barrel-bellied,  thick- 
flanked,  arched-neck,  Roman-nosed  Flanders  horses,  which  were 
the  property  of  the  two  gentlemen  now  taking  their  ease  at  the 
"  Bugle  Inn."  The  two  gentlemen  were  seated  at  their  ease  at 
the  inn  table,  drinking  mountain-wine  ;  and  if  the  reader  fancies 
from  the  sketch  which  we  have  given  of  their  lives,  or  from  his 
own  blindness  and  belief  in  the  perfectibility'  of  human  nature, 
that  the  sun  of  that  autumn  evening  shone  upon  anj'  two  men 
in  count}-  or  city,  at*'  desk  or  harvest,  at  court  or  at  New- 
gate, drunk  or  sober,  "who  were  greater  rascals  than  Count 
Gustavus  Galgenstein  and  Corporal  Peter  Brock,  he  is  egre- 
giouslj'  mistaken,  and  his  knowledge  of  human  nature  is  not 
worth  a  fig.  If  they  had  not  been  two  prominent  scoundrels, 
what  earthly  business  should  we  have  in  detailing  their  histories  ? 
What  would  the  public  care  for  them?  Who  would  meddle  with 
dull  virtue,  humdrum  sentiment,  or  stupid  innocence,  when  vice, 
agreeable  vice,  is  the  only  thing  which  the  readers  of  romances 
care  to  hear  ? 

The  little  hor'^e-boy,  who  was  leading  the  two  black  Flanders 
horses  up  and  down  the  green,  might  have  put  them  in  the 
stable  for  an^'  good  that  the  horses  got  by  the  gentle  exercise 
which  they  were  now  taking  in  the  cool  evening  air,  as  their 
owners  had  not  ridden  very  far  or  very  hard,  and  there  was  not 
a  hair  turned  of  their  sleek  shining  coats  ;  but  the  lad  had  been 
especially-  ordered  so  to  walk  the  horses  about  until  he  received 
furtlier  commands  from  the  gentlemen  reposing  in  the  "Bugle" 
kitchen  ;  and  the  idlers  of  the  village  seemed  so  pleased  with  the 
beasts,  and  their  smart  saddles  and  shining  bridles,  that  it  would 
have  been  a  pit}-  to  deprive  them  of  the  pleasure  of  contemplating 
such  an  innocent  spectacle.  Over  the  Count's  horse  was  thrown 
a  fine  red  cloth,  richly  embroidered  in  3-ellow  worsted,  a  very 
large  count's  coronet  and  a  cipher  at  the  four  corners  of  the 
covering  ;  and  under  this  might  be  seen  a  pair  of  gorgeous  silver 
stirrups,  and  above  it,  a  couple  of  silver-mounted  pistols  repos- 
ing in  bearskin  holsters  ;  the  bit  was  silver  too,  and  the  horse's 
head  was  decorated  with  many  smart  ribbons.     Of  the  Cor- 


264  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

poral's  steed,  suffice  it  to  say,  that  the  oi'naments  were  in  brass, 
as  bright,  though  not  perliaps  so  vakiable,  as  those  which  deco- 
rated the  Captain's  animal.  The  bo3's,  who  had  been  at  play 
on  the  green,  first  paused  and  entered  into  conversation  with 
the  horse-bo3' ;  then  the  village  matrons  followed  ;  and  after- 
wards, sauntering  by  ones  and  twos,  came  the  village  maidens, 
who  love  soldiers  as  flies  love  treacle  ;  presentl}^  the  males 
began  to  arrive,  and  lo  !  the  parson  of  the  parish,  taking  his 
evening  walk  with  Mrs.  Uobbs,  and  the  four  children  his  off- 
spring, at  length  joined  himself  to  his  flock. 

To  this  audience  the  little  ostler  explained  that  the  animals 
belonged  to  two  gentlemen  now  reposing  at  the  "  Bugle  :  "  one 
3'oung  with  gold  hair,  the  other  old  with  grizzled  locks  ;  both  in 
red  coats  ;  both  in  jack-boots  ;  putting  the  house  into  a  bustle, 
and  calling  for  the  best.  He  then  discoursed  to  some  of  his  own 
companions  regarding  the  merits  of  the  horses  ;  and  the  parson, 
a  learned  man,  explained  to  the  villagers,  that  one  of  the  travel- 
lers must  be  a  count,  or  at  least  had  a  count's  horse-cloth  ;  pro- 
nounced that  the  stirrups  were  of  real  silver,  and  checked  the 
impetuosity  of  his  son,  William  Nassau  Dobbs,  who  was  for 
mounting  the  animals,  and  who  expressed  a  longing  to  fire  off 
one  of  the  pistols  in  the  holsters. 

As  this  family  discussion  was  taking  place,  the  gentlemen 
whose  appearance  had  created  so  much  attention  came  to  the 
door  of  the  inn,  and  the  elder  and  stouter  was  seen  to  smile  at 
his  companion  ;  after  which  he  strolled  leisurely  over  the  green, 
and'seemed  to  examine  with  much  benevolent  satisfaction  the 
assemblage  of  villagers  who  were  staring  at  him  and  the  quad- 
rupeds. 

Mr.  Brock,  when  he  saw  the  parson's  band  and  cassock, 
took  off"  his  beaver  reverently,  and  saluted  the  divine  :  "I  hope 
_your  reverence  won't  balk  the  little  fellow,"  said  he  ;  "I  think 
I  heard  him  calling  out  for  a  ride,  and  whether  he  should  like 
my  horse,  or  his  lordship's  horse,  I  am  sure  it  is  all  one.  Don't  - 
be  afraid,  sir!  the  horses  are  not  tired;  we  liave  only  come 
seventy  mile  to-day,  and  Prince  Eugene  once  rode  a  matter  of 
fifty-two  leagues  (a  hundred  and  fifty  miles),  sir,  upon  that 
horse,  between  sunrise  and  sunset." 

"Gracious  powers!  on  which  horse?"  said  Doctor  Dobbs, 
ver}'  solemnl3\ 

"On  this,  sir,  —  on  mine.  Corporal  Brock  of  Cutts's  black 
gelding,  'William  of  Nassau.'  The  Prince,  sir,  gave  it  me 
after  Blenheim  fight,  for  I  had  m}'  own  legs  carried  away  bj'  a 


CATHERINE:    A  STORY.  265 

cannon-ball,  just  as  I  cut  down  two  of  Sanerkrauter's  regiment, 
who  had  made  the  Prince  prisoner." 

"  Your  own  legs,  sir  !  "  said  the  Doctor.  "  Gracious  good- 
ness !  this  is  more  and  more  astonishing  !  " 

"  No,  no,  not  my  own  legs,  m}"  horse's  I  mean,  sir ;  and  the 
Prince'  gave  me  '  William  of  Nassau'  that  very  da}'." 

To  this  no  direct  reply  was  made  ;  but  the  Doctor  looked  at 
Mrs.  Dobbs,  and  Mrs.  Dobbs  and  the  rest  of  the  children  at  her 
eldest  son,  who  grinned  and  said,  "Isn't  it  wonderful?"  The 
Corporal  to  this  answered  nothing,  but,  resuming  his  account, 
pointed  to  the  other  horse  and  said,  "  That  horse,  sir  —  good 
as  mine  is  —  that  horse,  with  the  silver  stirrups,  is  his  Excel- 
lency's hoi'se,  Captain  Count  Maximilian  Gustavus  Adolphus 
von  Galgenstein,  captain  of  horse  and  of  the  Holy  Roman 
empire"  (he  lifted  here  his  hat  with  much  gravit}-,  and  all 
the  crowd,  even  to  the  parson,  did  likewise).  "  AYe  call  him 
'  George  of  Denmark,'  sir,  in  compliment  to  her  Majesty's  hus- 
band :  he  is  Blenheim  too,  sir ;  Marshal  Tallard  rode  him  on 
that  day,  and  you  know  how  he  was  taken  prisoner  by  the 
Count." 

"  George  of  Denmark,  Marshal  Tallard,  William  of  Nassau  ! 
this  is  strange  indeed,  most  wonderful !  Wh}',  sir,  little  are  you 
aware  that  there  are  before  you,  at  this  moment,  two  other  living 
beings  who  bear  these  venerated  names  !  My  boys,  stand  for- 
ward !  Look  here,  sir :  these  children  have  been  respectivel}' 
named  after  our  late  sovereign  and  the  husband  of  our  present 
Queen." 

"And  very  good  names  too,  sir;  aj,  and  very  noble  little 
fellows  too  ;  and  I  propose  that,  with  your  reverence  and  your 
ladyship's  leave,  AVilliam  Nassau  here  shall  ride  on  George  of 
Denmark,  and  George  of  Denmark  shall  ride  on  William 
of  Nassau." 

When  this  speech  of  the  Corporal's  was  made,  the  whole 
crowd  set  up  a  loyal  hurrah  ;  and,  with  much  gravity,  the  two 
little  boys  were  lifted  up  into  the  saddles  ;  and  the  Corporal 
leading  one,  entrusted  the  other  to  the  horse-boy,  and  so  to- 
gether marched  stately  up  and  down  the  green. 

The  popularity  wliich  Mr.  Brock  gained  by  this  manoeuvre 
was  very  great ;  but  with  regard  to  the  names  of  the  horses 
and  children,  which  coincided  so  extraordinaril}-,  it  is  but  fair 
to  state,  that  the  christening  of  the  quadrupeds  had  onlj'  taken 
place  about  two  minutes  before  the  dragoon's  appearance  on 
the  green.  For  if  the  fact  must  be  confessed,  he,  while  seated 
near  the  inn  window,  had  kept  a  pretty  wistful  eye  upon  all 


'2QQ  CATHERINE:    A    STORY. 

going  on  without ;  and  the  horses  marching  thus  to  and  fro  for 
the  wonderment  of  the  village,  were  onl}'  placards  or  advertise- 
ments for  the  riders. 

There  was,  besides  the  boy  now  occupied  with  the  horses, 
and  the  landlord  and  landlady-  of  the  "  Bugle  Inn,"  another 
person  connected  with  that  establishment  —  a  very  smart,'hand- 
some,  vain,  giggling  servant-girl,  about  the  age  of  sixteen,  who 
went  by  the  familiar  name  of  Cat,  and  attended  upon  the  gen- 
tlemen in  the  parlor,  while  the  landlady  was  employed  in  cook- 
ing their  supper  in  the  kitchen.  TThis  young  person  had  been 
educated  in  the  village  poor-house,  and  having  been  pronounced 
by  Doctor  Dobbs  and  the  schoolmaster  the  idlest,  dirtiest,  and 
most  passionate  little  minx  with  whom  either  had  ever  had  to 
do,  she  was,  after  receiving  a  very  small  portion  of  literar^^ 
instruction  (indeed  it  must  be  stated  that  the  young  lady  did 
not  know  her  letters),  bound  apprentice  at  the  age  of  nine 
3xars  to  Mrs.  Score,  her  relative,  and  landlady  of  the  "Bugle 
Inn." 

If  Miss  Cat,  or  Catherine  Hall,  was  a  slattern  and  a  minx. 
Mrs.  Score  was  a  far  superior  shrew  ;  and  for  seven  years  of 
her  apprenticeship,  the  girl  was  completely  at  her  mistress's 
mercy.  Yet  though  wondrously  stingy,  jealous,  and  violent, 
while  her  maid  was  idle  and  extravagant,  and  her  husband 
seemed  to  abet  the  girl,  Mrs.  Score  put  up  with  the  wench's 
airs,  idleness,  and  caprices,  without  ever  wishing  to  dismiss  her 
from  the  "Bugle."  The  fact  is,  that  Miss  Catherine  was  a 
great  beauty  ;  and  for  about  two  years,  since  her  fame  had  be- 
gun to  spread,  the  custom  of  the  inn  had  also  increased  vastly. 
When  there  was  a  debate  whether  the  farmers,  on  their  way 
from  market,  would  take  t'other  pot,  Catherine,  by  appearing 
with  it,  would  straightway  cause  the  liquor  to  be  swallowed  and 
paid  for;  and  when  the  traveller  who  proposed  riding  that 
night  and  sleeping  at  Coventry  or  Birmingham,  was  asked  by 
Miss  Catherine  whether  he  would  like  a  fire  in  his  bedroom,  he 
generally  was  induced  to  occupy  it,  although  he"  might  before 
have  vowed  to  Mrs.  Score  that  he  would  not  for  a  thousand 
guineas  be  absent  from  home  that  night.  The  girl,  had,  too, 
half  a  dozen  lovers  in  the  village  ;  and  these  were  bound  in 
honor  to  spend  their  pence  at  the  alehouse  she  inhabited.  O 
woman,  lovely  woman  !  what  strong  resolves  canst  thou,  twist 
round  thy  little  finger!  what  gunpowder  passions  canst  thou 
kindle  with  a  single  sparkle  of  thine  eye !  what  lies  and  fribble 
nonsense  canst  thou  make  us  listen  to,  as  they  were  gospel 
truth  or  splendid  wit !  above  all,  what  bad  liquor  canst  thou 


Mrs.  Catherine's  Temptation. 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  267 

make  us  swallow  when  thou  puttest  a  kiss  within  the  cup  —  and 
we  are  content  to  call  the  poison  wine  ! 

The  mountain-wine  at  the  "  Bugle"  was,  in  fact,  execrable  ; 
but  Mrs.  Cat,  who  served  it  to  the  two  soldiers,  made  it  so 
agreeable  to  them,  that  the}'  found  it  a  passable,  even  a  pleas- 
ant task,  to  swallow  the  contents  of  a  second  bottle.  Tlie 
miracle  had  been  wrought  instantaneousl}^  on  her  appearance  : 
for  whereas  at  that  very  moment  the  C'ount  was  emplo3ed  in 
cursing  the  wine,  the  landlady,  the  wine-grower,  and  the  Eng- 
lish nation  generally,  when  the  3'oung  woman  entered  and 
(choosing  so  to  interpret  the  oaths)  said,  "  Coming,  your  honor  ; 
I  think  3"our  honor  called"  —  Gustavus  Adolphus  whistled, 
stared  at  her  \evy  hard,  and  seeming  quite  dumb-stricken  by 
her  appearance,  contented  himself  b}'  swallowing  a  whole  glass 
of  mountain  by  way  of  reply. 

Mr.  Brock  was,  however,  bj-  no  means  so  confounded  as  his 
captain :  he  was  thirty'  years  older  than  the  latter,  and  in  the 
course  of  fift}'  3'ears  of  military  life  had  learned  to  look  on  the 
most  dangerous  enem}',  or  the  most  beautiful  woman,  with 
the  like  daring,  devil-ma3'-care  determination  to  conquer. 

"  My  dear  Mary,"  then  said  that  gentleman,  "his  honor  is 
a  lord  ;  as  good  as  a  lord,  that  is  ;  for  all  he  allows  such  humble 
fellows  as  I  am  to  drink  with  him." 

Catherine  dropped  a  low  curtsy,  and  said,  "Well,  I  don't 
know  if  you  are  joking  a  poor  country  girl,  as  all  _you  soldier 
gentlemen  do  ;  but  his  honor  looks  like  a  lord  :  though  I  never 
see  one,  to  be  sure." 

"  Then,"  said  the  Captain,  gathering  courage,  "  how  do  3'ou 
know  I  look  like  one,  pretty  Mary  ?  " 

"  Pretty  Catherine  :  I  mean  Catherine,  if  you  please,  sir." 

Here  Mr.  Brock  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter,  and  shouting 
with  many  oaths  that  she  was  right  at  first,  invited  her  to  give 
him  what  he  called  a  buss. 

Prett}'  Catherine  turned  away  from  him  at  this  request,  and 
muttered  something  about  "Keep  your  distance,  low  fellow! 
Duss  indeed  !  poor  country  girl,"  &c.  &c.,  placing  herself,  as  if 
for  protection,  on  the  sicle  of  the  Captain.  That  gentleman 
looked  also  ver}-  angr}- ;  but  whether  at  the  sight  of  innocence 
so  outraged,  or  the  insolence  of  the  Corporal  for  daring  to  help 
himself  first,  we  cannot  say.  "  Hark  ye,  Mr.  Brock,"  he  cried 
ver}-  fiercel}',  "I  will  suffer  no  such  liberties  in  my  presence: 
remember,  it  is  only  my  condescension  which  permits  you  to 
share  my  bottle  in  this  way  ;  take  care  I  don't  give  30A1  instead 
a  taste  of  m3'  cane."     So  sa3'ing,  he,  in  a  protecting  manner, 


268  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

placed  one  hand  round  Mrs.  Catherine's  waist,  holding  the  other 
clenched  very  near  to  the  Corporal's  nose. 

Mrs.  Catherine,  for  her  share  of  this  action  of  the  Count's, 
di'opped  another  curts}',  and  said,  ''  Thank  3'ou,  m}^  lord." 
But  Galgenstein's  threat  did  not  appear  to  make  any  impression 
on  Mr.  Brock,  as  indeed  there  was  no  reason  that  it  should  ; 
for  the  Corporal,  at  a  combat  of  fisticuffs,  could  have  pounded 
his  commander  into  a  jelly  in  ten  minutes  :  so  he  contented  him- 
self by  saying :  "  Well,  noble  Captain,  there's  no  harm  done  ; 
it  is  an  honor  for  poor  old  Peter  Brock  to  be  at  table  with  you, 
and  I  am  sorry  sure  enough." 

"  In  truth,  Peter,  I  believe  thou  art ;  thou  hast  good  reason, 
eh,  Peter?  But  never  fear,  man;  had  I  struck  thee,  I  never 
would  have  hurt  thee." 

"I  know  you  would  not,"  replied  Brock,  laying  his  hand 
on  his  heart  with  much  gravity ;  and  so  peace  was  made,  and 
healths  were  drank.  Miss  Catherine  condescended  to  put  her 
lips  to  the  Captain's  glass  ;  who  swore  that  the  wine  was  thus 
converted  into  nectar  ;  and  although  the  giii  had  not  previously 
heard  of  that  liquor,  she  received  the  compliment  as  a  compli- 
ment, and  smiled  and  simpered  in  return. 

The  poor  thing  had  never  before  seen  anybody  so  handsome, 
or  so  finely  dressed  as  the  Count ;  and,  in  the  simplicity  of  her 
coquetry,  allowed  her  satisfaction  to  be  quite  visil)le.  Nothing 
could  be  more  clums}'  than  the  gentleman's  mode  of  compli- 
menting her ;  but  for  this,  perhaps,  his  speeches  were  more  ef- 
fective than  others  more  delicate  would  have  been  ;  and  tliough 
she  said  to  each,  "Oh,  now,  my  lord,"  and  "La,  Captain, 
how  can  you  flatter  one  so  ?  "  and  ' '  Your  honor's  laughing  at 
me,"  and  made  such  polite  speeches  as  are  used  on  these  occa- 
sions, it  was  manifest  from  the  flutter  and  blush,  and  the  grin 
of  satisfaction  which  lighted  up  the  buxom  features  of  the  little 
eountr}^  beauty,  that  the  Count's  first  operations  had  been  highly 
successful.  When  following  up  his  attack,  he  produced  from 
his  neck  a  small  locket  (which  had  been  given  him  b}^  a  Dutch 
lady  at  the  Brill) ,  and  begged  Miss  Catherine  to  wear  it  for  his 
sake,  and  chucked  her  under  the  chin  and  called  her  his  little 
rosebud,  it  was  pretty  clear  how  things  would  go  :  anybody  who 
could  see  the  expression  of  Mr.  Brock's  countenance  at  this 
event  might  judge  of  the  progress  of  the  irresistible  High-Dutch 
conqueror. 

Being  of  a  very  vain,  communicative  turn,  our  fair  barmaid 
gave  her  two  companions  not  onl}^  a  pretty-  long  account  of  her- 
self, but  of  many  other  persons  in  the  village,  whom  she  could 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  269 

perceive  from  the  window  opposite  to  which  she  stood.  "  Yes, 
3^our  lionor,"  said  she  —  "  my  lord,  I  mean  ;  sixteen  last  March, 
though  tliere's  many  a  girl  in  the  village  that  at  my  age  is  quite 
cliits.  There's  Polly  Randall,  now,  that  red-haired  girl  along 
with  Thomas  Curtis :  she's  seventeen  if  she's  a  day,  though  he 
is  the  very  first  sweetheart  she  has  had.  Well,  as  I  am  saying,  I 
was  bred  up  here  in  the  village  —  father  and  mother  died  very 
young,  and  I  was  left  a  poor  orphan  —  well,  bless  us  !  if  Thom- 
as haven't  kissed  her!  —  to  the  care  of  Mrs.  Score,  my  aunt, 
who  has  been  a  mother  to  me  —  a  step-mother,  j'ou  know;  — 
and  I've  been  to  Stratford  fair,  and  to  Warwick  many  a  time ; 
and  there's  two  people  who  have  offered  to  marry  me,  and 
ever  so  manj- who  want  to,  and  I  won't  have  none — only  a 
gentleman,  as  I've  alwa3's  said ;  not  a  poor  clodpole,  like  Tom 
there  with  the  red  waistcoat  (he  was  one  that  asked  me) ,  nor  a 
drunken  fellow  like  Sam  Blacksmith  jonder,  him  whose  wife  has 
got  the  black  eye,  but  a  real  gentleman,  like  —  " 

"Like  whom,  my  dear?"  said  the  Captain,  encouraged. 

"La,  sir,  how  can  3-ou?  why,  like  our  squire,  Sir  John,  who 
rides  in  such  a  mortal  fine  gold  coach  ;  or,  at  least,  like  the  par- 
son, Doctor  Dobbs  —  that's  he  in  the  black  gown,  walking  with 
Madam  Dobbs  in  red." 

"  And  are  those  his  children?" 

"Yes:  two  girls  and  two  boys;  and  only  think,  he  calls 
one  William  Nassau,  and  one  George  Denmark  —  isn't  it  odd  ?  " 
And  from  the  parson,  Mrs.  Catherine  went  on  to  speak  of  sev- 
eral humble  personages  of  the  village  community,  who,  as  they 
are  not  necessary  to  our  story,  need  not  be  described  at  full 
length.  It  was  when,  from  the  window.  Corporal  Brock  saw 
the  altercation  between  the  worthy  divine  and  his  son,  respect- 
ing the  latter's  ride,  that  he  judged  it  a  fitting  time  to  step  out 
on  the  green,  and  to  bestow  on  the  two  horses  those  ftimous  his- 
torical names  which  we  have  just  heard  applied  to  them. 

Mr.  Brock's  diplomacy  was,  as  we  have  stated,  quite  suc- 
cessful ;  for,  when  the  parson's  boys  had  ridden  and  retired 
along  with  their  mamma  and  papa,  other  young  gentlemen  of 
humbler  rank  in  the  village  were  placed  upon  "George  of  Den- 
mark" and  "William  of  Nassau;"  the  Corporal  joking  and 
laughing  with  all  the  grown-up  people.  The  women,  in  spite 
of  Mr.  Brock's  age,  his  red  nose,  and  a  certain  squint  of  his 
eye,  vowed  the  Corporal  was  a  jewel  of  a  man  ;  and  among  the 
men  his  popularit}'  was  equally  great. 

"  How  much  dost  thee  get,  Thomas  Clodpole?"  said  Mr. 
Brock  to  a  countryman  (he  was  the  man  whom  Mrs.  Catherine 


270  ^        CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

had  described  as  her  suitor) ,  who  had  laughed  loudest  at  some 
of  his  jokes  :  "  how  much  dost  thee  get  for  a  week's  work  now  ?  " 

Mr.  Clodpole,  whose  name  was  really  BuUock,  stated  that 
his  wages  amounted  to  "  three  shillings  and  a  puddn." 

' '  Three  shillings  and  a  puddn  !  —  monstrous  !  —  and  for 
this  you  toil  like  a  galley-slave,  as  I  have  seen  them  in  Turkey 
and  America,  — ay,  gentlemen,  and  in  the  countr^^  of  Frester 
John  !  You  shiver  out  of  bed  on  icy  winter  mornings,  to  break 
the  ice  for  Ball  and  Dapple  to  drink." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  the  person  addressed,  who  seemed  as- 
tounded at  the  extent  of  the  Corporal's  information. 

"  Or  3'ou  clean  pigsty,  and  take  dung  down  to  meadow  ;  or 
you  act  watchdog  and  tend  sheep  ;  or  you  sweep  a  scythe  over 
a  great  field  of  grass  ;  and  when  the  sun  has  scorched  the  eyes 
out  of  your  head,  and  sweated  the  flesh  out  of  your  bones,  and 
wellnigh  fried  the  soul  out  of  your  body,  you  go  home,  to  what? 
—  three  shillings  a  week  and  a  puddn !  Do  you  get  pudding 
ever}'  da}'  ?  " 

"No;  only  Sundays." 

' '  Do  j-ou  get  money  enough  ?  " 

"  No,  sure." 

' '  Do  3'ou  get  beer  enough  ?  " 

"Oh  no,  NEVER  !  "  said  Mr.  Bullock  quite  resolutely. 

"Worthy  Clodpole,  give  us  thy  hand:  it  shall  have  beer 
enough  this  day,  or  my  name's  not  Corporal  Brock.  Here's  the 
money,  bo}' !  there  are  twenty  pieces  in  this  purse  :  and  how  do 
you  think  I  got  'em  ?  and  how  do  3'ou  think  I  sliall  get  others 
when  these  are  gone?  —  by  serving  her  sacred  Majesty  to  be 
sure  :  long  life  to  her,  and  down  with  the  French  King  !  " 

Bullock,  a  few  of  the  men,  and  two  or  three  of  the  boj's, 
piped  out  an  hurrah,  in  compliment  to  this  speech  of  the  Cor- 
poral's :  but  it  was  remarked  that  the  greater  part  of  the  crowd 
drew  back  —  the  women  whispering  ominously  to  them  and 
looking  at  the  Corporal. 

"  I  see,  ladies,  what  it  is,"  said  he.  "  You  are  frightened, 
and  think  I  am  a  crimp  come  to  steal  your  sweethearts  away. 
What!  call  Peter  Brock  a  double-dealer?  I  tell  you  what, 
bo3^s.  Jack  Churchill  himself  has  shaken  this  hand,  and  drunk 
a  pot  with  me :  do  you  think  he'd  shake  hands  with  a  rogue  ? 
Here's  Tummas  Clodpole  has  never  had  beer  enough,  and  here 
am  I  will  stand  treat  to  him  and  an}-  other  gentleman  ;  am  I 
good  enough  company  for  him?  I  have  money,  look  30U,  and 
like  to  spend  it :  what  should  /  be  doing  dirty  actions  for  — 
hay,  Tummas?" 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  271 

A  satisfactory  reply  to  this  query  was  not,  of  course,  ex- 
pected by  tlie  Corporal  nor  uttered  by  Mr.  Bullock  ;  and  the 
end  of  the  dispute  was,  that  he  and  three  or  four  of  the  rustic 
bystanders  were  quite  convinced  of  the  good  intentions  of  their 
new  friend,  and  accompanied  him  back  to  the  "  Bugle,"  to 
regale  upon  the  promised  beer.  Among  the  Corporal's  guests 
was  one  young  fellow  whose  dress  would  show  that  he  was 
somewhat  better  to  do  in  the  world  than  Clodpole  and  the  rest 
of  the  sunburnt  ragged  troop,  who  were  marching  towards  the 
alehouse.  This  man  was  the  only  one  of  his  hearers  who,  per- 
haps, was  sceptical  as  to  the  truth  of  his  stories  ;  but  as  soon 
as  Bullock  accepted  the  invitation  to  drink,  John  Ha3'es,  the 
carpenter  (for  such  was  his  name  and  profession),  said,  "  Well, 
Thomas,  if  thou  goest,  I  will  go  too." 

•'I  know  thee  wilt,"  said  Thomas:  " thou'lt  goo  anj-where 
Catty  Hall  is,  provided  thou  canst  goo  for  nothing." 

"  Nay,  I  have  a  penny  to  spend  as  good  as  the  Corporal 
here." 

"  A  penny  to  heep^  you  mean  :  for  all  j'our  love  for  the  lass 
at  the  'Bugle,'  did  thee  ever  spend  a  shilling  in  the  house? 
Thee  wouldn't  go  now,  but  that  I  am  going  too,  and  the  Cap- 
tain here  stands  treat." 

"  Come,  come,  gentlemen,  no  quarrelling,"  said  Mr.  Brock. 
"  If  this  pretty  fellow  will  join  us,  amen  say  I:  there's  lots  of 
liquor,  and  plenty  of  money  to  pay  the  score.  Comrade  Tum- 
mas,  give  us  th}'  arm.  Mr.  Ha^-es,  you're  a  hearty  cock,  I  make 
no  doubt,  and  all  such  are  welcome.  Come  along,  m}'  gentleman 
farmers,  Mr.  Brock  shall  have  the  honor  to  pay  for  ^on  all." 
And  with  this,  Corporal  Brock,  accompanied  b}^  Messrs.  Haj-es, 
Bullock,  Blacksmith,  Baker's-boy,  Butcher,  and  one  or  two 
others,  adjourned  to  the  inn  ;  the  horses  being,  at  the  same 
time,  conducted  to  the  stable. 

Although  we  have,  in  this  quiet  way,  and  without  any  flour- 
ishing of  trumpets,  or  beginning  of  chapters,  introduced  Mr. 
Hayes  to  the  public ;  and  although,  at  first  sight,  a  sneaking 
carpenter's  boy  may  seem  hardly  worthy  of  the  notice  of  au 
intelligent  reader,  who  looks  for  a  good  cut-throat  or  highway- 
man for  a  hero,  or  a  pickpocket  at  the  very  least :  this  gentle- 
man's words  and  actions  should  be  carefully  studied  by  the 
public,  as  he  is  destined  to  appear  before  them  under  very 
polite  and  curious  circumstances  during  the  course  of  this  his- 
tory. The  speech  of  the  rustic  Juvenal,  Mr.  Clodpole,  had 
seemed  to  infer  that  Hayes  was  at  once  careful  of  his  money 
and  a  warm  admirer  of  Mrs.  Catherine  of  the  "  Bugle  :  "  and 


272  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

both  the  charges  were  perfectly  true.  Hayes's  father  was  re- 
ported to  be  a  inau  of  some  substance  ;  and  3'oung  John,  who 
was  performing  his  apprenticeship  in  tlie  village,  did  not  fail  to 
talk  very  big  of  his  pretensions  to  fortune  —  of  his  entering, 
at  the  close  of  his  indentures,  into  partnership  with  his  father  — 
and  of  the  comfortable  farm  and  house  over  which  Mrs.  John 
Hayes,  whoever  she  might  be,  would  one  day  pi-eside.  Thus, 
next  to  the  barber  and  butcher,  and  above  even  his  Own  master, 
Mr.  Hayes  took  rank  in  the  village  :  and  it  must  not  be  con- 
cealed that  his  representation  of  wealth  had  made  some  im- 
pression upon  Mrs.  Hall,  towards  whom  the  3"oung  gentleman 
had  cast  the  eyes  of  affection.  If  he  had  been  tolerably  well- 
looking,  and  not  pale,  rickety,  and  feeble  as  he  was  ;  if  even 
he  had  been  ugly,  but  withal  a  man  of  spirit,  it  is  probable  the 
girl's  kindness  for  him  would  have  been  ipuch  more  decided. 
But  he  was  a  poor  weak  creature,  not  to  compare  with  honest 
Thomas  Bullock,  by  at  least  nine  inches  ;  and  so  notoriously 
timid,  selfish,  and  stingy,  that  there  was  a  kind  of  shame  in 
receiving  his  addresses  openly  ;  and  what  encoui'agement  Mrs. 
Catherine  gave  him  could  onl}^  be  in  secret. 

But  no  mortal  is  wise  at  all  times  :  and  the  fact  was,  that 
Hayes,  who  cared  for  himself  intensely,  had  set  his  heart  upon 
winning  Catherine ;  and  loved  her  with  a  desperate,  greedy 
eagerness  and  desire  of  possession,  which  makes  passions  for 
women  often  so  fierce  and  unreasonable  among  veiy  cold  and 
selfish  men.  His  parents  (whose  frugality  he  had  inherited) 
had  tried  in  vain  to  wean  him  from  this  passion,  and  had  made 
many  fruitless  attempts  to  engage  him  with  women  who  pos- 
sessed money  and  desired  husbands  :  but  Hayes  was,  for  a 
wonder,  quite  proof  against  their  attractions ;  and,  though 
quite  readv  to  acknowledge  the  absurdity  of  his  love  for  a  penni- 
less alehouse  servant-girl,  nevertheless  persisted  in  it  doggedly. 
"  I  know  I'm  a  fool,"  said  he  ;  "  and  what's  more,  the  girl  does 
not  care  for  me  ;  but  marry  her  I  must,  or  I  think  I  shall  just 
die  :  and  marry  her  I  will."  For  very  much  to  the  credit  of 
Miss  Catherine's  modesty,  she  had  declared  that  marriage  was 
with  her  a  sine  qua  non^  and  had  dismissed,  with  the  loudest 
scorn  and  indignation,  all  propositions  of  a  less  proper  nature. 

Poor  Thomas  Bullock  was  another  of  her  admirers,  and  had 
offered  to  marr^'  her;  but  three  shillings  a  week  and  a  puddn 
was  not  to  the  girl's  taste,  and  Thomas  had  been  scornfuU}' 
rejected.  Hayes  had  also  made  her  a  direct  proposal.  Cathe- 
rine did  not  say  no  :  she  was  too  prudent :  but  she  was  .young 
and  could  wait ;  she  did  not  care  for  Mr.  Hayes  yet  enough  to 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  273 

marry  him  —  (it  did  not  seem,  indeed,  in  the  3'oung  woman's 
nature  to  care  for  anybod}' )  —  and  she  gave  her  adorer  flatter- 
ingly to  understand  that,  if  nobody  better  appeared  in  the  course 
of  a  few  years,  she  might  be  induced  to  become  Mrs.  Hayes. 
It  was  a  dismal  prospect  for  the  poor  fellow  to  live  upon  the 
hope  of  being  one  day  Mrs.  Catherine's  pis-aller. 

In  the  meantime  she  considered  herself  free  as  the.  wind, 
and  permitted  herself  all  the  innocent  gayeties  which  that 
"  chartered  libertine,"  a  coquette,  can  take.  She  flirted  with 
all  the  bachelors,  widowers,  and  married  men,  in  a  manner 
which  did  extraordinary  credit  to  her  years  :  and  let  not  the 
reader  fanc}'  such  pastimes  unnatural  at  her  early  age.  The 
ladies  — heaven  bless  them  !  —  are,  as  a  general  rule,  coquettes 
from  babyhood  upwards.  Little  she's  of  three  years  old  play 
little  airs  and  graces  upon  small  heroes  of  five  ;  simpering 
misses  of  nine  make  attacks  upon  young  gentlemen  of  twelve  ; 
and  at  sixteen,  a  well-grown  girl,  under  encouraging  circum- 
stances, —  say,  she  is  pretty,  in  a  family  of  ugly  elder  sisters, 
•  or  an  only  child  and  heiress,  or  an  humble  wench  at  a  country 
inn,  like  our  fair  Catherine  —  is  at  the  very  pink  and  prime  of 
her  coquetry  :  they  will  jilt  30U  at  that  age  with  an  ease  and 
arch  infantine  simplicity  that  never  can  be  surpassed  in  ma- 
turer  j-ears. 

Miss  Catherine,  then,  was  a  franche  coquette,  and  Mr.  John 
Haj^es  was  miserable.  His  life  was  passed  in  a  storm  of  mean 
passions  and  bitter  jealousies,  and  desperate  attacks  upon  the 
indiflfereuce-rock  of  Mrs.  Catherine's  heart,  which  not  all  his 
tempest  of  love  could  beat  down.  O  cruel,  cruel  pangs  of  love 
uni'equited  !  Mean  rogues  feel  them  as  well  as  great  heroes. 
Lives  there  the  man  in  Europe  who  has  not  felt  tliem  many 
times?  —  who  has  not  knelt,  and  fawned,  and  supplicated,  and 
wept,  and  cursed,  and  raved,  all  in  vain  ;  and  passed  long 
wakeful  nights  with  ghosts  of  dead  hopes  for  company  ;  shadows 
of  buried  remembrances  that  glide  out  of  their  graves  of  nights, 
and  whisper,  "We  are  dead  now,  but  we  were  once;  and  we 
made  30U  happ}',  and  we  come  now  to  mock  .you:  —  despair, 
O  lover,  despair,  and  die?"  —  O  cruel  pangs!  dismal  nights! 
—  Now  a  si}'  demon  creeps  under  your  nightcap,  and  drops  into 
your  ear  those  soft,  hope-breathing,  sweet  words,  uttered  on 
the  well-remembered  evening :  there,  in  the  drawer  of  .your 
dressing-table  (along  with  the  razors,  and  Macassar  oil),  lies 
the  dead  flower  that  Lady  Amelia  Wilhelmina  wore  in  her 
bosom  on  the  night  of  a  certain  ball  —  the  corpse  of  a  glorious 
hope  that  seemed  once  as  if  it  would  live  for  ever,  so  strong 

43 


274  CATHERINE:    A    STORY. 

was  it,  so  full  of  jo3^  and  sunshine  :  there,  in  your  writing-desk, 
among  a  crowd  of  unpaid  bills,  is  the  dirty  scrap  of  paper, 
thimble-sealed,  which  came  in  company'  with  a  pair  of  niufl'etees 
of  her  knitting  (she  was  a  butcher's  daughter,  and  did  all  she 
could,  poor  thing!),  begging  "you  would  ware  them  at  col- 
Kdge,  and  think  of  her  who"  —  married  a  pubhc-house  three 
weeks  afterwards,  and  cares  for  3:ou  no  more  now  than  she 
does  for  the  pot-boy.     But  why  multiply  instances,  or  seek  to 
depict  the  agony  of  poor,   mean-spirited  John  Hayes?     No 
mistake  can  be  greater  than  that  of  fancying  such  great  emo- 
tions of  love  are  only  felt  by  virtuous  or  exalted  men :  depend 
upon  it.  Love,  like  Death,  plays  havoc  among  the  panperum 
f.abernas,  and  sports  with  rich  and  poor,  wicked  and  virtuous, 
alike.     I  have  often  fancied,  for  instance,  on  seeing  the  hag- 
gard, pale  young  old-clothesman,  who  wakes  the  echoes  of  our 
street  with  his  nasal  cry  of  "Clo'!"  — I  have  often,  I  said, 
fancied   that,  besides  the  load  of  exuvial  coats  and  breeches 
under  which  he  staggers,  there  is  another  weight  on  him  —  an 
atrior  cura  at  his  tail  —  and  while  his  unshorn  lips  and  nose 
together  are  performing  that  mocking,  boisterous,  Jack-indif- 
ferent cry  of  "Clo',  clo'!"  who  knows  what  woful  utterances 
are  crying  from  the  heart  within  ?     There  he  is  chaffering  with 
the  footman  at  No.  7,  about  an  old  dressing-gown  ;  3'ou  think 
his  Vv'hole  soul  is  bent  only  on  the  contest  about  the  garment. 
Psha !   there  is,  perhaps,  some  faithless  girl  in  Holywell  Stieet 
Avho  fills  up  his  heart ;  and  that  desultory  Jew-boy  is  a  peripa- 
tetic hell !     Take  another  instance  :  —  take  the  man  in  the  beef- 
shop  in  Saint  Martin's  Court.     There  he  is,  to  all  appearances 
quite  calm  :  before  the  same  round  of  beef — from  morning  till 
sundown  —  for  hundreds  of  years  very  likely.     Perhaps  when 
the  shutters  are  closed,  and  all  the  world  tired  and  silent,  there 
is  HE  silent,  but  untired  —  cutting,  cutting,  cutting.    You  enter, 
yoii  get  your  meat  to  j^our  liking,  you  depart;  and,  quite  un- 
moved, on,  on  he  goes,  reaping  ceaselessly  the  Great  Harvest 
of  Beef.    You  would  fancy  that  if  Passion  ever  failed  to  conquer, 
it  had  in  vain  assailed  the  calm  bosom  of  that  man.     I  doubt 
it,   and  would  give  much  to  know  his  history.     Who  knows 
what  furious  iEtna-fiames  are  raging  underneath  the  surface  of 
that  calm  flesh-mountain  —  who  can  tell  me  that  that  calmness 
itself  is  not  despair  ? 


The  reader,  if  he  does  not  now  understand  why  it  was  that 
Mr.  Haj-es  agreed  to  drink  the  Corporal's  proflTered  beer,  had 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  275 

better  just  read  the  foregoing  remarks  over  again,  and  if  he 
does  not  understand  then^  vvlij,  small  praise  to  his  brains. 
Hayes  could  not  bear  that  Mr.  Bullock  should  have  a  chance  of 
seeing,  and  perhaps  making  love  to  Mrs.  Catherine  in  his 
absence  ;  and  though  the  3'oung  woman  never  diminished  her 
coquetries,  but,  on  the  contrary,  rather  increased  them  in  his 
presence,  it  was  still  a  kind  of  dismal  satisfaction  to  be  miser- 
able in  her  company. 

On  this  occasion,  the  disconsolate  lover  could  be  wretched 
to  his  heart's  content ;  for  Catherine  had  not  a  word  or  a  look 
for  him,  but  bestowed  all  her  smiles  upon  the  handsome  stranger 
who  owned  the  black  horse.  As  for  poor  Tummas  Bullock,  his 
passion  was  never  violent ;  and  he  was  content  in  the  present 
instance  to  sigh  and  drink  beer.  He  sighed  and  drank,  sighed 
and  drank,  and  drank  again,  until  he  had  swallowed  so  much 
of  the  Corporal's  liquor,  as  to  be  induced  to  accept  a  guinea 
from  his  purse  also  ;  and  found  himself,  on  returning  to  reason 
and  sobriety,  a  soldier  of  Queen  Anne's. 

But  oh  !  fanc3^  the  agonies  of  Mr.  Haj'es  when,  seated  with 
the  Corporal's  friends  at  one  end  of  the  kitchen,  he  saw  the. 
Captain  at  the  place  of  honor,  and  the  smiles  which  the  fair 
maid  bestowed  upon  him  ;  when,  as  she  lightly  whisked  past 
him  with  the  Captain's  supper,  she,  pointing  to  the  locket  that 
once  reposed  on  the  breast  of  the  Dutch  lady  at  the  Brill, 
looked  archl}'  on  Ha3'es  and  said,  "See,  John,  what  his  lord- 
ship has  given  me  ; "  and  when  John's  face  became  gi'een  and 
purple  with  rage  and  jealousy,  Mrs.  Catherine  laughed  ten 
times  louder,  and  cried,  "Coming,  m}'  lord,"  in  a  voice  of 
shrill  triumph,  that  bored  through  the  soul  of  Mr.  John  Hayes 
and  left  him  gasping  for  breath. 

On  Catherine's  other  lover,  Mr.  Thomas,  this  coquetry'  had 
no  effect :  he,  and  two  comrades  of  his,  had  by  this  time  quite 
fallen  under  the  spell  of  the  Corporal ;  and  hope,  glor}-,  strong 
beer.  Prince  Eugene,  pairs  of  colors,  more  strong  beer,  her 
blessed  Majest}',  plenty  more  strong  beer,  and  such  subjects, 
martial  and  bacchic,  whirled  through  their  dizzy  brains  at  a  rail- 
road pace. 

And  now,  if  there  had  been  a  couple  of  experienced  reporters 
present  at  the  "  Bugle  Inn,"  the}^  might  have  taken  down  a 
conversation  on  love  and  war  —  the  two  themes  discussed  by 
the  two  parties  occupying  the  kitchen  —  which,  as  the  parts 
were  sung  together,  duetwise,  formed  together  some  very  curious 
harmonies.  Thus,  while  the  Captain  was  whispering  the  softest 
nothings  the  Corporal  was  shouting  the  fiercest  combats  of  the 


276  CATHEKINE:    A   STORY. 

war ;  and,  like  the  gentleman  at  Penelope's  table,  on  it  exiguo 
pinxit  prcelta  tola  beio.     For  example  :  — 

Captain.  —  "  What  do  you  say  to  a  silver  trimming,  pretty 
Catherine?  Don't  you  think  a  scarlet  riding-eloak,  handsomely 
laced,  would  become  you  wonderfully  well? — and  a  gray  hat 
with  a  blue  feather  —  and  a  pretty  nag  to  ride  on  —  and  all  the 
soldiers  to  present  arms  as  you  pass,  and  say,  There  goes  the 
Captain's  lad}'?  What  do  you  thiiik  of  a  side-box  at  '  Lincoln's 
Inn '  playhouse,  or  of  standing  up  to  a  minuet  with  my  Lord 
Marquis  at ?  " 

Corporal.  —  "  The  ball,  sir,  ran  right  up  his  elbow,  and  was 
found  the  next  da}'  by  Surgeon  Splinter  of  ours, — where  do 
3'ou  think,  sir?  —  upon  my  honor  as  a  gentleman  it  came  out  of 
the  nape  of  the  neck  of  his  —  " 

Captain.  —  "  Necklace  —  and  a  sweet  pair  of  diamond  ear- 
rings, mayhap  —  and  a  little  shower  of  patches,  which  ornament 
a  lady's  face~wondrously  —  and  a  leetle  rouge  —  though,  egad! 
such  peach-cheeks  as  3'ours  don't  want  it ;  —  fie  !  Mrs.  Cather- 
ine, 1  should  think  the  birds  must  come  and  peck  at  them  as  if 
the}'  were  fruit  —  " 

Corporal. —  "Over  the  wall;  and  three-and-twenty  of  our 
fellows  jumped  after  me.  By  the  Pope  of  Rome,  friend  Tum- 
mas,  that  was  a  day  !  —  Had  you  seen  how  the  Mounseers 
looked  when  four-and-twenty  rampaging  he-devils,  sword  and 
pistol,  cut  and  thrust,  pell-mell  came  tumbling  into  the  redoubt ! 
Why,  sir,  we  left  in  three  minutes  as  many  artillerymen's  heads 

as  there  were  cannon-balls.     It  was,  '  Ah  sacre  ! '  '  D you, 

take  that ! '  '  O  mon  Dieu  !  '  run  him  through.  '  Ventrebleu  I ' 
and  it  was  ventrebleu  with  him,  I  warrant  you  :  for  bleii^  in  the 
French  language,  means  '  through  ; '  and  ventre  —  why  you  see, 
ventre  means  —  " 

Captain.  —  "  Waists,  which  are  worn  now  excessive  long  ;  — 
and  for  the  hoops,  if  you  could  but  see  them  —  stap  my  vitals, 
my  dear,  but  there  was  a  lady  at  Warwick's  Assembly  (she 
came  in  one  of  my  lord's  coaches)  who  had  a  hoop  as  big  as  a 
tent :  you  might  have  dined  under  it  comfortably  ;  —  ha  !  ha  ! 
'pon  my  faith,  now  —  " 

Corporal.  —  "And  there  we  found  the  Duke  of  Marl- 
borough seated  along  with  Marshal  Tallard,  who  was  endeav- 
oring to  drown  his  sorrow  over  a  cup  of  Johannisberger  wine  ; 
and  a  good  drink  too,  my  lads,  only  not  to  compare  to  War- 
wick beer.  '  Who  was  the  man  who  has  done  this  ? '  said  our 
noble  General.  I  stepped  up.  '  How  many  heads  was  it,' 
says   he,  '  that  you   cut  off  ? '     '  Nineteen,'  says  I,   '  besides 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  277 

wounding  several.'  When  he  heard  it  (Mr.  Ha^es,  you  don't 
drink)  I'm  blest  if  he  didn't  burst  into  tears!  'Noble,  noble 
fellow,'  says  he.  '  Marshal,  jou  must  excuse  me,  if  I  am 
pleased  to  hear  of  the  destruction  of  30ur  countrymen.  Noble, 
noble  fellow  !  — here's  a  hundred  guineas  for  you.'  Which  sum 
he  placed  in  my  hand.  '  Nay,'  says  the  Marshal,  '  the  man  has 
done  his  dut}' : '  and  pulling  out  a  magnificent  gold  diamond- 
hilted  snuff-box,  he  gave  me-»-" 

Mr.  Bullock. —  "What,  a  goold  snuff-box?  Wauns,  but 
thee  wast  in  luck,  Corporal !  "  — 

Corporal.  —  "  No,  not  the  snuff-box,  but  —  a  pinch  of  snuff ^ 
—  ha  !  ha  !  —  run  me  through  the  bod}'  if  he  didn't !  Could 
you  but  have  seen  the  smile  on  Jack  Churchill's  grave  face  at 
this  piece  of  generosity  !  So,  beckoning  Colonel  Cadogan  up 
to  him,  he  pinched  his  ear  and  whispered  —  " 

Captain.  —  "  '  May  I  have  the  honor  to  dance  a  minuet  with 
3^our  ladyship  ? '  The  whole  room  was  in  titters  at  Jack's  blun- 
der ;  for,  as  you  know  ver}-^  well,  poor  Lady  Susan  has  a  wooden 
leg.  Ha !  ha !  fancy  a  minuet  and  a  wooden  leg,  hey,  my 
dear?  —  " 

Mrs.  Catherine.  —  "  Giggle  —  giggle  —  giggle  :  he  !  he  ! 
he  !     Oh,  Captain,  j'ou  rogue,  j'ou —  " 

Second  table. — "Haw!  haw!  haw!  Well,  3-0U  be  a  foony 
mon,  sergeant,  zure  enoff." 

•  ••••••• 

This  little  specimen  of  the  conversation  must  be  sufficient. 
It  will  show  pretty  clearlv  that  each  of  the  two  military  com- 
manders was  conducting  his  operations  with  perfect  success. 
Three  of  the  detachment  of  five  attacked  b}^  the  Corporal  sur- 
rendered to  him  :  Mr.  Bullock,  namely,  who  gave  in  at  a  very 
earl}-  stage  of  the  evening,  and  ignominiously  laid  down  his 
arms  under  the  table,  after  standing  not  more  than  a  dozen 
vollej-s  of  beer ;  Mr.  Blacksmith's  boy,'  and  a  laborer  whose 
name  we  have  not  been  able  to  learn.  Mr.  Butcher  himself 
was  on  the  point  of  yielding,  when  he  was  rescued  b}-  the  furi- 
ous charge  of  a  detachment  that  marched  to  his  relief:  his 
wife  nameh',  who,  with  two  squalling  children,  rushed  into  the 
"  Bugle,"  boxed  Butcher's  ears,  and  kept  up  such  a  tremen- 
dous fire  of  oaths  and  screams  upon  the  Corporal,  that  he  was 
obliged  to  retreat.  Fixing  then  her  claws  into  Mr.  Butcher's 
hair,  she  proceeded  to  drag  him  out  of  the  premises  ;  and  thus 
Mr.  Brock  was  overcome.  His  attack  upon  John  Ha^-es  was  a 
still  greater  failure;  for  that  young  man  seemed  to  be  invin- 
cible by  drink,  if  not  b}'  love  :  and  at  the  end  of  the  drinking- 


278  CATHERINE  :  A  STORY. 

bout  was  a  great  deal  more  cool  than  the  Corporal  himself; 
to  whom  he  wished  a  very  polite  good-evening,  as  calmly  he 
took  his  hat  to  depart.  He  turned  to  look  at  Catherine,  to 
be  sure,  and  then  he  was  not  quite  so  calm  :  but  Catherine 
did  not  give  any  reply  to  his  good  night.  She  was  seated 
at  the  Captain's  table  playing  at  cribbage  with  him ;  and 
though  Count  Gustavus  Maximilian  lost  every  game,  he  won 
more  than  he  lost, — sly  fello\^! — and  Mrs.  Catherine  was 
no  match  for  him. 

It  is  to  be  presumed  that  Hayes  gave  some  information  to 
Mrs.  Score,  the  landlady :  for,  on  leaving  the  kitchen,  he  was 
seen  to  linger  for  a  moment  in  the  bar ;  and  very  soon  after 
Mrs.  Catherine  was  called  away  from  her  afttendance  on  the 
Count,  who,  when  he  asked  for  a  sack  and  toast,  was  furnished 
with  those  articles  by  the  landlady  herself:  and,  during  the 
half-hour  in  which  he  was  emplo^'ed  in  consuming  this  drink. 
Monsieur  de  Galgenstein  looked  very  much  disturbed  and  out 
of  humor,  and  cast  his  e^-es  to  the  door  perpetually ;  but  no 
Catherine  came.  At  last,  verj^  sulkily,  he  desired  to  be  shown 
to  bed,  and  walked  as  well  as  he  could  (for,  to  say  truth,  the 
noble  Count  was  by  this  time  somewhat  unsteady  on  his  legs) 
to  his  chamber.  It  was  Mrs.  Score  who  showed  him  to  it, 
and  closed  the  curtains,  and  pointed  triumphantly  to  the  white- 
ness of  the  sheets. 

"  It's  a  -sery  comfortable  room,"  said  she,  "  though  not  the 
best  in  the  house  ;  which  belong  of  right  to  3'our  lordship's 
worship;  but  our  best  room  has  two  beds,  and  Mr.  Corporal 
is  in  that,  locked  and  double-locked,  with  his  three  tipsy 
recruits.  But  your  honor  will  find  this  here  bed  comfortable 
and  well-aired  ;  I've  slept  in  it  myself  this  eighteen  3'ears." 

"What,  m^^  good  woman,  j^ou  are  going  to  sit  up,  eh? 
It's  cruel  hard  on  3'ou,  madam." 

"Sit  up,  my  lord?  bless  you,  no!  I  shall  have  half  of 
our  Cat's  bed ;  as  I  always  do  when  there's  company."  And 
with  this  Mrs.  Score  curtsied  and  retired. 

Very  early  the  next  morning  the  active  landlady  and  her 
bustling  attendant  had  prepared  the  ale  and  bacon  for  the 
Corporal  and  his  three  converts,  and  had  set  a  nice  white 
cloth  for  the  Captain's  breakfast.  The  young  blacksmith  did 
not  eat  with  much  satisfaction ;  but  Mr.  Bullock  and  his 
friend  betrayed  no  sign  of  disconf;ent,  except  such  as  may  be 
consequent  upon  an  evening's  carouse.  They  walked  very 
contentedly  to  be  registered  before  Doctor  Dobbs,  who  was 


CATHERINE:    A  STORY.  279 

also  justice  of  the  peace,  and  went  in  search  of  their  slender 
bundles,  and  took  leave  of  their  few  acquaintances  without 
much  regret :  for  the  gentlemen  had  been  bred  in  the  work- 
house, and  had  not,  therefore,  a,  large  circle  of  friends. 

It  wanted  only  an  hour  of  noon,  and  the  noble  Count  had 
not  descended.  The  men  were  waiting  for  him,  and  spent 
much  of  the  Queen's  money  (earned  by  the  sale  of  their 
bodies  overnight)  while  thus  expecting  him.  Perhaps  Mrs. 
Catherine  expected  him  too,  for  she  had  offered  many  times 
to  run  up  —  with  my  lord's  boots  —  with  the  hot  water  —>  to 
sliow  Mr.  Brock  the  way ;  who  sometimes  condescended  to 
officiate  as  barber.  But  on  all  these  occasions  Mrs.  Score 
had  prevented  her ;  not  scolding,  but  with  much  gentleness 
and  smiling.  At  last,  more  gentle  and  smiUng  than  ever, 
she  came  down  stairs  and  said,  "  Catherine,  darling,  his  honor 
the  Count  is  might}-  hungry  this  morning,  and  vows  he  could 
pick  the  wing  of  a  fowl.  Run  down,  child,  to  Farmer  Brigg's 
and  get  one :  pluck  it  before  you  bring  it,  you  know,  and  we 
will  make  his  lordship  a  prett}'  breakfast." 

Catherine  took  up  her  basket  and  away  she  went  by  the 
back-yard,  through  the  stables.  There  she  heard  the  little 
horse-bo}'  whistling  and  hissing  after  the  manner  of  horse- 
boj's  ;  and  there  she  learned  that  Mrs.  Score  had  been  invent- 
ing an  ingenious  story  to  have  her  out  of  the  way.  The  ostler 
said  he  was  just  going  to  lead  the  two  horses  round  to  the 
door.  The  Corporal  had  been,  and  they  were  about  to  start 
on  the  instant  for  Stratford. 

The  fact  was  that  Count  Gustavus  Adolphus,  far  from 
wishing  to  pick  the  wing  of  a  fowl,  had  risen  with  a  horror 
and  loathing  for  ever^-thing  in  the  shape  of  food,  and  for  any 
liquor  stronger  than  small  beer.  Of  this  he  had  drunk  a  cup, 
and  said  he  should  ride  immediately  to  Stratford  ;  and  when, 
on  ordering  his  horses,  he  had  asked  politel^^  of  the  landlady 

'•  why  the  d she  always  came   up,  and  why  she  did  not 

send  the  girl,"  Mrs.  Score  informed  the  Count  that  her  Cath- 
erine was  gone  out  for  a  walk  along  with  the  young  man  to 
whom  she  was  to  be  married,  and  would  not  be  visible  that 
day.  On  hearing  tliis  the  Captain  ordered  his  horses  that  mo- 
ment, and  abused  the  wine,  the  bed,  the  house,  the  landlady, 
and  everything  connected  with  the  "  Bugle  Inn." 

Out  tlie  horses  came :  the  little  boys  of  the  village  gathered 
round  ;  tlie  recruits,  with  bunches  of  ribbons  in  their  beavers, 
appeared  presently  ;  Corporal  Brock  came  swaggering  out,  and, 
slapping  tht^  pleased  blacksmith  on  the  back,  bade  him  mount 


280  CATHERINE:    A  STORY. 

his  horse ;  while  the  boys  hurrahed.  Then  the  Captain  came 
out,  gloomy  and  majestic ;  to  him  Mr.  Brock  made  a  military 
salute,  which  clumsily,  and  with  much  grinning,  the  recruits 
imitated.  "I  shall  walk  on  with  these  brave  fellows,  3'our 
honor,  and  meet  you  at  Stratford,"  said  the  Corporal.  "  Good," 
said  the  Captain,  as  he  mounted.  The  landladj-  curtsied  ;  the 
children  hurrah'd  more  ;  the  little  horse-boy,  who  held  the  bridle 
with  one  hand  and  the  stirrup  with  the  other,  and  expected  a 
crown-piece  from  such  a  noble  gentleman,  got  only  a  kick  and 

a  curse,  as  Count  von  Galgenstein  shouted,  "D ^-ou  all, 

get  out  of  the  way  !  "  and  galloped  off;  and  John  Hayes,  who 
had  been  sneaking  about  the  inn  all  the  morning,  felt  a  weiglit 
off  his  heart  when  he  saw  the  Captain  ride  off  alone. 

O  foolish  Mrs.  Score  !  O  dolt  of  a  John  Hayes !  If  the 
lancllad}'  had  allowed  the  Captain  and  the  maid  to  have  their 
wa}-,  and  meet  but  for  a  minute  before  recruits,  sergeant,  and 
all,  it  is  probable  that  no  harm  would  have  been  done,  and  that 
this  history  would  never  have  been  written. 

When  Count  von  Galgenstein  had  ridden  half  a  mile  on  the 
Stratford  road,  looking  as  black  and  dismal  as  Napoleon  gal- 
loping from  the  romantic  village  of  Waterloo,  he  espied,  a 
few  score  yards  onwards,  at  the  turn  of  the  road,  a  certain  ob- 
ject which  caused  him  to  check  his  horse  suddenly,  brought  a 
tingling  red  into  his  cheeks,  and  made  his  heart  to  go  thump  — 
thump  !  against  his  side.  A  young  lass  was  sauntering  slowly 
along  the  footpath,  with  a  basket  swinging  from  one  hand,  and 
a  bunch  of  hedge-flowers  in.  the  other.  She  stopped  once  or 
twice  to  add  a  fresh  one  to  her  nosegay,  and  might  have  seen 
him,  the  Captain  thought ;  but  no,  she  never  looked  directl}' 
towards  him,  and  still  walked  on.  Sweet  innocent !  she  was 
singing  as  if  none  were  near ;  her  voice  went  soaring  up  to  the 
clear  sky,  and  the  Captain  put  his  horse  on  the  grass,  that  the 
sound  of  the  hoofs  miijht  not  disturb  the  music. 


'S5' 


"  Wlien  the  kine  had  given  a  pailful "  —  sang  she, 

"  Ami  the  slieep  came  bleating  home, 
Poll,  wlio  knew  it  would  be  healthful, 

Went  a-wa Iking  out  with  Tom. 
Hand  in  hand,  sir,  on  the  land,  sir, 

As  they  walked  to  and  fro,  V. 

Tom  made  jolly  love  to  Polly, 

But  was  answered  no,  no,  no." 

The  Captain  had  put  his  horse  on  the  grass,  that  the  sound  of 
Ms  hoofs  might  not  disturb  the  music ;  and  now  he  pushed  its 


CATHERINE:    A  STORY.  281 

head  oa  to  the  bank,  where  straightway  "  George  of  Denmark" 
began  chewing  of  such  a  salad  as  grew  there.  And  now  the 
Captain  sUd  off  stealthily  ;  and  smiling  comically,  and  hitching 
up  his  great  jack-boots,  and  moving  forward  with  a  jerking 
tiptoe  step,  he,  just  as  she  was  trilling  the  last  o-o-o  of  the 
last  no  in  the  above  poem  of  Tom  D'Urfey,  came  up  to  her, 
and  touching  her  lightly  on  the  waist,  said, 

"  My  dear,  your  very  humble  servant." 

Mrs.  Catherine  (you  know  you  have  found  her  out  long 
ago !)  gave  a  scream  and  a  start,  and  would  have  turned  pale 
if  she  could.     As  it  was,  she  only  shook  all  over,  and  said, 

"Oh,  sir,  how  you  did  frighten  me  !  " 

"  Frighten  you,  my  rosebud  !  why,  run  me  through,  I'd  die 
rather  than  frighten  you.  Gad,  child,  tell  me  now,  am  I  so 
venj  frightful?  " 

"Oh,  no,  your  honor,  I  didn't  mean  that;  only  I  wasn't 
thinking  to  meet  3'ou  here,  or  that  you  would  ride  so  early  at 
all :  for,  if  you  please,  sir,  I  was  going  to  fetch  a  chicken  for 
your  lordship's  breakfast,  as  my  mistress  said  30U  would  like 
one  ;  and  I  thought,  instead  of  going  to  Farmer  Brigg's  down 
Birmingham  way,  as  she  told  me,  I'd  go  to  Farmer  Bird's, 
where  the  chickens  is  better,  sir —  my  lord,  I  mean." 

"  Said  I'd  like  a  chicken  for  breakfast,  the  old  cat!  why,  I 
told  her  I  would  not  eat  a  morsel  to  save  me  —  I  was  so  dru — , 
I  mean  I  ate  sucli  a  good  supper  last  night  —  and  I  bade  her  to 
send  me  a  pot  of  small  beer,  and  to  tell  you  to  bring  it ;  and 
the  wretch  said  3"0U  were  gone  out  with  your  sweetheart  —  " 

"What!  John  Hayes,  the  creature?  Oh,  what  a  naught}' 
story-telling  woman  !  " 

" — You  had  walked  out  with  your  sweetheart,  and  I  was 
not  to  see  you  any  more  ;  and  I  was  mad  with  rage,  and  ready 
to  kill  mj'self ;  I  was,  m}'  dear." 

"  Oh,  sir  !  pray  pray  don't." 

"  For  your  sake,  my  sweet  angel?" 

"  Yes,  for  my  sake,  if  such  a  poor  girl  as  me  can  persuade 
noble  gentlemen." 

"Well,  then,  for  your  sake,  I  won't:  no,  I'll  live  ;  but  why 
live?  Hell  and  fur}',  if  I  do  live  I'm- miserable  without  you; 
1  am,  —  3'ou  know  I  am, — you  adorable,  beautiful,  cruel, 
wicked  Catherine  !  " 

Catherine's  reply  to  this  was  "  La,  bless  me  !  I  do  believe 
your  horse  is  running  away."  And  so  he  was  ;  for  having 
finished  his  meal  in  the  hedge,  he  first  looked  towards  his 
master  and  paused,  as  it  were,  irresolutely  ;  then,  bj^  a  sudden 


282  CATHERINE:    A  STORY. 

impulse,  flinging  up  his  tail  and  his  hind  legs,  he  scampered 
down  the  road. 

Mrs.  Hall  ran  lightly  after  the  horse,  and  the  Captain  after 
Mrs.  Hall ;  and  the  horse  ran  quicker  and  (Quicker  every  mo- 
ment, and  might  have  led  them  a  long  chase  —  when  lo ! 
debouching  from  a  twist  in  the  road,  came  the  detachment  of 
cavalry  and  infantry  under  Mr.  Brock.  The  moment  he  was 
out  of  sight  of  the  village,  that  gentleman  had  desired  the 
blacksmith  to  dismount,  and  had  himself  jumped  into  the  sad- 
dle, maintaining  the  subordination  of  his  army  by  drawing  a 
pistol  and  swearing  that  he  would  blow  out  the  brains  of  any 
person  who  attempted  to  run.  When  the  Captain's  horse  came 
near  the  detachment  he  paused,  and  suffered  himself  to  be 
caught  by  Tummas  Bullock,  who  held  him  until  the  owner  and 
Mrs.  Catherine  came  up. 

Mr.  Bullock  looked  comically  grave  when  he  saw  the  pair ; 
but  the  Corporal  graciously  saluted  Mrs.  Catherine,  and  said  it 
was  a  fine  da^^  for  walking. 

"La,  sir,  and  so  it  is,"  said  she,  panting  jn  a  very  pretty 
and  distressing  way,  "but  not  for  i-unniug.  I  do  protest  — 
ha !  —  and  vow  that  I  really  can  scarcely  stand.  I'm  so  tired 
of  running  after  that  naughty,  naughty  horse  !  " 

"How  do,  Cattern?"  said  Thomas.  "Zee,  I  be  going  a 
zouldiering  because  thee  wouldn't  have  me."  And  here  Mr. 
Bullock  grinned.  Mrs.  Catherine  made  no  sort  of  reply,  but 
protested  once  more  she  should  die  of  running.  If  the  truth 
were  told,  she  was  somewhat  vexed  at  the  arrival  of  the  Cor- 
poral's detachment,  and  had  had  very  serious  thoughts  of  find- 
ing herself  quite  tired  just  as  he  came  in  sight. 

A  sudden  thought  brought  a  smile  of  bright  satisfaction  in 
the  Captain's  eyes.  He  mounted  the  horse  which  Tummas 
still  held.  '•^  Tired,  Mrs.  Catherine,"  said  he,  "and  for  mj" 
sake?  B3'  heavens,  3'ou  shan't  walk  a  step  farther!  No,  you 
shall  ride  back  with  a  guard  of  honor !  Back  to  the  village, 
gentlemen  !  — rightabout  face  !  Show  those  fellows.  Corporal, 
how  to  rightabout  face.  Now,  my  dear,  mount  behind  me  on 
Snowball ;  he's  easy  as  a  sedan.  Put  3'our  dear  little  foot  on 
the  toe  of  my  boot.     There  now,  —  up  !  — jump  !  hurrah  !  " 

"  That's  not  the  way.  Captain,"  shouted  out  luomas,  still 
holding  on  to  the  rein  as  the  horse  began  to  move.  "Thee 
woan't  goo  with  him,  will  thee,  Catt}'?" 

But  Mrs.  Catherine,  though  she  turned  away  her' head,  never 
let  go  her  hold  round  the  Captain's  waist ;  and  he,  swearing  a 
tb'eadful  oath  at  Thomas,  struck  him  across  the  face  and  hands 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  283 

with  his  riding-whip.  Tlie  poor  fellow,  who  at  the  first  cut  still 
held  on  to  the  rein,  dropped  it  at  the  second,  and  as  the  pair  gal- 
loped off,  sat  down  on  the  roadside  and  fair]}'  began  to  weep. 

'•'March,  you  dog!"  shouted  out  tlie  Corporal  a  minute 
after.  And  so  he  did :  and  when  next  he  saw  Mrs.  Catlierine 
slie  was  the  Captain's  lad^'  sure  enough,  and  wore  a  gray  hat 
with  a  blue  feather,  and  red  riding-coat  trimmed  with  silver- 
lace.  But  Thomas  was  then  on  a  bare-backed  horse,  which 
Corporal  Brock  was  flanking  round  a  ring,  and  he  was  so  occu- 
pied looking  between  his  horse's  ears  that  he  had  no  time  to  crj- 
then,  and  at  length  got  the  better  of  his  attachment. 


This  being  a  good  opportunity  for  closing  Chapter  I.,  we 
ought,  perhaps,  to  make  some  apologies  to  the  public  for  intro- 
ducing them  to  characters  that  are  so  utterly  worthless  ;  as  we 
confess  all  our  heroes,  with  the  exception  of  Mr.  Bullock,  to  be. 
In  this  we  have  consulted  nature  and  history-,  rather  than  the 
prevailing  taste  and  the  general  manner  of  authors.  The  amus- 
ing novel  of  "Ernest  Maltravers,"  for  instance,  opens  with  a 
seduction ;  but  then  it  is  performed  hy  people  of  the  strictest 
virtue  on  both  sides :  and  there  is  so  much  religion  and  phi- 
losophy in  the  heart  of  the  seducer,  so  much  tender  innocence 
in  tiae  soul  of  the  seduced,  that  — bless  the  little  dears  !  —  their 
very  peccadilloes  make  one  interested  in  tliem ;  and  their 
naughtiness  becomes  quite  sacred,  so  deliciously  is  it  de- 
scribed. Now,  if  we  are  to  be  interested  by  rascall}'  actions, 
let  us  have  them  with  plain  faces,  and  let  them  be  performed, 
not  by  virtuous  pliilosophers,  but  by  rascals.  Another  clever 
class  of  novelists  adopt  the  contrary  system,  and  create  inter- 
est b}'  making  their  rascals  perform  virtuous  actions.  Against 
these  popular  plans  we  here  solemnly  ni)peal.  We  say,  let 
your  rogues  in  novels  act  like  rogues,  and  your  honest  men  like 
honest  men  ;  don't  let  us  have  any  juggling  and  thimblei'igging 
with  virtue  and  vice,  so  that,  at  the  end  of  three  volumes,  the 
bewildered  reader  shall  not  know  which  is  which ;  don't  let  us 
find  ourselves  kindling  at  the  generous  qualities  of  thieves,  and 
sympathizing  with  the  rascalities  of  noble  hearts.  For  our 
own  part,  we  know  what  the  public  likes,  and  have  chosen 
rogues  for  our  characters,  and  have  taken  a  stor^^  from  the 
"Newgate  Calendar,"  which  we  hope  to  follow  out  to  edifica- 
tion. Among  the  rogues,  at  least,  we  will  have  nothing  that 
shall  be  mistaken  for  virtues.     And  if  the  British  public  (after 


284  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

calling  for  three  or  four  editions)  shall  give  up,  not  only  our 
rascals,  but  the  rascals  of  all  other  authors,  we  shall  be  content : 
—  we  shall  apply  to  Government  for  a  pension,  and  think  that 
oui"  duty  is  done. 


CHAPTER  II. 

IN   WHICH   ARE   DEPICTED    THE   PLEASURES   OP   A   SENTIMENTAL 

ATTACHMENT. 

It  will  not  be  necessar}',  for  the  purpose  of  this  history,  to 
follow  out  ver}^  closely  all  the  adventures  which  occurred  to 
Mrs.  Catherine  from  the  period  when  she  quitted  the  '^  Bugle" 
and  became  the  Captain's  lady;  for,  although  it  would  be  just 
as  easy  to  show  as  not,  that  the  young  woman,  by  following 
the  man  of  her  heart,  had  only  yielded  to  an  innocent  impulse, 
and  by  remaining  with  him  for  a  certain  period,  had  proved  the 
depth  and  strength  of  her  affection  for  him,  —  although  we 
might  make  very  tender  and  eloquent  apologies  for  the  error  of 
both  parties,  the  reader  might  possibly  be  disgusted  at  such 
descriptions  and  such  arguments  :  which,  besides,  are  already 
done  to  his  haud  in  the  novel  of  "  Ernest  Maltravers"  before 
mentioned. 

From  the  gentleman's  manner  towards  Mrs.  Catherine,  and 
from  his  brilliant  and  immediate  success,  the  reader  will  doubt- 
less have  concluded,  in  the  first  place,  that  Gustavus  Adolphus 
had  not  a  very  violent  affection  for  Mrs.  Cat ;  in  the  second 
place,  that  he  was  a  professional  lady-killer,  and  therefore 
likely  at  some  period  to  resume  his  profession  ;  thirdly,  and  to 
conclude,  that  a  connection  so  begun,  must,  in  the  nature  of 
things,  be  likely  to  end  speedily-. 

And  so,  to  do  the  Count  justice,  it  would,  if  he  had  been 
allowed  to  follow  his  own  inclination  entirely  ;  for  (as  many 
young  gentlemen  will,  and  yet  no  praise  to  them)  in  about  a 
week  he  began  to  be  indifferent,  in  a  month  to  be  weary,  in 
two  months  to  be  angry,  in  three  to  proceed  to  blows  and 
curses  ;  and,  in  short,  to  repent  most  bitterly  the  hour  when  he 
had  ever  been  induced  to  present  Mrs.  Catherine  the  toe  of  his 
boot,  for  the  purpose  of  lifting  her  on  to  his  horse. 

"  Egad !  "  said  he  to  the  Corporal  one  da}-,  when  confiding 
his  griefs  to  Mr.  Brock,  '•  I  wish  my  toe  had  been  cut  off  before 
ever  it  served  as  a  ladder  to  this  little  vixen." 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  285 

"  Or  perhaps  your  honol  would  wish  to  kick  her  down  stairs 
with  it?  "  delicately  suggested  Mr.  Brock. 

"  Kick  her !  wh}-,  the  wench  would  hold  so  fast  by  the  ban- 
isters that  I  could  not  kick  her  down,  Mr.  Brock.  To  tell  you 
a  bit  of  a  secret,  I  have  tried  as  much  —  not  to  kick  her  —  no, 
no,  not  kick  her,  certainl}' :  that's  ungentlenianly  —  but  to 
induce  her  to  go. back  to  that  cursed  pot-liouse  where  we  fell 
in  with  her.     I  have  given  her  many  hints — " 

"  Oil,  yes,  I  saw  your  honor  give  her  one  yesterday  —  with 
a  mug  of  beer.  By  the  laws,  as  the  ale  run  all  down  her  face, 
and  she  clutched  a  knife  to  run  at  you,  I  don't  thinlv  I  ever  saw 
such  a  she-devil !  That  woman  will  do  for  your  honor  some 
da}^,  if  you  provoke  her." 

"  Do  for  me?  No,  hang  it,  Mr.  Brock,  never!  She  loves 
every  hair  of  m}'  head,  sir  :  she  worships  me.  Corporal.  Egad, 
yes !  she  worshijjs  me  ;  and  vv'ould  much  sooner  apply  a  knife  to 
her  own  weasand  than  scratch  my  little  finger !  " 

"  I  think  she  does,"  said  Mr.  Brock.  . 

"  I'm  sure  of  it,"  said  the  Captain.  "  AVomen,  look  3'ou,  are 
like  dogs,  the}^  like  to  be  ill-treated  :  they  like  it,  sir ;  I  know 
the}'  do.  I  never  had  anything  to  do  with  a  woman  in  my  life 
but  I  ill-treated  her,  and  she  liked  me  the  better." 

"  Mrs.  Hall  ought  to  be  very  fond  of  30U  then,  sure  enough  !  " 
said  Mr.  Corporal. 

"Very  fond; — ha,  ha!  Corporal,  you  wag,  you — and  so 
she  is  very  fond.  Yesterda}",  after  the  knife-and-beer  scene  — 
no  wonder  I  threw  the  liquor  in  her  face  :  it  was  so  dev'lish  flat 
that  no  gentleman  could  drink  it :  and  I  told  her  never  to  draw 
it  till  dinner-time  —  " 

"  Oh,  it  was  enough  to  put  an  angel  in  a  fury  !  "  said  Brock. 

"  — Well,  yesterday,  after  the  knife  business,  when  3'ou  had 
got  the  carver  out  of  her  hand,  off  she  flings  to  her  bedroom, 
will  not  eat  a  bit  of  dinner  forsooth,  and  remains  locked  up  for 
a  couple  of  hours.  At  two  o'clock  afternoon  (I  was  over  a 
tankard),  out  comes  the  httle  she-devil,  her  face  pale,  her  e3-es 
bleared,  and  the  tip  of  her  nose  as  red  as  fire  with  sniffling  and 
weeping.  Making  for  my  hand,  '  Max,'  sa^ys  she,  '  will  3'ou 
forgive  me?  '  '  What ! '  says  I.  '  Forgive  a  murderess?  '  says 
I.  '  No,  curse  me,  never ! '  '  Your  cruelty  will  kill  me,' 
sobbed  she.  '  Cruelty  be  hanged  !  '  says  I ;  '  didn't  3'ou  di-aw 
that  beer  an  hour  before  dinner?'  She  could  say  nothing  to 
this,  you  know,  and  I  swore  that  every  time  she  did  so  I  would 
fling  it  into  her  face  again.  Whereupon  back  she  flounced  to 
her  chamber,  where  she  wept  and  stormed  until  night-time." 


286  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

"  AVhen  j'ou  forgave  her?  "        * 

"  I  did  forgive  her,  that's  positive.  You  see  I  had  supped 
at  the  '  Rose '  along  with  Tom  Trippet  and  lialf  a  dozen  pretty 
fellows  ;  and  I  had  eased  a  great  fat-headed  Warwickshire  land- 
junker —  what  d'ye  call  him?  —  squire,  of  forty  pieces;  and 
I'm  dev'lish  good-humored  when  I've  won,  and  so  Cat  and  I 
made  it  up :  but  I've  taught  her  never  to  bring  me  stale  beer 
again  —  ha,  ha  !  " 

This  conversation  will  explain,  a  great  deal  better  than  any 
description  of  ours,  however  eloquent,  the  state  of  things  as 
between  Count  Maximilian  and  Mrs.  Catherine,  and  the  feel- 
ings which  they  entertained  for  each  other.  The  woman  loved 
him,  that  was  the  fact.  And,  as  we  have  shown  in  the  pre- 
vious chapter  how  John  Hayes,  a  mean-spirited  fellow  as  ever 
breathed,  in  respect  of  all  other  passions  a  pigmy,  was  in  the 
passion  of  love  a  giant,  and  followed  Mrs.  Catherine  with  a 
furious  longing  which' might  seem  at  the  first  to  be  foreign  to 
his  natiu'e  ;  in  the  like  manner,  and  pla3ing  at  cross-purposes, 
Mrs.  Hall  had  become  smitten  of  the  Captain  ;  and,  as  he  said 
truly,  only  liked  him  the  better  for  the  brutality  which  she  re- 
ceived at  his  hands.  For  it  is  my  opinion,  Madam,  that  love  is 
a  bodily  infirmit^y,  from  which  humankind  can  no  more  escape 
than  from  small-pox ;  and  which  attacks  every  one  of  us,  from 
the  first  duke  in  the  Peerage  down  to  Jack  Ketch  inclusive  ; 
which  has  no  respect  for  rank,  virtue,  or  roguery  in  man,  but 
sets  each  in  his  turn  in  a  fever ;  which  breaks  out  the  deuce 
knows  how  or  why,  and,  raging  its  appointed  time,  fills  each 
individual  of  the  one  sex  with  a  blind  fury  and  longing  for  some 
one  of  the  other  (who  may  be  pure,  gentle,  blue-ej'ed,  beautiful, 
and  good  ;  or  vile,  shrewish,  squinting,  hunchbacked,  and  hide- 
ous, according  to  circumstances  and  luck)  ;  which  dies  awa^', 
perhaps  in  the  natural  course,  if  left  to  have  its  waj' ,  but  which 
■  contradiction  causes  to  rage  more  furiously  than  ever.  Is  not 
history,  from  the  Trojan  war  upwards  and  downwards,  full  of 
instances  of  such  strange  inexplicable  passions?  Was*  not 
Helen,  b}^  the  most  moderate  calculation,  ninet}'  A'ears  of  age 
when  she  went  off  with  his  Royal  Highness  Prince  Paris  of 
Troy?  Was  not  Madame  La  Valliere  ill-made,  blear-eyed, 
tallow-complexioned,  scraggy,  and  with  hair  like  tow?  Was 
not  Wilkes  the  ugliest,  charmingest,  most  successful  man  in  the 
world?  Such  instances  might  be  carried  out  so  as  to  fill  a 
volume  ;  but  cui  bono  ?  Love  is  fate,  and  not  will ;  its  origin 
not  to  be  explained,  its  progress  irresistible :  and  the  best 
proof  of  this  may  be  had  at  Bow  Street  any  day,  where,  if 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  287 

3"ou  ask  an}-  officer  of  the  establishment  liow  they  take  most 
thieves,  he  will  tell  you  at  the  houses  of  the  women.  The}- 
must  see  the  dear  creatures  though  they  hang  for  it ;  they  will 
love,  though  they  haA^e  their  necks  in  the  halter.  And  with  re- 
gard to  the  other  position,  that  ill-usage  on  the  part  of  the  man 
does  not  destroy  the  affection  of  the  woman,  have  we  not  num- 
berless police  reports  showing  how,  when  a  bystander  would 
beat  a  husband  for  beating  his  wife,  man  and  wife  fall  together 
on  the  interloper  and  punish  him  for  his  meddling  ? 

These  points,  then,  being  settled  to  the  satisfaction  of  all 
parties,  the  reader  will  not  be  disposed  to  question  the  assertion 
that  Mrs.  Hall  had  a  real  affection  for  the  gallant  Count,  and 
grew,  as  Mr.  Brock  was  pleased  to  say,  like  a  beefsteak,  more 
tender  as  she  was  thumped.  Poor  thing,  poos-  thing  !  his  flashy 
airs  and  smart  looks  had  overcome  her  in  a  single  hour ;  and  no 
more  is  wanted  to  plunge  into  love  over  head  and  ears  ;  no 
more  is  wanted  to  make  a  first  love  with  —  and  a  woman's  first 
love  lasts  for  ever  (a  man's  twent3'-fourth  or  twent^'-fifth  is  per- 
haps the  best)  :  you  can't  kill  it,  do  what  3'ou  will ;  it  takes 
root,  and  lives  and  even  grows,  never  mind  what  the  soil  ma}^ 
be  in  which  it  is  planted,  or  the  bitter  weather  it  must  bear  — 
often  as  one  has  seen  a  wall^flower  grow  —  out  of  a  stone. 

In  the  first  weeks  of  their  union,  the  Count  had  at  least  been 
liberal  to  her :  she  had  a  horse  and  fine  clothes,  and  received 
abroad  some  of  those  flattering  attentions  which  she  held  at 
such  high  price.  He  had,  however,  some  ill-luck  at  pla}-,  or 
had  been  forced  to  paj-  some  bills,  or  had  some  other  satis- 
factory reason  for  being  poor,  and  his  establishment  was  very 
speedilj'  diminished.  He  argued  that,  as  Mrs.  Catherine  had 
been  accustomed  to  wait  on  others  all  her  life,  she  might  now 
wait  upon  herself  and  him  ;  and  when  the  incident  of  the  beer 
arose,  she  had  been  for  some  time  emplo3'ed  as  the  Count's  house- 
keeper, with  unlimited  superintendence  over  his  comfort,  his 
cellar,  his  linen,  and  such  matters  as  bachelors  are  delighted  to 
make  over  to  active  female  hands.  To  do  the  poor  wretch 
justice,  she  actuallj'  kept  the  man's  menage  in  the  best  order ; 
nor  was  there  any  point  of  extravagance  with  which  she  could 
be  charged,  except  a  little  extravagance  of  di'ess  displayed  on 
the  very  few  occasions  when  he  condescended  to  walk  abroad 
with  her,  and  extravagance  of  language  and  passion  in  the 
frequent  quarrels  the}'  had  together.  Perhaps  in  such  a  con- 
nection as  subsisted  between  this  precious  couple,  these  faults 
are  inevitable  on  the  part  of  the  woman.  She  must  be  silly  and 
vain,  and  will  pretty  surely  therefore  be  foud  of  di'ess  ;  and  she 


288  CATHERINE:    A  STORY. 

must,  disguise  it  as  she  will,  be  perpetually  miserable  and 
brooding  over  her  fall,  which  will  cause  her  to  be  violent  and 
quarrelsome. 

Such,  at  least,  was  Mrs.  Hall ;  and  very  earl}'  did  the  poor, 
vain,  misguided  wretch  begin  to  reap  what  she  had  sown. 

For  a  man,  remorse  under  these  circumstances  is  perhaps 
uncommon.  No  stigma  affixes  on  him  for  betraying  a  woman  : 
no  bitter  pangs  of  mortified  vanit}' ;  no  insulting  looks  of  su- 
periorit}'  from  his  neighbor,  and  no  sentence  of  contemptuous 
banishment  is  read  against  him  ;  these  all  fall  on  the  tempted, 
and  not  on  the  tempter,  who  is  permitted  to  go  free.  The  chief 
thing  that  a  man  learns  after  having  successfully  practised  on  a 
woman  is  to  despise  the  poor  wretch  whom  he  has  won.  The 
game,  in  fact,  and  the  glory,  such  as  it  is,  is  all  his,  and 
the  punishment  alone  falls  upon  her.  Consider  this,  ladies, 
when  charming  young  gentlemen  come  to  woo  you  with  soft 
speeches.  You  have  nothing  to  win,  except  wretchedness,  and 
scorn,  and  desertion.  Consider  this,  and  be  thankful  to  your 
Solomons  for  telling  it. 

It  came  to  pass,  then,  that  the  Count  had  come  to  have  a 
perfect  contempt  and  indirt'erence  for  Mrs.  Hall ;  —  how  should 
he  not  for  a  3'oung  person  who  had  given  herself  up  to  him  so 
easily  ?  —  and  would  have  been  quite  glad  of  any  opportunity  of 
parting  with  her.  But  there  was  a  certain  lingering  shame 
about  the  man,  which  prevented  him  from  saying  at  once  and 
abruptly,  "Go!"  and  the  poor  thing  did  not  choose  to  take 
such  hints  as  fell  out  in  the  course  of  their  conversation  and 
quarrels.  And  so  they  kept  on  together,  he  treating  her  with 
simple  insult,  and  she  hanging  on  desperately,  b}'  whatever 
feeble  twig  she  could  find,  to  the  rock  beyond  which  all  was 
naught,  or  death,  to  her. 

Well,  after  the  night  with  Tom  Trippet  and  the  pretty  fel- 
lows at  the  "  Rose,"  to  which  we  have  heard  the  Count  allude 
in  the  conversation  just  recorded.  Fortune  smiled  on  him  a 
good  deal ;  for  the  Warwickshire  Squire,  who  had  lost  fbrtj' 
pieces  on  that  occasion,  insisted  on  having  his  revenge  the 
night  after ;  when,  strange  to  say,  a  hundred  and  fift}'  more 
found  their  way  into  the  pouch  of  his  Excellency  the  Count. 
Such  a  sum  as  this  quite  set  the  young  nobleman  afloat  again, 
and  brought  back  a  pleasing- equanimity  to  his  mind,  which  had 
been  a  good  deal  disturbed  in  the  former  difficult  circumsta,n- 
ces  ;  and  in  this,  for  a  little  and  to  a  certain  extent,  poor  Cat 
had  the  happiness  to  share.  He  did  not  alter  the  style  of  his 
establishment,  which  consisted,  as  before,  of  herself  and  a  small 


CATHERrXE:    A   STORY.  289 

person  who  acted  as  scourer,  kitchen-wench,  and  scullion  ;  Mrs. 
Catherine  always  putting  her  hand  to  the  principal  pieces  of  the 
dinner  ;  but  he  treated  his  mistress  with  tolerable  good-humor  ; 
or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  with  such  bearable  brutality  as 
might  be  expected  from  a  man  like  him  to  a  woman  in  lier  con- 
dition. Besides,  a  certain  event  was  about  to  take  place, 
which  not  unusually  occurs  in  circumstances  of  this  nature,  and 
Mrs.  Catherine  was  expecting  soon  to  lie  in. 

The  Captain,  distrusting  naturally  the  strength  of  his  own 
paternal  feelings,  had  kindly  endeavored  to  provide  a  parent 
for  the  coming  infant ;  and  to  this  .end  had  opened  a  negotia- 
tion with  our  friend  Mr.  Thomas  Bullock,  declaring  that  Mrs. 
Cat  should  have  a  fortune  of  twentj'  guineas,  and  reminding 
Tummas  of  his  ancient  flame  for  her :  but  Mr.  Tummas,  when 
this  proposition  was  made  to  him,  declined  it,  with  many  oaths, 
and  vowed  that  he  was  perfectly  satisfied  with  his  present 
bachelor  condition.  In  this  dilemma,  Mr.  Brock  stepped  for- 
ward, wlio  declared  himself  very  read}'  to  accept  JMrs.  Cath- 
erine and  her  fortune  ;  and  might  possibly  have  become  the. 
possessor  of  both,  had  not  Mrs.  Cat,  the  moment  she  heard  of 
the  proposed  arrangement,  with  fire  in  her  eyes,  and  rage  — 
oh,  how  bitter!  —  in  her  heart,  prevented  the  success  of  the 
measure  b}'  proceeding  incontinently  to  the  first  justice  of  the 
peace,  and  there  swearing  before  his  worship  who  was  the  father 
of  the  coming  child. 

This  proceeding,  which  she  had  expected-  would  cause  not 
a  little  indignation  on  the  part  of  her  lord  and  master,  was 
received  by  liim,  strangely  enough,  with  considerable  good- 
humor  :  he  swore  that  the  wench  had  served  him  a  good  trick, 
and  was  rather  amused  at  the  anger,  the  outbreak  of  fierce  rage 
and  contumely,  and  the  wretched,  wretched  tears  of  heart- sick 
desperation,  which  followed  her  announcement  of  this  step  to 
him.  For  Mr.  Brock,  she  repelled  his  offer  with  scorn  and 
loathing,  and  treated  the  notion  of  a  union  with  Mr.  Bullock 
with  yet  fiercer  contempt.  Marry  him  indeed  !  a  workhouse 
pauper  carrying  a  brown-bess  !  She  would  have  died  sooner, 
she  said,  or  robbed  on  the  highway.  And  so,  to  do  her  justice, 
she  would  ;  for  the  little  minx  was  one  of  the  vainest  creatures 
in  existence,  and  vanity  (as  I  presume  everybody  knows)  be- 
comes the  principle  in  certain  women's  heaiis  —  their  moral 
spectacles,  their  conscience,  their  meat  and  drink,  theii-  only 
rule  of  right  and  wrong. 

As  for  IMr.  Tummas,  he,  as  we  have  seen,  was  quite  as  un- 
friendly to  the  proposition  as  she  could  be  ;  and  the  Corporal, 

44 


290  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

• 

with  a  good  deal  of  comical  gravity,  vowed  that,  as  he  could 
not  be  satisfied  in  his  dearest  wishes,  he  would  take  to  drinking 
for  a  consolation  :  which  he  straightway  did. 

"  Come,  Tummas,"  said  he  to 'Mr.  Bullock,  "  since  we  can't 
have  the  girl  of  our  hearts,  why,  hang  it,  Tummas,  let's  drink 
her  health  !  "  To  which  Bullock  had  no  objection.  And  so 
strongly  did  the  disappointment  weigh  upon  honest  Corporal 
Brock  that  even  when,  after  unheard-of  quantities  of  beer,  he 
could  scarcely  utter  a  word,  he  was  seen  absolutely  to  weep, 
and,  in  accents  almost  unintelligible,  to  curse  his  confounded 
ill-luck,  at  being  deprived,  not  of  a  wife,  but  of  a  child  :  he 
wanted  one  so,  he  said,  to  comfort  him  in  his  old  age. 

The  time  of  Mrs.  Catherine's  couche  drew  near,  arrived,  and 
was  gone  through  safely.  She  presented  to  the  world  a  chop- 
ping boy,  who  might  use,  if  he  liked,  the  Galgenstein  arms  with 
a  bar-sinister  ;  and  in  her  new  cares  and  duties  had  not  so  many 
opportunities  as  usual  of  quarrelling  with  the  Count :  who,  per- 
haps, respected  her  situation,  or,  at  least,  was  so  properly 
aware  of  the  necessity  of  quiet  to  her,  that  he  absented  himself 
from  home  morning,  noon,  and  night. 

The  Captain  had,  it  must  be  confessed,  turned  these  contin- 
ued absences  to  a  considerable  worldly  profit,  for  he  plaj'ed  in- 
cessantly ;  and,  since  his  first  victory  over  the  Warwickshire 
Squire,  Fortune  had  been  so  favorable  to  him,  that  he  had  at 
various  intervals  amassed  a  sum  of  nearly  a  thousand  pounds, 
which  he  used  to  bring  home  as  he  won  ;  and  which  he  de- 
posited in  a  strong  iron  chest,  cunningly  screwed  down  by  him- 
self under  his  own  bed.  This  Mrs.  Catherine  regularly  made, 
and  the  treasure  underneath  it  could  be  no  secret  to  her. 
However,  the  noble  Count  kept  the  key,  and  bound  her  by 
many  solemn  oaths  (that  he  discharged  at  her  himself)  not  to 
reveal  to  any  other  person  the  existence  of  the  chest  and  its 
contents. 

But  it  is  not  in  woman's  nature  to  keep  such  secrets  ;  and 
the  Captain,  who  left  her  for  days  and  days,  did  not  reflect 
that  she  would  seek  for  confidants  elsewhere.  For  want  of  a 
female  companion,  she  was  compelled  to  bestow  her  sympathies 
upon  Mr.  Brock  ;  who,  as  the  Count's  corporal,  was  much  in 
his  lodgings,  and  who  did  manage  to  survive  the  disappoint- 
ment whidi  he  had  experienced  by  Mrs.  Catherine's  refusal 
of  him. 

About  two  months  after  the  infant's  birth,  the  Captain,  who 
was  annoyed  by  its  squalling,  put  it  abroad  to  nurse,  and  dis- 
missed its  attendant.     Mrs. "Catherine  now  resumed  her  house- 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  291 

hold  duties,  and  was,  as  before,  at  once  mistress  and  servant 
of  the  establishment.  As  such,  she  had  the  ke^'s  of  the  beer, 
and  was  prettj-  sure  of  the  attentions  of  the  Corporal ;  who 
became,  as  we  have  said,  in  the  Count's  absence,  his  lady's 
chief  friend  and  companion.  After  the  manner  of  ladies,  she 
very  speedih'  confided  to  him  all  her  domestic  secrets :  the 
causes  of  her  former  discontent ;  the  Count's  ill-treatment  of 
her ;  the  wicked  names  he  called  her ;  the  prices  that  all  her 
gowns  had  cost  her ;  how  he  beat  her ;  how  much  money  he 
won  and  lost  at  pla}' ;  how  she  had  once  pawned  a  coat  for 
him  ;  how  he  had  four  new  ones,  laced,  and  paid  for ;  what 
was  the  best  wa}'  of  cleaning  and  keeping  gold-lace,  of  making 
cherry-brandy,  pickling  salmon,  &c.  &c.  Her  confidences  upon 
all  these  subjects  used  to  follow  each  other  in  rapid  succession  ; 
and  Mr.  Brock  became,  ere  long,  quite  as  well  acquainted  with 
the  Captain's  history  for  the  last  3'ear  as  the  Count  himself:  — 
for  he  was  careless,  and  forgot  things ;  women  never  do. 
The}^  chronicle  all  the  lover's  small  actions,  his  words,  his 
headaches,  the  dresses  he  has  worn,  the  things  he  has  liked 
for  dinner  on  certain  da^'s  ;  —  all  which  circumstances  com- 
monly are  expunged  from  the  male  brain  immediately  after 
they  have  occurred,  but  remain  fixed  with  the  female. 

To  Brock,  then,  and  to  Brock  only  (for  she  knew  no  other 
soul),  Mrs.  Cat  breathed,  in  strictest  confidence,  the  history  of 
the  Count's  winnings,  and  his  way  of  disposing  of  them ;  how 
he  kept  his  money  screwed  down  in  an  iron  chest  in  their 
room  :  and  a  very  luck}' fellow  did  Brock  consider  his  officer  for 
having  such  a  large  sum.  He  and  Cat  looked  at  the  chest ; 
it  was  small,  but  mighty  strong,  sure  enough,  and  would  defy 
picklocks  and  thieves.  Well,  if  an}'  man  deserved  raone,y,  the 
Captain  did  ( ' '  though  he  might  buy  me  a  few  3'ards  of  that 
lace  I  love  so,"  interrupted  Cat) ,  —  if  any  man  deserved  money, 
he  did,  for  he  spent  it  like  a  prince,  and  his  hand  was  alwa^'s 
in  his  pocket. 

It  must  now  be  stated  that  Monsieur  de  Galgenstein  had, 
during  Cat's  seclusion,  cast  his  e_yes  upon  a  young  lad}'  of  good 
fortune,  who  frequented  the  Assembl}'  at  Birmingham,  and 
who  was  not  a  little  smitten  by  his  title  and  person.  The 
"four  new  coats,  laced,  and  paid  for,"  as  Cat  said,  had  been 
purchased,  most  probabl}',  by  his  P^xcellency  for  the  purpose 
of  dazzling  the  heiress  ;  and  he  and  the  coats  had  succeeded 
so  far  as  to  win  from  the  3'oung  woman  an  actual  profession  of 
love,  and  a  promise  of  marriage  provided  Pa  would  consent. 
This  was  obtained,  —  for  Pa  was  a  tradesman  ;  and  I  suppose 


292  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

every  one  of  m}-  readers  has  remarked  hovr  great  an  effect  a 
title  has  on  the  lower  classes.  Yes,  thank  heaven  !  there  is 
about  a  free-born  Briton  a  cringing  baseness,  and  lickspittle 
awe  of  rank,  which  does  not  exist  under  an}'  tyranny  in  Eu- 
rope, and  is  onl}'  to  be  found  here  and  in  America. 

All  these  negotiations  had  been  going  on  quite  unknown  to 
Cat;  and,  as  the  Captain  had  determined,  before  two  months 
were  out,  to  fling  that  3'oung  woman  on  the  pave,  he  was  kind 
to  her  in  the  meanwhile :  people  alwa3's  are  when  they  are 
swindling  you,  or  meditating  an  injury  against  you. 

The  poor  girl  had  much  too  high  an  opinion  of  her  own 
charms  to  suspect  that  the  Count  could  be  unfaithful  to  them, 
and  had  no  notion  of  the  plot  that  was  formed  against  her. 
But  Mr.  Brock  had :  for  he  had  seen  manj'  times  a  gilt  coach 
with  a  pair  of  fat  white  horses  ambling  in  the  neighborhood  of 
the  town,  and  the  Captain  on  his  black  steed  caracolling  ma- 
jestically by  its  side  ;  and  he  had  remarked  a  fat,  pudg}-,  pale- 
haired  woman  treading  heavily  down  the  stairs  of  the  Assem- 
bly, leaning  on  the  Captain's  arm  :  all  these  Mr.  Brock  had 
seen,  not  without  reflection.  Indeed,  the  Count  one  day,  in 
great  good-humor,  had  slapped  him  on  the  shoulder  and  told 
him  that  he  was  about  speedily  to  purchase  a  regiment;  when, 
by  his  great  gods,  Mr.  Brock  should  have  a  pair  of  colors. 
Perhaps  this  promise  occasioned  his  silence  to  Mrs.  Catherine 
hitherto ;  perhaps  he  never  would  have  peached  at  all ;  and 
perhaps,  therefore,  this  history  would  never  have  been  written, 
but  for  a  small  circumstance  which  occurred  at  this  period. 

"  What  can  3'ou  want  with  that  drunken  old  Corporal 
always  about  your  quarters  ?  "  said  Mr.  Trippet  to  the  Count 
one  clay,  as  they  sat  over  their  wine,  in  the  midst  of  a  merry 
company,  at  the  Captain's  rooms. 

"  What !  "  said  he.  "  Old  Brock?  The  old  thief  has  been 
more  useful  to  me  than  many  a  better  man.  He  is  brave  in 
a  row  as  a  lion,  as  cunning  in  intrigue  as  a  fox  ;  he  can  nose 
a  dun  at  an  inconceivable  distance,  and  scent  out  a  pretty 
woman  be  she  behind  ever  so  man}'  stone  walls.  If  a  gentle- 
man wants  a  good  rascal  now,  I  can  recommend  him.  I  am 
going  to  reform,  you  know,  and  must  turn  him  out  of  m}' 
service." 

"  And  pretty  Mrs.  Cat?" 

"  Oh,  curse  prettj'  Mrs.  Cat !  she  ma}'  go  too.*^' 

"And  the  brat?" 

"Why,  you  have  parishes,  and  what  not,  here  in  England. 
Egad  !  if  a  gentleman  were  called  upon  to  keep  all  his  children, 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  293 

there  would  be  no  living  :  no,  stap  my  vitals  !     CrcEsus  couldn't 
stand  it." 

"No,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Trippet :  "  3'ou  are  right;  and 
when  a  gentleman  marries,  he  is  bound  in  honor  to  give  up 
such  low  connections  as  are  useful  when  he  is  a  bachelor." 

"  Of  course  ;  and  give  them  up  I  will,  when  the  sweet  Mrs. 
Dripping  is  mine.  As  for  the  girl,  3'ou  can  have  her,  Tom 
Trippet,  if^you  take  a  fancy  to  her;  and  as  for  the  Corporal, 
he  may  be  handed  over  to  my  successor  in  Cufcts's  :  —  for  I  will 
have  a  regiment  to  mj'self,  that's  poz  ;  and  to  take  with  me 
such  a  swindling,  pimping,  thieving,  brandy-faced  rascal  as 
this  Brock  will  never  do.  Egatl !  he's  a  disgrace  to  the  ser- 
vice. As  it  is,  I've  often  a  mind  to  have  the  superannuatec' 
vagabond  drummed  out  of  the  corps." 

Although  this  resume  of  Mr.  Brock's  character  and  accom- 
plishments, was  very  just,  it  came  perhaps  with  an  ill  grace 
from  Count  Gustavus  Adolphus  Maximilian,  who  had  profited 
by  all  his  qualities,  and  who  certainly  would  never  have  given 
this  opinion  of  them  had  he  known  that  the  door  of  his  dining- 
parlor  was  open,  and  that  the  gallant  Corporal,  who  was  in  the 
passage,  could  hear  every  sjdlable  that  fell  from  the  lips  of  his 
commanding  officer.  We  shall  not  say,  after  the  fashion  of  the 
story-books,  that  Mr.  Brock  listened  with  a  flashing  e3-e  and 
a  d/stended  nostril ;  that  his  chest  heaved  tumultuously,  and 
that  his  hand  fell  down  mechanically  to  his  side,  where  it  played 
with  the  brass  handle  of  his  swoi'd.  Mr.  Kean  would  have 
gone  through  most  of  these  bodily  exercises  had  he  been  acting 
the  part  of  a  villain  enraged  and  disappointed  like  Corporal 
Brock  ;  but  that  gentleman  walked  away  without  any  gestures 
of  any  kind,  and  as  gently  as  possible.  "  He'll  turn  me  out  of 
the  regiment,  will  he?"  says  he,  quite  piano;  and  then  added 
(^con  molta  espressione) ,  "  I'll  do  for  him." 

And  it  is  to  be  remarked  how  generally,  in  cases  of  this 
nature,  gentlemen  stick  to  their  word. 


294  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 


CHAPTER  III. 

IN    WHICH   A    NARCOTIC    IS    ADMINISTERED,    AND    A   GREAT    DEAL 
OF    GENTEEL    SOCIETY    DEPICTED. 

When  the  Corporal,  who  had  retreated  to  the  street-door 
immediate  I}'  on  hearing  the  above  conversation,  returned  to 
the  Captain's  lodgings  and  paid  his  respects  to  Mrs.  Catherine, 
he  found  that  lady  in  high  good-humor.  The  Count  had  been 
with  her,  she  said,  along  with  a  friend  of  his,  Mr.  Trippet ; 
had  promised  her  twelve  3'ards  of  the  lace  she  coveted  so  much  ; 
had  vowed  that  the  child  should  have  as  much  more  for  a  cloak  ; 
and  had  not  left  her  until  he  had  sat  with  her  for  an  hour,  or 
more,  over  a  bowl  of  punch,  which  he  made  on  purpose  for  her. 
Mr.  Trippet  stayed  too.  "  A  mighty  pleasant  man,"  said  she  ; 
"  only  not  very  wise,  and  seemingly-  a  good  deal  in  liquor." 

"A  good  deal  indeed!"  said  the  Corporal.  "  He  was  so 
tipsy  just  now,  that  he  could  hardly-  stand.  He  and  his  honor 
were  talking  to  Nan  Fantail  in  the  market-place ;  and  she 
pulled  Trippet's  wig  off,  for  wanting  to  kiss  her." 

"The  nast}'  fellow!"  said  Mrs.  Cat,  "to  demean  himself 
with  such  low  people  as  Nan  Fantail,  indeed  !  Wh}^,  upon  m}- 
conscience  now.  Corporal,  it  was  but  an  hour  ago  that  Mr. 
Trippet  swore  he  never  saw  such  a  pair  of  ej'es  as  mine,  and 
would  like  to  cut  the  Captain's  throat  for  the  love  of  me.  Nan 
Fantail  indeed ! " 

"Nan's  an  honest  girl,  Madam  Catherine,  and  was  a  great 
favorite  of  the  Captain's  before  some  one  else  came  in  his  way. 
No  one  can  saj'  a  word  against  her —  not  a  word." 

"And  pray.  Corporal,  who  ever  did?"  said  Mrs.  Cat, 
rather  offended.  "A  nasty,  angr}'  slut!  I  wonder  what  the 
men  can  see  in  her?  " 

"  She  has  got  a  smart  wa}'  with  her,  sure  enough  ;  it's  what 
amuses  the  men,  and  — " 

"  And  what?  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  my  Max  is  fond 
of  her  now  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Catherine,  looking  veiy  fierce. 

"  Oh,  no  ;  not  at  all :  not  of  her  ;  —  that  is  — " 

"  Not  of  her  !  "  screamed  she.     ' '  Of  whom,  then  ?  " 

"Oh,  psha  !  nonsense  !  Of  you,  my  dear,  to  be  sure  :  who 
else  should  he  care  for?  And,  besides,  what  business  is  it  of 
mine  ?  "     And  herewith  the  Corporal  began  whistling,  as  if  he 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  295 

would  have  no  more  of  the  conversation.  But  Mrs.  Cat  was 
not  to  be  satisfied,  —  not  she,  and  carried  on  her  cross-questions. 

"  Wliy,  look  you,"  said  the  Corporal,  after  parrying  many 
of  these,  — "  Wh}-,  look  you,  I'm  an  old  fool,  Catherine,  and 
I  must  blab.  That  man  has  been  the  best  friend  I  ever  had, 
and  so  I  was  quiet ;  but  I  can't  keep  it  in  any  longer,  —  no, 
hang  me  if  I  can !  It's  my  belief  he's  acting  like  a  rascal  by 
3-ou  :  he  deceives  3'ou,  Catherine  ;  he's  a  scoundrel,  Mrs.  Hall, 
that's  the  truth  on't." 

Catherine  prayed  him  to  tell  all  he  knew  ;  and  he  resumed. 

"He  wants  you  off  his  hands;  he's  sick  of  j'ou,  and  so 
brought  here  that  fool  Tom  Trippet,  who  has  taken  a  fancy 
to  30U.  He  has  not  the  courage  to  turn  3-ou  out  of  doors  like 
a  man  ;  though  in-doors  he  can  treat  you  like  a  beast.  But  I'll 
tell  you  what  he'll  do.  In  a  month  he  will  go  to  Coventry,  or 
pretend  to  go  there,  on  recruiting  business.  No  such  thing, 
Mrs.  Hall :  he's  going  on  marriage  business  ;  and  he'll  leave 
3'ou  without  a  farthing,  to  starve  or  to  rot,  for  him.  It's  all 
arranged,  I  tell  you  :  in  a  month,  you  are  to  be  starved  into 
becoming  Tom  Trippet's  mistress  ;  and  his  honor  is  to  marry 
rich  Miss  Dripping,  the  twenty-thousand-pounder  from  London  ; 
and  to  purchase  a  regiment;  —  and  to  get  old  Brock  drummed 
out  of  Cutts's  too,"  said  the  Corporal,  under  his  breath.  But 
he  might  have  spoken  out,  if  he  chose  ;  for  the  poor  3'oung 
woman  had  sunk  on  the  ground  in  a  real  honest  fit. 

"I  thought  I  should  give  it  her,"  said  Mr.  Brock,  as  he 
procured  a  glass  of  water;  and,  lifting  her  on  to  a  sofa,  sprin- 
kled the  same  over  her.     "  Hang  it !  how  prettj'  she  is." 

When  Mrs.  Catherine  came  to  herself  again,  Brock's  tone 
with  her  was  kind,  and  almost  feeling.  Nor  did  the  poor  wench 
herself  indulge  in  any  subsequent  shiverings  and  hysterics, 
such  as  usuall}'  follow  the  fainting-fits  of  persons  of  higher 
degree.  She  pressed  him  for  further  explanations,  which  he 
gave,  and  to  which  she  listened  with  a  great  deal  of  calmness  : 
nor  did  man}'  tears,  sobs,  sighs,  or  exclamations  of  sorrow  or 
anger  escape  from  her :  only  when  the  Corporal  was  taking 
his  leave'  and  said  to  her  point-blank,  —  "  Well,  Mrs.  Cathe- 
rine, and  what  do  3'ou  intend  to  do?"  she  did  not  rcpl}-  a 
word  ;  but  gave  a  look  which  made  him  exclaim,  on  leaving  the 
room,  — 

"  By  heavens  !  the  woman  means  murder  !  I  would  not  be 
the  Holofernes  to  lie  by  the  side  of  such  a  Judith  as  that  — 
not  I ! "    And  he  went  his  wa}^,  immersed  in  deep  thought. 


296  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

When  the  Captain  returned  at  night,  she  did  not  speak  to  him  ; 
and  wlien  he  swore  at  her  for  being  sulky,  she  onl}'  said  she 
had  a  headache,  and  was  dreadfull}'  ill :  with  which  excuse 
Gustavus  Adolphus  seemed  satisfied,  and  left  her  to  herself. 

He  saw  her  the  next  morning  for  a  moment :  he  was  going 
a-shooting. 

Catherine  had  no  friend,  as  is  usual  in  tragedies  and  roman- 
ces,—  no  mysterious  sorceress  of  her  acquaintance  to  whom 
she  could  apply  for  poison,  —  so  she  went  simply  to  the  apoth- 
ecaries, pretending  at  each  that  she  had  a  dreadful  toothache, 
and  procuring  from  them  as  much  laudanum  as  she  thought 
would  suit  her  purpose. 

Wlien  she  went  home  again,  she  seemed  almost  ga}'.  Mr. 
Brock  complimented  her  upon  the  alteration  in  her  appearance  ; 
and  she  was  enabled  to  receive  the  Captain  at  his  return  from 
shooting  in  such  a  manner  as  made  him  remark  that  she  had 
got  rid  of  her  sulks  of  the  morning,  and  might  sup  with  them, 
if  she  chose  to  keep  her  good-humor.  The  supper  was  got 
read^',  and  the  gentlemen  had  the  punch-bowl  when  the  cloth 
was  cleared,  —  Mrs.  Catherine,  with  her  delicate  hands,  pre- 
paring the  liquor. 

It  is  useless  to  describe  the  conversation  that  took  place,  or 
to  reckon  the  number  of  bowls  that  were  emptied  ;  or  to  tell 
how  Mr.  Trippet,  who  was  one  of  the  guests,  and  declined  to 
play  at  cards  when  some  of  the  others  began,  chose  to  remain 
by  Mrs.  Catherine's  side,  and  make  violent  love  to  her.  All 
this  might  be  told,  and  the  account,  however  faithful,  would 
not  be  ver}^  pleasing.  No,  indeed  !  And  here,  though  we  are 
only  in  the  third  chapter  of  this  history,  we  feel  almost  sick  of 
the  characters  that  appear  in  it,  and  the  adventures  which  they 
are  called  upon  to  go  through.  But  how  can  we  help  ourselves? 
The  public  will  hear  of  nothing  but  rogues  ;  and  the  onl}^  way 
in  which  poor  authors,  who  must  live,  can  act  honestl_y  by  the 
public  and  themselves,  is  to  paint  such  thieves  as  the}'  are  : 
not  dand}',  poetical,  rose-water  thieves ;  but  real  downright 
scoundrels,  leading  scoundrell}^  lives,  drunken,  profligate,  dis- 
solute, low ;  as  scoundrels  will  be.  They  don't  quote  Plato, 
like  Eugene  Aram  ;  or  live  like  gentlemen,  and  sing  ^le  pleas- 
antest  ballads  in  the  world,  like  jolly  Dick  Turpin  ;  or  prate 
eternally  about  to  KaXor,  like  that  precious  canting  Maltravers, 
whom  we  all  of  us  have  read  about  and  pitied  ;  or  die  white- 
washed saints,  like  poor  "  Biss  Dadsy"  in  "Oliver  Twist." 
No,  my  dear  Madam,  3-ou  and  3'our  daughters  have  no  right 
to  admire  and  sj'mpathize  with  anj^  such  persons,  fictitious  or 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  297 

real :  jou  ought  to  be  made  cordially  to  detest,  scorn,  loathe, 
abhor,  and  abominate  all  people  of  this  kidney.  Men  of  genius 
like  those  whose  works  we  have  aboA^e  alluded  to,  have  no 
business  to  make  these  charactei'S  interesting  or  agreeable  ;  to 
be  feeding  your  morbid  fancies,  or  indulging  their  own,  with 
such  monstrous  food.  For  our  parts,  young  ladies,  we  beg  you 
to  bottle  up  3'our  tears,  and  not  waste  a  single  drop  of  them 
on  any  one  of  the  heroes  or  heroines  in  this  history- :  they  are 
all  rascals,  every  soul  of  them,  and  behave  ''  as  sich."  Keep 
your  sympath}'  for  those  who  deserve  it :  don't  carry  it,  for 
preference,  to  the  Old  Bailej^,  and  grow  maudlin  over  the  com- 
pany assembled  there. 

Just,  then,  have  the  kindness  to  fancy  that  the  conversation 
which  took  place  over  the  bowls  of  punch  which  Mrs.  Catherine 
prepared,  was  such  as  might  be  expected  to  take  place  where 
the  host  was  a  dissolute,  dare-devil,  libertine  captain  of  dra- 
goons, the  guests  for  the  most  part  of  the  same  class,  and  the 
hostess  a  3'oung  woman  originallj-  from  a  country  alehouse, 
and  for  the  present  mistress  to  the  entertainer  of  the  societ}'. 
They  talked,  and  they  drank,  and  they  grew  tipsy  ;  and  very 
little  worth  hearing  occurred  during  the  course  of  the  whole 
evening.  Mr.  Brock  officiated,  half  as  the  servant,  half  as  the 
companion  of  the  society.  Mr.  Thomas  Trippet  made  violent 
love  to  Mrs.  Catherine,  while  her  lord  and  master  was  placing 
at  dice  with  the  other  gentlemen :  and  on  this  nio;ht,  strano-e 
to  say,  the  Captain's  fortune  seemed  to  desert  him.  Tlie  War- 
wickshire Squire,  from  whom  he  had  won  so  much,  had  an 
amazing  run  of  good  luck.  The  Captain  called  perpetually  for 
more  drink,  and  higher  stakes,  and  lost  almost  every  throw. 
Three  hundred,  four  hundred,  six  hundred  —  all  his  winnings 
of  the  previous  months  were  swallowed  up  in  the  course  of  a 
few  houi's.  The  Corporal  looked  on  ;  and,  to  do  him  justice, 
seemed  very  grave,  as,  sum  by  sum,  tlie  Squire  scored  down 
the  Count's  losses  on  the  paper  before  him. 

Most  of  the  company  had  taken  tlieir  hats  and  staggered  off. 
The  Squire  and  Mr.  Trippet  were  the  only  two  that  remained, 
the  latter  still  lingering  by  Mrs.  Catherine's  sofa  and  table  ;  and 
as  she,  as  we  have  stated,  had  been  employed  all  the  evening  in 
mixing  the  liquor  for  the  gamesters,  he  was  at  the  head-quarters 
of  love  and  drink,  and  had  swallowed  so  much  of  each  as  hardly 
to  be  able  to  speak. 

The  dice  went  rattling  on;  the  candles  were  burning  dim, 
with  great  long  wicks.  Mr.  Trippet  could  hardly  see  the  Cap- 
tain, and  thought,  as  far  as  his  muzzj'  reason  would  let  him, 


298  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

that  the  Captain  could  not  see  him :  so  he  rose  from  his  chair 
as  well  as  he  could,  and  fell  down  on  Mrs.  Catherine's  sofa. 
His  eyes  were  fixed,  his  face  was  pale,  his  jaw  hung  down  ;  and 
he  flung  out  his  arms  and  said,  in  a  maudUn  voice,  "  Oh,  j-ou 
b^'oo-oo-oo-tifHe  Cathrine,  I  must  have  a  kick-kick-iss." 

"  Beast !  "  said  Mrs.  Catherine,  and  pushed  him  away.  The 
drunken  wretch  fell  off  the  sofa,  and  on  to  the  floor,  where  he 
stayed  ;  and,  after  snorting  out  some  unintelligible  sounds,  went 
to  sleep. 

The  dice  went  rattling  on ;  the  candles  were  burning  dim, 
with  great  long  wicks. 

"Seven's  the  main,"  cried  the  Count.  "Four.  Three  to 
two  against  the  caster." 

"  Ponies,"  said  the  Warwickshire  Squire. 

Rattle,  rattle,  rattle,  rattle,  clatter,  nine.  Clap,  clap,  clap, 
clap,  eleven.  Clutter,  clutter,  clutter,  clutter:  "Seven  it  is." 
saj'S  the  Warwickshire  Squire.  "  That  makes  eight  hundred. 
Count." 

"  One  throw  for  two  hundred,"  said  the  Count.  "  But  stop  ! 
Cat,  give  us  some  more  punch." 

Mrs.  Cat  came  forward  ;  she  looked  a  little  pale,  and  her 
hand  trembled  somewhat.  "  Here  is  the  punch.  Max,"  said 
she.  It  was  steaming  hot,  in  a  large  glass.  "  Don't  drink  it 
all,  said  she  ;   "  leave  me  some." 

"  How  dark  it  is  !  "  said  the  Count,  eying  it. 

"  It's  the  brandy,"  says  Cat. 

"Well,  here  goes!  Squire,  curse  you!  here's  .your  health, 
and  bad  luck  to  you  !  "  and  he  gulj^ed  off"  more  than  half  the 
liquor  at  a  .draught.  But  presently  he  put  down  the  glass  and 
cried,  "What  infernal  poison  is  this.  Cat?" 

"  Poison  !  "  said  she.  "  It's  no  poison.  Give  me  the  glass." 
And  she  pledged  Max,  and  drank  a  little  of  it.  ' '  'Tis  good 
punch.  Max,  and  of  my  brewing  ;  I  don't  think  j'ou  will  ever  get 
an}'  better."  And  she  went  back  to  the  sofa  again,  and  sat 
down,  and  looked  at  the  pla^-ers. 

Mr.  Brock  looked  at  her  white  face  and  fixed  eyes  with  a 
grim  kind  of  curiosit}' .  The  Count  sputtered,  and  cursed  the 
horrid  taste  of  the  punch  still ;  but  he  presently  took  the  box, 
and  made  his  threatened  throw. 

As  before,  the  Squire  beat  him  ;  and  having  booked  his  win- 
nings, rose  from  table  as  well  as  he  might,  and  besought  Cor- 
poral Brock  to  lead  him  down  stairs  ;  which  Mr.  Brock  did. 

The  liquor  had  evidently  stupefied  the  Count :  he  sat  with 
his  head  between  his  hands,  muttering  wildly  about  ill-luck, 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  299 

seven's  the  main,  bad  punch,  and  so  on.  The  street-door 
banged  to ;  and  the  steps  of  Bx'ock  and  the  Squire  were  heard, 
until  they  could  be  heard  no  more. 

"  Max,"  said  she;  but  he  did  not  answer.  "  Max,"  said 
she  again,  laying  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Curse  you,"  said  that  gentleman,  "  keep  off,  and  don't  be 

laying  your  paws  upon  me.    Go  to  bed,  you  jade,  or  to ,  for 

what  I  care  ;  and  give  me  first  some  more  punch,  —  a  gallon 
more  punch,  do  you  hear?" 

The  gentleman,  by  the  curses  at  the  commencement  of  this 
little  speech,  and  the  request  contained  at  the  end  of  it,  showed 
that  his  losses  vexed  him,  and  that  he  was  anxious  to  forget 
them  temporarily. 

"Oh,  Max!"  whimpered  Mrs.  Cat,  "3'ou — don't  —  want 
—  any  more  punch  ?  " 

"  Don't!  Shan't  I  be  drunk  in  my  own  house,  you  cursed 
whimpering  jade  you  ?  Get  out !  "  And  with  this  the  Captain 
proceeded  to  administer  a  blow  upon  Mrs.  Catherine's  cheek. 

Contrary  to  her  custom,  she  did  not  avenge  it,  or  seek  to 
do  so,  as  on  the  many  former  occasions  when  disputes  of  this 
nature  had  arisen  between  the  Count  and  her ;  but  now  Mrs. 
Catherine  fell  on  her  knees,  and  clasping  her  hands,  and  look- 
ing pitifull}-  in  the  Count's  face,  cried,  "  Oh,  Count,  forgive  me, 
forgive  me  !  "  * 

"Forgive  .you !  What  for?  Because  I  slapped  your  face? 
Ha,  ha  !    I'll  forgive  you  again,  if  3'ou  don't  mind." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  no  !  "  said  she,  wi-inging  her  hands.  "  It  isn't 
that.  Max,  dear  Max,  will  you  forgive  me?  It  isn't  the  blow  — 
I  don't  mind  that :  it's  — " 

' '  It's  what,  3-ou  —  maudlin  fool  ?  " 

'■'It's  the  punch!" 

The  Count,  who  was  more  than  half-seas-over,  here  assumed, 
an  air  of  much  tips}-  gravity.     "  The  punch  !     No,  I  never  will 
forgive  you  that  last  glass  of  punch.     Of  all  the  foul,  beastly 
drinks  I  ever  tasted ,  that  was  the  worst.     No,  I  never  will  for- 
give you  that  punch." 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  that,  it  isn't  that !  "  said  she. 

"  I  tell  you  it  is  that, you!     That  punch,  I  say  that 

punch  was  no  better  than  paw — aw — oison."  And  here  the 
Count's  head  sank  back,  and  he  fell  to  snore. 

"  It  was  poison  !  "  said  she. 

"  What!''  screamed  he,  waking  up  at  once,  and  spurning 
her  awa}^  from  him.  "What,  3'ou  infernal  murderess,  have 
vou  killed  me  ? " 


300  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

"Oh,  Max!— don't  kill  me,  Max!  It  was  laudanum  — 
indeed  it  was.  You  were  going  to  be  married,  and  1  was 
furious,  and  I  went  and  got  —  " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  you  fiend,"  roared  out  the  Count ;  and 
with  more  presence  of  mind  than  politeness,  he  flung  the  re- 
mainder of  the  hquor  (and,  indeed,  the  glass  with  it)  at  the 
head  of  Mrs.  Catherine.  But  the  poisoned  chalice  missed  its 
mark,  and  fell  right  on  the  nose  of  Mr.  Tom  Trippet,  who  was 
left  asleep  and  unobserved  under  the  table. 

Bleeding,  staggering,  swearing,  indeed  a  ghastly  sight,  up 
sprung  Mr.  Trippet,  and  drew  his  rapier.  "Come  on,"  says 
he  ;  "  never  say  die  !  What's  the  row  ?  I'm  ready  for  a  dozen 
of  you."  And  he  made  many  blind  and  furious  passes  about 
the  room. 

"  Curse  3'ou,  we'll  die  together!"  shouted  the  Count,  as  he 
too  pulled  out  his  toledo,  and  sprung  at  Mrs.  Catherine. 

"  Help  !  murder  !  thieves  !  "  shrieked  she.  "  Save  me,  Mr. 
Trippet,  save  me ! "  and  she  placed  that  gentleman  between 
herself  and  the  Count,  and  then  made  for  the  door  of  the  bed- 
room, and  gained  it,  and  bolted  it. 

"  Out  of  the  way,  Trippet,"  roared  the  Count  —  "  out  of  the 
wa_y,  you  drunken  beast !  I'll  murder  her,  I  will  —  I'll  have  the 
devil's  life."  And  here  he  gave  a  swinging  cut  at  Mr.  Trippet's 
sword  :  it  sent  the  weapon  whirling  clean  out  of  his  hand,  and 
through  a  window  into  the  street. 

"Take  my  life,  then,"  said  Mr.  Trippet:  "I'm  drunk,  but 
I'm  a  man,  and,  damme  !  will  never  say  die." 

"  I  don't  want  your  life,  you  stupid  fool.  Hark  you,  Trip- 
pet, wake  and  be  sober,  if  you  can.  That  woman  has  heard  of 
my  marriage  with  Miss  Dripping." 

"Twenty  thousand  pound,"  ejaculated  Trippet. 

"She  has  been  jealous,  I  tell  you,  and  poisoned  us.  She 
has  put  laudanum  into  the  punch." 

"  What,  in  my  punch?"  said  Trippet,  growing  quite  sober, 
and  losing  his  courage.     "  O  Lord  !  O  Lord  !  " 

"  Don't  stand  howling  there  but  run  for  a  doctor;  'tis  our 
only  chance."  And  away  ran  Mr.  Trippet,  as  if  the  deuce 
were  at  his  heels. 

The  Count  had  forgotten  his  murderous  intentions  regarding 
his  mistress,  or  had  deferred  them  at  least,  under  the  conscious^ 
ness  of  his  own  pressing  danger.  And  it  must  be  said,  in  the 
praise  of  a  man  who  had  fought  for  and  against  Marlborough 
and  Tallard,  that  his  courage  in  this  trying  and  novel  predica- 
ment never  for  a  moment  deserted  him,  but  that  he  showed  the 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  301 

greatest  daring,  as  well  as  ingenuit\',  in  meeting  and  averting 
the  danger.  He  flew  to  the  side-board,  where  were  the  relics 
of  a  supper,  and  seizing  the  mustard  and  salt  pots,  and  a  bottle 
of  oil,  he  emptied  them  all  into  a  jug,  into  which  he  further 
poured  a  vast  quantity  of  hot  water.  This  pleasing  mixture 
he  then,  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  placed  to  his  lips,  and 
swallowed  as  much  of  it  as  nature  would  allow  him.  But  when 
he  had  imbibed  about  a  quart,  the  anticipated  effect  was  pro- 
duced, and  he  was  enabled,  by  the  power  of  this  ingenious 
extemporaneous  emetic,  to  get  rid  of  much  of  the  poison  which 
Mrs.  Catherine  had  administered  to  him. 

He  was  employed  in  these  efforts  when  the  doctor  entered, 
along  with  Mr.  Brock  and  Mr.  Trippet ;  who  was  not  a  little 
pleased  to  hear  that  the  poisoned  punch  had  not  in  all  proba- 
bilit}^  been  given  to  him.  He  was  recommended  to  take  some 
of  the  Count's  mixture,  as  a  precautionary  measure  ;  but  this  he 
refused,  and  retired  home,  leaving  the  Count  under  charge  of 
the  phj'sician  and  his  faithful  corporal. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  sa}-  what  further  remedies  were  em- 
ploj'ed  b}"  them  to  restore  the  Captain  to  health  ;  but  after  some 
time  the  doctor,  pronouncing  that  the  danger  was,  he  hoped, 
averted,  recommended  that  his  patient  should  be  put  to  bed, 
and  that  somebody  should  sit  by  him ;  which  Brock  promised 
to  do. 

"  That  she-devil  will  murder  me,  if  you  don't,"  gasped  the 
poor  Count.  ' '  You  must  turn  her  out  of  the  bedroom  ;  or 
break  open  the  door,  if  she  refuses  to  let  you  in." 

And  this  step  was  found  to  be  necessary  ;  for,  after  shouting 
many  times,  and  in  vain,  Mr.  Brock  found  a  small  iron  bar 
(indeed  he  had  the  instrument  for  many  days  in  his  pocket) , 
and  forced  the  lock.  The  room  was  empty,  the  window  was 
open  :  the  pretty  barmaid  of  the  "  Bugle"  had  fled. 

"  The  chest,"  said  the  Count  —  "  is  the  chest  safe?  " 

The  Corporal  flew  to  the  bed,  under  which  it  was  screwed, 
and  looked,  and  said,  "  It  is  safe,  thank  heaven  !  "  The  Avin- 
dow  was  closed.  The  Captain,  who  was  too  weak  to  stand 
without  help,  was  undressed  and  put  to  bed.  The  Corporal  sat 
down  by  his  side  ;  slumber  stole  over  the  eyes  of  the  patient ; 
and  his  wakeful  nurse  marked  with  satisfaction  the  progress  of 
the  beneficent  restorer  of  health. 

•  ••••••* 

When  the  Captain  awoke,  as  he  did  some  time  afterwards, 
he  foimd,  very  much  to  his  surprise,  that  a  gag  had  been  placed 
in  his  mouth,  and  that  the  Corporal  was  in  the  act  of  wheeling 


302  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

Ills  bed  to  another  part  of  the  room.  He  attempted  to  move, 
and  gave  utterance  to  such  unintelligible  sounds  as  could  issue 
through  a  silk  handkerchief. 

' '  If  your  honor  stirs  or  cries  out  in  the  least,  I  will  cut  your 
honor's  throat,"  said  the  Corporal. 

And  then,  having  recourse  to  his  iron  bar  (the  reader  will 
now  see  why  he  was  provided  with  such  an  implement,  for  he 
had  been  meditating  this  cowp  for  some  days),  he  proceeded 
first  to  attempt  to  burst  the  lock  of  the  little  iron  chest  in 
which  the  Count  kept  his  treasure,  and  failing  in  this,  to  un- 
screw it  from  the  ground  ;  which  operation  he  performed  satis- 
factorily. 

"  You  see.  Count,"  said  he,  calmly,  "  when  rogues  fall  out, 
there's  the  deuce  to  pay.  You'll  have  me  drummed  out  of  the 
regiment,  will  you?  I'm  going  to  leave  it  of  my  own  accord, 
look  you,  and  to  live  like  a  gentleman  for  the  rest  of  my  daj's. 
Schlafen  sie  wohl^  noble  Captain :  hon  repos.  The  Squire  will 
be  with  you  pretty  early  in  the  morning,  to  ask  for  the  monej^ 
you  owe  him." 

With  these  sarcastic  observations  Mr.  Brock  departed ;  not 
by  the  window,  as  Mrs.  Catherine  had  done,  but  by  the  door, 
quietly,  and  so  into  the  street.  And  when,  the  next  morning, 
the  doctor  came  to  visit  his  patient,  he  brought  with  him  a  story 
how,  at  the  dead  of  night,  Mr.  Brock  had  roused  the  ostler  at 
the  stables  where  the  Captain's  horses  were  kept  —  had  told 
him  that  Mrs.  Catherine  had  poisoned  the  Count,  and  had  run 
off  with  a  thousand  pounds  ;  and  how  he  and  all  lovers  ot 
justice  ought  to  scour  the  country  in  pursuit  of  the  criminal. 
For  this  end  Mr.  Brock  mounted  the  Count's  best  horse  —  that 
very  animal  on  which  he  had  carried  awa}^  Mrs.  Catherine  :  and 
thus,  on  a  single  night.  Count  Maximilian  had  lost  his  mistress, 
his  money,  his  horse,  his  corporal,  and  was  very  near  losing 
his  life. 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  303 


CHAPTER  IV. 

IN  WHICH   MRS.  CATHERINE   BECOMES    AN   HONEST   WOMAN   AGAIN. 

In  this  woful  plight,  moneyless,  wifeless,  horseless,  corpo- 
ralless,  with  a  gag  in  his  mouth  and  a  rope  round  his  body,  are 
we  compelled  to  leave  the  gallant  Galgenstein,  until  his  friends 
and  the  progress  of  this  history  shall  deliver  him  from  his  du- 
rance. Mr.  Brock's  adventures  on  the  Captain's  horse  must 
likewise  be  pretermitted  ;  for  it  is  our  business  to  follow  Mrs. 
Catherine  through  the  wandow  by  which  she  made  her  escape, 
and  among  the  various  chances  that  befell  her. 

She  had  one  cause  to  congratulate  herself,  —  that  she  had 
not  her  bab}'  at  her  back  ;  for  the  infant  was  safely  housed 
under  the  care  of  a  nurse,  to  whom  the  Captain  was  answera- 
ble. Bej'ond  this  her  prospects  were  but  dismal :  no  home  to 
fly  to,  but  a  few  shillings  in  her  pocket,  and  a  whole  heap  of 
injuries  and  dark  revengeful  thoughts  in  her  bosom :  it  was  a 
sad  task  to  her  to  look  either  backwards  or  forwards.  Whither 
was  she  to  fly  ?  How  to  live  ?  What  good  chance  was  to  be- 
friend her?  There  was  an  angel  watching  over  the  steps  of 
Mrs.  Cat  —  not  a  good  one,  1  think,  but  one  of  those  from 
that  unnamable  place,  who  have  their  many  subjects  here  on 
earth,  and  often  are  pleased  to  extricate  them  from  worse  per- 
plexities. 

Mrs.  Cat,  now,  had  not  committed  murder,  but  as  bad  as 
murder ;  and  as  she  felt  not  the  smallest  repentance  in  her 
heart  —  as  she  had,  in  the  course  of  her  life  and  connection 
with  the  Captain,  performed  and  gloried  in  a  number  of  wicked 
coquetries,  idlenesses,  vanities,  lies,  fits  of  anger,  slanders, 
foul  abuses,  and  what  not  —  she  was  fairly*  bound  over  to  this 
dark  angel  whom  we  have  alluded  to  ;  and  he  dealt  with  her, 
and  aided  her,  as  one  of  his  own  children. 

I  do  not  mean  to  say  that,  in  this  strait,  he  appeared  to  her 
in  the  likeness  of  a  gentleman  in  black,  and  made  her  sign  her 
name  in  blood  to  a  document  conveying  over  to  him  her  soul, 
in  exchange  for  certain  conditions  to  be  performed  by  him. 
Such  diabolical  bargains  have  always  appeared  to  me  unworthy 
of  the  astute  personage  who  is  sui)posed  to  be  one  of  the  par- 
ties to  them ;  and  who  would  scarcel}'  be  fool  enough  to  pay 
dearly  for  that  which  he  can  have  in  a  few  3'ears  for  nothing. 


304  CATHERINE:    A  STORY. 

It  is  not,  then,  to  be  supposed  that  a  demon  of  darkness  ap- 
peared to  Mrs.  Cat,  and  led  her  into  a  flaming  chariot,  har- 
nessed by  dragons,  and  careering  through  air  at  the  rate  of  a 
thousand  leagues  a  minute.  No  such  thing :  the  vehicle  that 
was  sent  to  aid  her  was  one  of  a  much  more  vulgar  descrip- 
tion. 

The  "Liverpool  carr3^van,"  then,  which  in  the  year  1706 
used  to  perform  the  journey  between  London  and  that  place  in 
ten  days,  left  Birmingham  about  an  hour  after  Mrs.  Catherine 
had  quitted  that  town ;  and  as  she  sat  weeping  on  a  hillside, 
and  plunged  in  bitter  meditation,  the  lumbering,  jingling  vehi- 
cle overtook  her.  The  coachman  was  marching  by  the  side  of 
his  horses,  and  encouraging  them  to  maintain  their  pace  of  two 
miles  an  hour ;  the  passengers  had  some  of  them  left  the  vehi- 
cle, in  order  to  walk  up  the  hill ;  and  the  carriage  had  arrived 
at  the  top  of  it,  and,  meditating  a  brisk  trot  down  the  declivit}', 
waited  there  until  the  lagging  passengers  should  arrive  :  when 
Jehu,  casting  a  good-natured  glance  upon  Mrs.  Catherine, 
asked  the  pretty  maid  whence  she  was  come,  and  whether  she 
would  like  a  ride  in  his  carriage.  To  the  latter  of  which  ques- 
tions Mrs.  Catherine  replied  trulv  yes  ;  to  the  former,  her  an- 
swer was  that  she  had  come  from  Stratford :  whereas,  as  we 
very  well  know,  she  had  lately  quitted  Birmingham. 

"  Hast  thee  seen  a  woman  pass  this  way,  on  a  black  horse, 
with  a  large  bag  of  goold  over  the  saddle?"  said  Jehu,  prepar- 
ing to  mount  upon  the  roof  of  his  coach. 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Cat. 

"Nor  a  trooper  on  another  horse  after  her — no?  Well, 
there  be  a  mortal  row  down  Birmingham  way  about  sich  a  one. 
She  have  killed,  the}'  say,  nine  gentlemen  at  supper,  and  have 
strangled  a  German  prince  in  bed.  She  have  robbed  him  of 
twenty  thousand  guineas,  and  have  rode  away  on  a  black 
horse." 

"  That  can't  be  I,"  said  Mrs.  Cat,  naively ;  "  for  I  have  but 
three  shillings  and  a  groat." 

"  No,  it  can't  be  thee,  truly,  for  where's  your  bag  of  goold? 
and,  besides,  thee  hast  got  too  pretty  a  face  to  do  such  wicked 
things  as  to  kill  nine  gentlemen  and  strangle  a  German  prince." 

"  Law,  coachman,"  said  Mrs.  Cat,  blushing  archl}^  —  "  Law, 
coachman,  do  you  think  so  ?  "  The  girl  would  have  been  pleased 
with  a  compliment  even  on  her  waj'  to  be  hanged ;  and  the  par- 
ley ended  hy  Mrs.  Catherine  stepping  into  the  carriage,  where 
there  was  room  for  eight  people  at  least,  and  where  two  or  three 
individuals  had  already  taken  their  places. 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  305 

For  these  Mrs.  Catherine  had  in  the  first  place  to  make  a 
story,  which  she  did  ;  and  a  very  gUb  one  for  a  person  of  her 
years  and  education.  Being  asked  whither  she  was  bound, 
and  how  she  came  to  be  alone  of  a  morning  sitting  b}-  a  road- 
side, she  invented  a  neat  histor}^  suitable  to  the  occasion, 
which  elicited  much  interest  from  her  fellow-passengers  :  one 
in  particular,  a  ^oung  man,  who  had  caught  a  ghmpse  of 
her  face  under  her  hood,  was  very  tender  in  his  attentions 
to  her. 

But  whether  it  was  that  she  had  been  too  much  fatigued  by 
the  occurrences  of  the  past  day  and  sleepless  night,  or  whether 
the  little  laudanum  which  she  had  drunk  a  few  hours  previously 
now  began  to  act  upon  her,  certain  it  is  that  Mrs.  Cat  now 
suddenly'  grew  sick,  feverish,  and  extraordinaril}-  sleep}- ;  and 
in  this  state  she  continued  for  many  hours,  to  the  pit}'  of  all 
her  fellow-travellers.  At  length  the  "carry van"  reached  the 
inn,  where  horses  and  passengers  were  accustomed  to  rest  for 
a  few  hours,  and  to  dine  ;  and  Mrs.  Catherine  was  somewhat 
awakened  by  the  stir  of  the  passengers,  and  the  friendl}'  voice 
of  the  inn-servant  Velcoming  them  to  dinner.  The  gentleman 
who  had  been  smitten  by  her  beauty  now  urged  her  very  po- 
litel}-  to  descend  ;  which,  taking  the  protection  of  his  arm,  she 
accordingl}'  did. 

He  made  some  very  gallant  speeches  to  her  as  she  stepped 
out ;  and  she  must  have  been  very  much  occupied  by  them,  or 
rapt  up  in  her  own  thoughts,  or  stupefied  by  sleep,  fever,  and 
opium,  for  she  did  not  take  any  heed  of  the  place  into  which 
she  was  going :  which  had  she  done,  she  would  probably  have 
preferred  remaining  in  the  coach,  dinnerless  and  ill.  Indeed, 
the  inn  into  which  she  was  about  to  make  her  entrance  was  no 
other  than  the  "  Bugle,"  from  which  she  set  forth  at  the  com- 
mencement of  this  history ;  and  which  then,  as  now,  was  kept 
by  her  relative,  the  thrifty  Mrs.  Score.  That  good  landlady, 
seeing  a  lady,  in  a  smart  hood  and  cloak,  leaning,  as  if  faint, 
upon  the  arm  of  a  gentleman  of  good  appearance,  concluded 
them  to  be  man  and  wife,  and  folks  of  qualit}^  too  ;  and  with 
much  discrimination,  as  well  as  sympathy,  led  them  through 
the  public  kitchen  to  her  own  private  parlor,  or  bar,  where  she 
handed  the  lady  an  arm-chair,  and  asked  what  she  would  like 
to  drink.  By  this  time  and  indeed  at  the  verj^  moment  she 
heard  her  aunt's  voice,  Mrs.  Catherine  was  aware  of  her  situa- 
tion ;  and  when  her  companion  retired,  and  the  landlady  with 
much  ofl!iciousness  insisted  on  I'emoving  her  hood,  she  was  quite 
prepared  for  the  screech  of  surprise  which  Mrs.  Score  gave  on 

45 


306  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

dropping  it,  exclaiming,  "Why,  law  bless  us,  it's  our  Cathe- 


rine ! " 


"  I'm  very  ill,  and  tired,  aunt,"  said  Cat ;  "  and  would  give 
the  world  for  a  few  hours'  sleep." 

"A  few  hours  and  welcome,  my  love,  and  a  sack-posset 
too.  You  do  look  sadly  tired  and  poorly,  sure  enough.  Ah, 
Cat,  Cat !  you  great  ladies  are  sad  rakes,  I  do  believe.  I 
wager  now,  that  with  all  j^our  balls,  and  carriages,  and  fine 
clothes,  3'ou  are  neither  so  happy  nor  so  well  as  when  you  lived 
with  your  poor  old  aunt,  who  used  to  love  you  so."  And  with 
these  gentle  words,  and  an  embrace  or  two,  which  Mrs.  Cathe- 
rine wondered  at,  and  permitted,  she  was  conducted  to  that 
very  bed  which  the  Count  had  occupied  a  year  previously,  and 
undressed,  and  laid  in  it,  and  affectionately'  tucked  up,  by  her 
aunt,  who  marvelled  at  the  fineness  of  her  clothes,  as  she  re- 
moved them  piece  by  piece  ;  and  when  she  saw  that  in  Mrs. 
Catherine's  pocket  there  was  onl}^  the  sum  of  three-and-four- 
pence,  said,  archly,  "  There  was  no  need  of  money,  for  the  Cap- 
tain took  care  of  that." 

Mrs.  Cat  did  not  undeceive  her ;  and  deceived  Mrs.  Score 
certainly  was, — for  she  imagined  the  well-dressed  gentleman 
who  led  Cat  from  the  carriage  was  no  other  than  the  Count ; 
and,  as  she  had  heard,  from  time  to  time,  exaggerated  reports 
of  the  splendor  of  the  establishment  which  he  kept  up,  she  was 
induced  to  look  upon  her  niece  with  the  very  highest  respect, 
and  to  treat  her  as  if  she  were  a  fine  lad}^  "  And  so  she  is 
a  fine  lady,"  Mrs.  Score  had  said  months  ago,  when  some  of 
these  flattering  stories  reached  her,  and  she  had  overcome  her 
first  fury  at  Catherine's  elopement.  '*  The  girl  was  very  cruel 
to  leave  me  ;  but  we  must  recollect  that  she  is  as  good  as  mar- 
ried to  a  nobleman,  and  must  all  forget  and  forgive,  you 
know." 

This  speech  had  been  made  to  Dr.  Dobbs,  who  was  in  the 
habit  of  taking  a  pipe  and  a  tankard  at  the  "  Bugle,"  and  it  had 
been  roundly  reprobated  by  the  worth}^  divine  :  who  told  Mrs. 
Score  that  the  crime  of  Catherine  was  onl}'  the  more  heinous,  if 
it  had  been  committed  from  interested  motives  ;  and  protested 
that,  were  she  a  princess,  he  would  never  speak  to  her  again. 
Mrs.  Score  thought  and  pronounced  the  Doctor's  opinion  to  be 
very  bigoted  ;  indeed,  she  was  one  of  those  persons  who  have 
a  marvellous  respect  for  prosperit}',  and  a  corresponding  scorn 
for  ill-fortune.  When,  therefore,  she  returned  to  the  public 
room,  she  went  graciously  to  the  gentleman  who  had  led  Mrs. 
Catherine  from  the  carriage,  and  with  a  knowing  curtsy  wel- 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  307 

corned  him  to  the  ' '  Bugle  ;  "  told  him  that  his  lady  would  not 
come  to  dinner,  but  bade  her  say,  with  her  best  love  to  his 
lordship,  that  the  ride  had  fatigued  her,  and  that  she  would  lie 
in  bed  for  an  hour  or  two. 

This  speech  was  received  with  much  wonder  b}'  his  lordship  ; 
who  was,  indeed,  no  other  than  a  Liverpool  tailor  going  to 
London  to  learn  fashions ;  but  he  only  smiled,  and  did  not  un- 
deceive the  landlady,  who  herself  went  off,  smilingly-,  to  bustle 
about  dinner. 

The  two  or  three  hours  allotted  to  that  meal  b}'  the  liberal 
coachmasters  of  those  daj'S  passed  away,  and  Mr.  Coachman, 
declaring  that  his  horses  were  now  rested  enough,  and  that  the}-^ 
had  twelve  miles  to  ride,  put  the  steeds  to,  and  summoned  the 
passengers.  Mrs.  Score,  who  had  seen  with  much  satisfaction 
that  her  niece  was  reall}'  ill,  and  her  fever  more  violent,  and 
hoped  to  have  her  for  many  da3's  an  inmate  in  her  house,  now 
came  forwai'd,  and  casting  upon  the  Liverpool  tailor  a  look  of 
profound  but  respectful  melauchol}^  said,  "  M3'  lord  (for  I 
recollect  your  lordship  quite  well) ,  the  lady  up  stairs  is  so  ill, 
that  it  would  be  a  sin  to  move  her :  had  I  not  better  tell  coach- 
man to  take  clown  your  lordship's  trunks,  and  the  lady's,  and 
make  you  a  bed  in  the  next  room  ?  " 

Ver}^  much  to  her  surprise,  this  proposition  was  received 
with  a  roar  of  laughter.  "  Madam,"  said  the  person  addressed, 
"  I'm  not  a  lord,  but  a  tailor  and  draper  ;  and  as  for  that  young 
woman,  before  to-da}'  I  never  set  eyes  on  her." 

'■'■W/iat!"  screamed  out  Mrs.  Score.     "Are  not  you  the 

Count?     Do  you  mean  to  say  that  ^'ou  a' n't  Cat's ?     Bo 

you  mean  to  say  that  you  didn't  order  her  bed,  and  that  3-ou 
won't  pay  this  here  little  bill?"  And  with  this  she  produced 
a  document,  by  which  the  Count's  lad}'  was  made  her  debtor  in 
a  sum  of  half  a  guinea. 

These  passionate  words  excited  more  and  more  laughter. 
"  Pay  it,  my  lord,"  said  the  coachman  ;  "  and  then  come  along, 
for  time  presses."  "  Our  respects  to  her  ladyship,"  said  one 
passenger.  "  Tell  her  my  lord  can't  wait,"  said  another  ;  and 
with  much  merriment  one  and  all  quitted  the  hotel,  entered  the 
coach,  and  rattled  off. 

Dumb  —  pale  with  terror  and  rage  —  bill  in  hand,  Mrs.  Score 
had  followed  the  company  ;  but  when  the  coach  disappeared 
her  senses  returned.  Back  she  flew  into  the  inn,  overturning 
the  ostler,  not  deigning  to  answer  Dr.  Dobbs  (who,  from  behind 
soft  tobacco-fumes,  mildly  asked  the  reason  of  her  disturbance) , 


308  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

and,  bounding  up  stairs  like  a  fury,  she  rushed  into  the  room 
where  Catherine  la3\ 

"  Well,  madam!"  said  she,  in  her  highest  key,  "  do  you 
mean  that  you  have  come  into  this  here  house  to  swindle  me? 
Do  you  dare  for  to  come  with  your  airs  here,  and  call  yourself 
a  nobleman's  lady,  and  sleep  in  the  best  bed,  when  you're  no 
better  nor  a  common  tramper?  I'll  thank  you,  ma'am,  to  get 
out,  ma'am.  I'll  have  no  sick  paupers  in  this  house,  ma'am. 
You  know  your  way  to  the  workhouse,  ma'am,  and  there  I'll 
trouble  you  for  to  go."  And  here  Mrs.  Score  proceeded  quickly 
to  pull  off  the  bedclothes ;  and  poor  Cat  arose,  shivering  witli 
fright  and  fever. 

She  had  no  spirit  to  answer,  as  she  would  have  done  the  day 
before,  when  an  oath  from  any  human  being  would  have  brought 
half  a  dozen  from  her  in  return  ;  or  a  knife,  or  a  plate,  or  a  leg 
of  mutton,  if  such  had  been  to  her  hand.  She  had  no  spirit 
left  for  such  repartees  ;  but  in  reply  to  the  above  words  of  Mrs. 
Score,  and  a  great  many  more  of  the  same  kind  —  which  are 
not  necessary  for  our  history,  but  which  that  lady  uttered  with 
inconceivable  shrillness  and  volubility,  the  poor  wench  could 
say  little,  —only  sob  and  shiver,  and  gather  up  the  clothes 
again,  crying,  "Oh,  aunt,  don't  speak  unkind  to  me!  I'm 
very  unhappy,  and  very  ill !  " 

"  111,  you  strumpet !  ill,  be  hanged  !  Ill  is  as  ill  does  ;  and 
if  you  are  ill,  it's  only  what  you  merit.  Get  out !  dress  yourself 
—  tramp  !  Get  to  the  workhouse,  and  don't  come  to  cheat  me 
any  more!  Dress  yourself  — do  you  hear?  Satin  petticoat 
forsooth,  and  lace  to  her  smock  !  " 

Poor,  wretched,  chattering,  burning,  shivering,  Catherine 
huddled  on  her  clothes  as  well  as  she  might :  she  seemed 
hardly  to  know  or  see  what  she  was  doing,  and  did  not  reply 
a  single  word  to  the  many  that  the  landlady  let  fall.  Cat  tot- 
tered down  the  narrow  stairs,  and  through  the  kitchen,  and  to 
the  door ;  which  she  caught  hold  of,  and  paused  awhile,  and 
looked  into  Mrs.  Score's  face,  as  for  one  more  chance.  "  Get 
out,  you  nasty  trull !  "  said  that  lady,  sternly,  with  arms  akimbo  ; 
and  poor  Catherine,  with  a  most  piteous  scream  and  outgush 
of  tears,  let  go  of  the  door-post  and  staggered  away  into  the 
road. 

•  •••... 

"Why,  no  —  yes  —  no  —  it  is  poor  Catherine  Hall,  as  I 
live !  "  said  somebody  starting  up,  shoving  aside  Mrs.  Score 
very  rudely,  and  running  into  the  road,  wig  off  and  pipe  in 
hand.     It  was  honest  Dr.  Dobbs ;  and  the  result  of  his  inter- 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  309 

view  with  Mrs.  Cat  was,  tliat  he  gave  up  for  ever  smoking  his 
pipe  at  the  ' '  Bugle  ; "  and  that  she  lay  sick  of  a  fever  for  some 
weeks  iu  his  house. 

•  •••••  •• 

Over  this  part  of  Mrs.  Cat's  history  we  shall  be  as  brief  as 
possible  ;  for,  to  tell  the  truth,  nothing  immoral  occurred  dur- 
ing her  whole  sta}'  at  the  good  Doctor's  house  ;  and  we  are  not 
going  to  insult  the  reader  by  offering  him  silly  pictures  of  piety, 
cheerfulness,  good  sense,  and  simplicit}^ ;  which  are  milk-and- 
water  virtues  after  all,  and  have  no  relish  with  them  like  a  good 
strong  vice,  highly  peppered.  Well,  to  be  short:  Dr.  Dobbs, 
though  a  profound  theologian,  was  a  very  simple  gentleman  ; 
and  before  Mrs.  Cat  had  been  a  month  in  the  house,  he  had 
learned  to  look  upon  her  as  one  of  the  most  injured  and  repent- 
ant characters  in  the  world  ;  and  had,  with  Mrs.  Dobbs,  resolved 
man3-  plans  for  the  future  welfare  of  the  young  Magdalen.  ' '  She 
was  but  sixteen,  my  love,  recollect,"  said  the  Doctor  ;  "  she  was 
carried  off,  not  by  her  own  wish  either.  The  Count  swore  he 
would  marry  her ;  and,  though  she  did  not  leave  him  until  that 
monster  tried  to  poison  her,  3'et  think  what  a  fine  Christian 
spirit  the  poor  girl  has  shown  !  she  forgives  him  as  heartily  — 
more  heartil}',  1  am  sure,  than  I  do  Mrs.  Score  for  turning  her 
adrift  in  that  wicked  way."  The  reader  will  perceive  some  differ- 
ence iu  the  Doctor's  statement  and  ours,  which  we  assure  him  is 
the  true  one  ;  but  the  fact  is,  the  honest  rector  had  had  his  tale 
from  Mrs.  Cat,  and  it  was  not  in  his  nature  to  doubt,  if  she  had 
told  him  a  history  ten  times  more  wonderful. 

The  reverend  gentleman  and  his  wife  then  laid  their  heads 
together ;  and,  recollecting  something  of  John  Hayes's  former 
attachment  to  Mrs.  Cat,  thought  that  it  might  be  advantageous!}- 
renewed,  should  Ha^es  be  still  constant.  Having  ver}^  adroitly' 
sounded  Catherine  (so  adroitl}',  indeed,  as  to  ask  her  "whether 
she  would  like  to  marry  John  Ha3es ? ") ,  that  young  woman 
had  replied,  "  No.  She  had  loved  John  Hayes  —  he  had  been 
her  earl}',  onl}'  love  ;  but  she  was  fallen  now,  and  not  good 
enough  for  him."  And  this  made  the  Dobbs  family  admire  her 
more  and  more,  and  cast  about  for  means  to  bring  the  marriage 
to  pass. 

Hayes  was  away  from  the  village  when  Mrs.  Cat  had  arrived 
there  ;  but  he  did  not  fail  to  hear  of  her  illness,  and  how  her 
aunt  had  deserted  her,  and  the  good  Doctor  taken  her  in.  The 
worthy  Doctor  himself  met  Mr.  Hayes  on  the  green  ;  and,  tell- 
ing him  that  some  repairs  were  wanting  in  his  kitchen,  begged 
him  to  step  in  and  examine  them.     Ha}es  first  said  no,  plump, 


o 


10  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 


and  then  no,  gently ;  and  then  pished,  and  then  psha'd ;  and 
then,  trembling  very  much,  went  in  :  and  there  sat  JVIi-s.  Cath- 
erine, trembling  ver^'  nmch  too. 

What  passed  between  them?  If  your  ladyship  is  anxious 
to  know,  think  of  that  morning  when  Sir  John  himself  popped 
the  question.  Could  there  be  anything  more  stupid  than  the 
conversation  which  took  place?  Such  stuff  is  not  worth  repeat- 
ing :  no,  not  when  uttered  by  people  in  the  very  genteelest  of 
company  ;  as  for  the  amorous  dialogue  of  a  carpenter  and  an 
ex-barmaid,  it  is  worse  still.  Suffice  it  to  sa}^  that  Mr.  Hayes, 
who  had  had  a  year  to  recover  from  his  passion,  and  had,  to 
all  appearances,  quelled  it,  was  over  head  and  ears  again  the 
very  moment  he  saw  Mrs.  Cat,  and  had  all  his  work  to  do 
again. 

Whether  the  Doctor  knew  what  was  going  on,  I  can't  say  ; 
but  this  matter  is  certain,  that  every  evening  Ha^'es  was  now  in 
the  rectory  kitchen,  or  else  walking  abroad  with  Mrs.  Catherine  : 
and  whether  she  ran  awaj-  with  him,  or  he  with  her,  I  shall  not 
make  it  m}-  business  to  inquire  ;  but  certainly  at  the  end  of  three 
months  (which  must  be  crowded  up  into  this  one  little  sentence), 
another  elopement  took  place  in  the  village.  "I  should  have 
prevented  it,  certainl}^"  said  Dr.  Dobbs — whereat  his  wife 
smiled  ;  "  but  the  young  people  kept  the  matter  a  secret  from 
me."  And  so  he  would,  had  he  known  it ;  but  though  Mrs. 
Dobbs  had  made  several  attempts  to  acquaint  him  with  tii-e  pre- 
cise hour  and  method  of  the  intended  elopement  he  peremptorily 
ordered  her  to  hold  her  tongue.  The  fact  is,  that  the  matter 
had  been  discussed  b}^  the  rector's  lad}"  many  times.  "  Young 
Hayes,"  would  she  say,  '"  has  a  pretty  little  fortune  and  trade 
of  his  own  ;  he  is  an  only  son,  and  ma}-  marry  as  he  likes  ;  and 
though  not  specially  handsome,  generous,  or  amiable,  has  an 
undeniable  love  for  Cat  (who,  3-ou  know,  must  not  be  particu- 
lar), and  the  sooner  she  marries  him,  I  think,  the  better.  They 
can't  be  married  at  our  church,  you  know,  and  —  "  "•Well," 
said  the  Doctor,  "  if  they  are  married  elsewhere,  /can't  help  it, 
and  know  nothing  about  it,  look  you."  And  upon  this  hint  the 
elopement  took  place  :  which,  indeed,  was  peaceably  peiformed 
earh'  one  Sunda}'  morning  about  a  month  after ;  Mrs.  Hall 
getting  behind  Mr.  Hayes  on  a  pillion,  and  all  the  children  of 
the  parsonage  giggling  behind  the  window-blinds  to  see  the 
pair  go  oif. 

During  this  month  Mr.  Haj-es  had  caused  the  banns  to  be 
published  at  the  town  of  Worcester  ;  judging  rightly  that  in  a 
great  town  they  would  cause  no  such  remark  as  in  a  solitary 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  311 

village,  and  thither  he  conducted  his  lady.  O  ill-starred  John 
Hayes  !  whither  do  the  dark  fates  lead  you  ?  O  foolish  Dr. 
Dobbs,  to  forget  that  3'oung  people  ought  to  honor  their  parents, 
and  to  yield  to  silly  Mrs.  Dobbs's  ardent  propensity  for  making 
matches ! 

•  •  •  •"•  •  •  • 

The  London  Gazette  of  the  1st  April,  170G,  contains  a  procla- 
mation b}'  the  Queen  for  putting  into  execution  an  Act  of  Par- 
liament for  the  encouragement  and  increase  of  seamen,  and 
for  the  better  and  speedier  manning  of  her  Majesty's  fleet, 
which  authorizes  all  justices  to  issue  warrants  to  constables, 
pett}^  constables,  head-boroughs,  and  tithing-men,  to  enter, 
and  if  need  be,  to  break  open  the  doors  of  any  houses  where 
they  shall  believe  deserting  seamen  to  be  ;  and  for  the  further 
increase  and  encouragement  of  the  navy,  to  take  able-bodied 
landsmen  when  seamen  fail.  This  act,  which  occupies  four 
columns  of  the  Gazette^  and  another  of  similar  length  and  mean- 
ing for  pressing  men  into  the  army,  need  not  be  quoted  at  length 
here  ;  but  caused  a  mighty  stir  thi-oughout  the  kingdom  at  the 
time  when  it  was  in  force. 

As  one  has  seen  or  heard,  after  the  march  of  a  great  army, 
a  number  of  rogues  and  loose  characters  bring  up  the  rear ;  in 
like  manner,  at  the  tail  of  a  great  measure  of  State,  follow 
many  roguish  personal  interests,  which  are  protected  by  the 
main  body.  The  great  measure  of  Reform,  for  instance,  car- 
ried along  with  it  much  private  jobbing  and  swindling  —  as 
could  be  shown  were  we  not  inclined  to  deal  mildly  with  the 
Whigs  ;  and  this  Enlistment  Act,  which,  in  order  to  maintain 
the  British  glories  in  Flanders,  dealt  most  cruelly  with  the 
British  people  in  England  (it  is  not  the  first  time  that  a  man 
has  been  pinched  at  home  to  make  a  fine  appearance  abroad), 
created  a  great  company  of  rascals  and  informers  throughout 
the  land,  who  lived  upon  it ;  or  upon  extortion  from  those  who 
were  subject  to  it^  or  not  being  subject  to  it  were  frightened 
into  the  belief  that  they  were. 

When  Mr.  Hayes  and  his  lady  had  gone  through  the  mar- 
riage ceremony  at  Worcester,  the  former,  concluding  that  at 
such  a  place  lodging  and  food  might  be  procured  at  a  cheaper 
rate,  looked  about  carefully  for  the  meanest  public-house  in  the 
town,  where  he  might  deposit  his  bride. 

In  the  kitchen  of  this  inn,  a  party  of  men  were  drinking ; 
and,  as  Mrs.  Hayes  declined,  with  a  proper  sense  of  her  supe- 
riority, to  eat  in  company  with  such  low  fellows,  the  landlady 


312  CATHERINE:    A  STORY. 

showed  her  and  her  husband  to  an  inner  apartment,  where  they 
might  be  served  in  private. 

The  kitchen  party  seemed,  indeed,  not  such  as  a  lady  would 
choose  to  join.  There  was  one  huge  lanky  fellow,  that  looked 
like  a  soldier,  and  had  a  halberd ;  another  was  habited  in  a 
sailor's  costume,  with  a  fascinating  patch  over  one  eye  ;  and 
a  third,  who  seemed  the  leader  of  the  gang,  was  a  stout  man  in 
a  sailor's  frock  and  a  horseman's  jack-boots,  whom  one  might 
fancy,  if  he  were  anj'thing,  to  be  a  horse-marine. 

Of  one  of  these  worthies,  Mrs.  Haj^es  thought  she  knew  the 
figure  and  voice  ;  and  she  found  her  conjectures  were  true, 
when,  all  of  a  sudden,  three  people,  without  "  with  3'our  leave  " 
or  "  by  your  leave,"  burst  into  the  room,  into  which  she  and 
her  spouse  had  retired.  At  their  head  was  no  other  than  her 
old  friend,  Mr.  Peter  Brock  ;  he  had  his  sword  drawn,  and  his 
finger  to  his  lips,  enjoining  silence,  as  it  were,  to  Mrs.  Cathe- 
rine. He  with  the  patch  on  his  e^'e  seized  incontinently  on 
Mr.  Hayes  ;  the  tall  man  with  the  halberd  kept  the  door  ;  two 
or  three  heroes  supported  the  one-e3'ed  man  ;  who,  with  a  loud 
voice,  exclaimed,  "Down  with  your  arms  —  no  resistance! 
you  are  my  prisoner,  in  the  Queen's  name  !  " 

And  here,  at  this  lock,  we  shall  leave  the  whole  company 
until  the  next  chapter ;  which  may  possibly  explain  what  they 
were. 


CHAPTER  V. 

CONTAINS  MR.  BROCK's  AUTOBIOGRAPHY,  AND  OTHER  MATTER. 

"  You  don't  sure  believe  these  men?"  said  Mrs.  Hayes,  as 
soon  as  the  first  alarm  caused  by  the  irruption  of  Mr.  Brock 
and  his  companions  had  subsided.  "  These  are  no  magistrate's 
men :  it  is  but  a  trick  to  rob  you  of  your  money,  John." 

"  I  will  never  give  up  a  farthing  of  it !  "  screamed  Hayes. 

"Yonder  fellow,"  continued  Mrs.  Catherine,  "  I  know,  for 
all  his  drawn  sword  and  fierce  looks  ;  his  name  is  —  " 

"  Wood,  madam,  at  your  service  !  "  said  Mr.  Brock.  "  I  am 
follower  to  Mr.  Justice  Gobble,  of  this  town  :  a'n't  I,  Tim  ?  "  said 
Mr.  Brock  to  the  tall  halberd-man  who  was  keeping  the  door. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  Tim,  archly;  "we're  all  followers  of 
his  honor,  Justice  Gobble." 


CATHERIXE:    A   STORY.  313 

"  Certainly !  "  said  tlie  one-ej-ed  man. 

"  Of  course  !  "  cried  the  man  in  the  nightcap. 

"  I  suppose,  madam,  you're  satisfied  wow?"  continued  Mr. 
Brock  a.  Wood.  '■'  You  can't  deny  the  testimon}- of  gentlemen 
like  these  ;  and  our  commission  is  to  apprehend  all  able-bodied 
male  persons  who  can  give  no  good  account  of  themsehes,  and 
enroll  them  in  the  service  of  her  Majest}-.  Look  at  this  Mr. 
Hayes"  (who  stood  trembling  in  his  shoes).  '•  Can  there  be 
a  bolder,  properer,  straighter  gentleman  ?  We'll  have  him  for 
a  grenadier  before  the  day's  over  !  " 

^'Take  heart,  John  — don't  be  frightened.  Psha !  I  tell 
you  I  know  the  man,"  cried  out  Mrs.  Hayes  :  "  he  is  only  here 
to  extort  mone3\" 

"  Oh,  for  that  matter,  I  do  think  I  recollect  the  lady.  Let 
me  see?  where  was  it?  At  Birmingham,  I  think, — ay,  at 
Birmingham,  —  about  the  time  when  they  tried  to  murder 
Count  Gal —  " 

"Oh,  sir!  "  here  cried  Madam  Hayes,  dropping  her  voice 
at  once  from  a  tone  of  scorn  to  one  of  gentlest  entreaty,  "  what 
is  it  you  want  with  my  husband?  I  know  not,  indeed,  if  ever 
I  saw  you  before.  For  what  do  you  seize  him?  How  much 
will  you  take  to  release  him,  and  let  us  go?  Name  the  sum  ; 
he  is  rich,  and  —  " 

'•'•Rich.,  Catherine!"  cried  Hayes.  "Rich!  —  O  heavens  I 
Sir,  I  have  nothing  but  my  hands  to  support  me  :  I  am  a  poor 
carpenter,  sir,  working  under  m^'  father  !  " 

"  He  can  give  tweut}'  guineas  to  be  free  ;  I  know  he  can  ! " 
said  Mrs.  Cat. 

"  I  have  but  a  guinea  to  cany  me  home,"  sighed  out  Ha3'es. 

"  But  3'ou  have  twenty  at  home,  John,"  said  his  wife. 
"  Give  these  brave  gentlemen  a  writing  to  3'our  mother,  and 
she  will  pay  ;  and  3'ou  wUl  let  us  free  then,  gentlemen  —  won't 
you?" 

"  When  the  money's  paid,  yes,"  said  the  leader,  Mr.  Brock. 

"  Oh,  in  course,"  echoed  the  tall  man  with  the  halberd. 
"What's  a  thrifling  dethition,  ni}'  dear?"  continued  he,  ad- 
dressing Ha^-es.  "We'll  amuse  j'ou  in  your  absence,  and 
drink  to  the  health  of  your  prett}'  wife  here." 

This  promise,  to  do  the  halberdier  justice,  he  fulfilled.  He 
called  upon  the  landlady  to  produce  the  desired  liquor ;  and 
when  Mr.  Hayes  flung  himself  at  that  lady's  feet,  demanding 
succor  from  her,  and  asking  whether  there  was  no  law  in  the 
land  — 

"There's  no  law  at  the  '  Three  Rooks'  except  this!"  said 


314  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

Mr.  Brock  in  reply,  holding  up  a  horse-pistol.  To  which  the 
hostess,  grinning,  assented,  and  silently  went  her  way. 

After  some  further  solicitations,  John  Haj-es  drew  out  the 
necessary  letter  to  his  father,  stating  that  he  was  pressed,  and 
would  not  be  set  free  under  a  sum  of  twenty  guineas  ;  and  that 
it  would  be  of  no  use  to  detain  the  bearer  of  the  letter,  inasmuch 
as  the  gentlemen  who  had  possession  of  him  vowed  that  they 
would  murder  him  should  any  harm  befall  their  comrade.  As 
a  further  proof  of  the  authenticity  of  the  letter,  a  token  was 
added :  a  ring  that  Hayes  wore,  and  that  his  mother  had 
given  him. 

The  missives  were,  after  some  consultation,  entrusted  to  the 
care  of  the  tall  halberdier,  who  seemed  to  rank  as  second  in 
command  of  the  forces  that  marched  under  Corporal  Brock. 
This  gentleman  was  called  indifferentlj'  Ensign,  Mr.,  or  even 
Captain  Macshane  ;  his  intimates  occasionally  in  sport  called 
him  Nosey,  from  the  prominence  of  that  feature  in  his  counte- 
nance ;  or  Spindleshins,  for  the  very  reason  which  brought  on 
the  first  Edward  a  similar  nickname,  Mr.  Macshane  then 
quitted  Worcester,  mounted  on  Hayes's  horse ;  leaving  all 
parties  at  the  "Three  Rooks"  not  a  little  anxious  for  his 
return. 

This  was  not  to  be  expected  until  the  next  morning  ;  and  a 
Vfeaxy  nuit  de  noces  did  Mr.  Hayes  pass.  Dinner  was  served, 
and,  according  to  promise,  Mr.  Brock  and  his  two  friends  enjo3'ed 
the  meal  along  with  the  bride  and  bridegroom.  Punch  followed, 
and  this  was  taken  in  compan^^ ;  then  came  supper.  Mr.  Brock 
alone  partook  of  this,  the  other  two  gentlemen  preferring  the 
society  of  their  pipes  and  the  landlady  in  the  kitchen. 

"  It  is  a  sorry  entertainment  I  confess,"  said  the  ex-corporal, 
"  and  a  dismal  way  for  a  gentleman  to  spend  his  bridal  night ; 
but  somebody  must  stay  with  .you,  my  dears  :  for  who  knows 
but  3'ou  might  take  a  fancy  to  scream  out  of  window,  and  then 
there  would  be  murder,  and  the  deuce  and  all  to  pa}^  ?  One  of 
us  must  stay,  and  my  friends  love  a  pipe,  so  3"0u  must  put  up 
with  my  company  until  he  can  relieve  guard." 

The  reader  will  not,  of  course,  expect  that  three  people  who 
were  to  pass  the  night,  however  unwillingly,  together  in  an  inn- 
room,  should  sit  there  dumb  and  mood}',  and  without  an}^  per- 
sonal communication  ;  on  the  contrary,  Mr.  Brock,  as  an  old 
soldier,  entertained  his  prisoners  with  the  utmost  courtesy',  and 
did  all  that  la^-  in  his  power,  by  the  help  of  liquor  arid  conversa- 
tion, to  render  their  durance  tolerable.  On  the  bridegroom  his 
attentions  were  a  good  deal  thrown  away  :  Mr.  Hayes  consented 


The  Interrupted  Marriage. 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  315 

to  drink  copiously,  but  could  not  be  made  to  talk  much  ;  and, 
in  fact,  the  fright  of  the  seizure,  the  fate  hanging  over  him  should 
his  parents  refuse  a  ransom,  and  the  tremendous  outlay  of  money 
which  would  take  place  should  they  accede  to  it,  weighed  alto- 
gether on  his  mind  so  much  as  utterly  to  unman  it. 

As  for  Mrs.  Cat,  I  don't  think  she  was  at  all  sorry  in  her 
heart  to  see  the  old  Corporal :  for  he  had  been  a  friend  of  old 
times  —  dear  times  to  her  ;  she  had  had  from  him,  too,  and  felt 
for  him  not  a  little  kindness  :  and  there  was  really  a  very  tender, 
innocent  friendship  subsisting  between  this  pair  of  rascals,  who 
relished  much  a  night's  conversation  together. 

The  Corporal,  after  treating  his  prisoners  to  punch  in  great 
quantities,  proposed  the  amusement  of  cards  :  over  which  Mr. 
Ha3es  had  not  been  occupied  more  than  an  hour,  when  he  found 
himself  so  excessively  sleepy  as  to  be  persuaded  to  fling  himself 
down  on  the  bed,  dressed  as  he  was,  and  there  to  snore  away 
until  morning. 

Mrs.  Catherine  had  no  inclination  for  sleep  :  and  the  Corpo- 
ral, equally  wakeful,  plied  incessantly  the  bottle,  and  held  with 
her  a  great  deal  of  conversation.  The  sleep,  which  was  equiva- 
lent to  the  absence  of  John  Hayes,  took  all  restraint  from  their 
talk.  She  explained  to  Brock  the  circumstances  of  her  mar- 
riage, which  we  have  already  described  ;  they  wondered  at  the 
chance  which  had  brought  them  together  at  the  "  Three  Rooks  : " 
nor  did  Brock  at  all  hesitate  to  tell  her  at  once  that  his  calling- 
was  quite  illegal,  and  that  his  intention  was  simply  to  extort 
money.  The  worthy  Corporal  had  not  the  slightest  shame  re- 
garding his  own  profession,  and  cut  manj' jokes  with  Mrs.  Cat 
about  her  late  one  :  her  attempt  to  murder  the  Count,  and  her 
future  prospects  as  a  wife. 

And  here,  having  brought  him  upon  the  scene  again,  we 
ma}'  as  well  shortly  narrate  some  of  the  principal  circumstances 
which  befell  him  after  his  sudden  departure  from  l^irmingham  ; 
and  which  he  narrated  with  much  candor  to  Mrs.  Catherine. 

He  rode  the  Captain's  horse  to  Oxford  (having  exchanged 
his  miUtary  dress  for  a  civil  costume  on  the  road),  and  at  Ox- 
ford he  disposed  of  "George  of  Denmark,"  a  great  bargain, 
to  one  of  the  heads  of  colleges.  As  soon  as  Mr.  Brock,  who 
took  on  himself  the  style  and  title  of  Captain  Wood,  had  suffi- 
ciently examined  the  curiosities  of  the  University,  he  proceeded 
at  once  to  the  capital :  the  only  place  for  a  gentleman  of  his 
fortune  and  figure. 

Here  he  read,  with  a  great  deal  of  philosophical  indifference, 
in  the  Daily  Post,  the  Courant,  the  Observator,  the  Gazette,  and 


316  CATHERINE:    A    STORY. 

the  chief  journals  of  those  days,  which  he  made  a  point  of  ex- 
amining at  "Button's"  and  "Will's,"  an  accurate  description 
of  his  person,  his  clothes,  and  the  horse  he  rode,  and  a  prom- 
ise of  flftj  guineas'  reward  to  any  person  who  would  give  an 
account  of  him  (so  that  he  might  be  captured)  to  Captain  Count 
Galgenstein  at  Birmingham,  to  Mr.  Murfey  at  the  "  Golden 
Ball"  in  the  Savoy,  or  Mr.  Bates  at  the  "Blew  Anchor  in 
Pickadilly."  But  Captain  Wood  in  an  enormous  full-bottomed 
periwig  that  cost  him  sixty  pounds,*  with  high  red  heels  to  his 
shoes,  a  silver  sword,  and  a  gold  snuff-box,  and  a  large  wound 
(obtained,  he  said,  at  the  siege  of  Barcelona),  which  disfigured 
much  of  his  countenance,  and  caused  him  to  cover  one  e^'e, 
was  in  small  danger,  he  thought,  of  being  mistaken  for  Corpo- 
ral Brock,  the  deserter  of  Cutts's  ;  and  strutted  along  the  Mall 
with  as  grave  an  air  as  the  very  best  nobleman  who  appeared 
there.  He  was  generally,  indeed,  voted  to  be  very  good  com- 
pany ;  and  as  his  expenses  were  unlimited  ("A  few  convent 
candlesticks,  my  dear,"  he  used  to  whisper,  "melt  into  a  vast 
number  of  doubloons  "),  he  commanded  as  good  society  as  he 
chose  to  ask  for ;  and  it  was  speedily  known  as  a  fact  through- 
out town,  that  Captain  Wood,  who  had  served  under  his 
majesty  Charles  III.  of  Spain,  had  carried  off  the  diamond 
petticoat  of  our  Lady  of  Compostella,  and  lived  upon  the  pro- 
ceeds of  the  fraud.  People  were  good  Protestants  in  those 
days,  and  man}-  a  one  longed  to  have  been  his  partner  in  the 
pious  plunder. 

All  surmises  concerning  his  wealth.  Captain  Wood,  with 
much  discretion,  encouraged.  He  contradicted  no  report,  but 
was  quite  ready  to  confirm  all ;  and  when  two  different  rumors 
were  positively  put  to  him,  he  used  to  laugh,  and  say,  "My 
dear  sir,  /  don't  make  the  stories ;  but  Pm  not  called  upon  to 
deny  them  ;  and  I  give  you  fair  warning,  that  I  shall  assent  to 
every  one  of  them  ;  so  you  may  believe  them  or  not,  as  3-ou 
please."  And  so  he  had  the  reputation  of  being  a  gentleman, 
not  only  wealthy,  but  discreet.  In  truth,  it  was  almost  a  {Aty 
that  worthy  Brock  had  not  been  a  gentleman  born  ;  in  which 
case,  doubtless,  he  would  have  lived  and  died  as  became  his 
station  ;  for  he  spent  his  money  like  a  gentleman,  he  loved 
women  like  a  gentleman,  he  would  fight  like  a  gentleman,  he 
gambled  and  got  drunk  like  a  gentleman.  What  did  he  want 
else?  Only  a  matter  of  six  descents,  a  little  money,  and  an 
estate,  to  render  him  the  equal  of  St.  John  or  Harle3\     "Ah, 

*  In  the  ingenious  contemporary  history  of  Moll  Flanders,  a  periwig  is 
mentioned  as  costing  that  sum. 


Captain  Brock  appears  at  Court  with  my  Lord  Peterborough 


I 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  •  317 

those  were  raeny  daj's  !  "  would  Mr.  Brock  sa}',  — for  he  loved, 
in  a  good  old  age,  to  recount  the  story  of  his  London  fashion- 
able campaign;  —  "and  when  I  think  how  near  I  was  to 
become  a  great  man,  and  to  die  perhaps  a  general,  I  can't  but 
marvel  at  the  wicked  obstinac}^  of  my  ill-luck." 

"I  will  tell  you  what  I  did,  my  dear :  I  had  lodgings  in  Pic- 
cadilly, as  if  I  were  a  lord  ;  I  had  two  large-  periwigs,  and 
three  suits  of  laced  clothes  ;  I  kept  a  little  black  dressed  out 
like  a  Turk ;  I  walked  daily  in  the  Mall ;  I  dined  at  the  politest 
ordinary  in  Covent  Garden  ;  I  frequented  the  best  of  coffee- 
houses, and  knew  all  the  pretty  fellows  of  the  town  ;  I  cracked 
a  bottle  with  Mr.  Addison,  and  lent  many  a  piece  to  Dick  Steele 
(a  sad  debauched  rogue,  my  dear)  ;  and,  above  all,  I'll  tell 
you  what  I  did  —  the  noblest  stroke  that  sure  ever  a  gentleman 
performed  in  my  situation. 

"  One  day,  going  into  '  Will's,'  I  saw  a  crowd  of  gentlemen 
gathered  together,  and  heard  one  of  them  say,  '  Captain  Wood  ! 
I  don't  know  the  man  :  but  there  was  a  Captain  AVood  in 
Southwell's  regiment.'  Egad,  it  was  my  Lord  Peterborough 
himself  who  was  talking  about  me!  So,  putting  off  my  hat, 
I  made  a  most  gracious  conge  to  my  lord,  and  said  I  knew 
him^  and  rode  behind  him  at  Barcelona  on  our  entry  into  that 
town . 

"  '  No  doubt  you  did,  Captain  Wood,'  says  my  lord,  taking 
my  hand  ;  '  and  no  doubt  you  know  me  :  for  many  more  know 
Tom  Fool,  than  Tom  Fool  knows.'  And  with  this,  at  which 
all  of  us  laughed,  my  lord  called  for  a  bottle,  and  he  and  I  sat 
down  and  drank  it  together. 

"Well,  he  was  in  disgrace,  as  3'ou  know,  but  he  grew 
mighty  fond  of  me,  and  —  would  you  believe  it?  —  nothing 
would  satisfy  him  but  presenting  me  at  Court !  Yes,  to  her 
sacred  Majesty  the  Queen,  and  my  Lady  Marlborough,  who 
was  in  high  feather.  Ay,  truly,  the  sentinels  on  duty  used  to 
salute  me  as  if  I  were  Corporal  John  himself  I  I  was  in  the 
high  road  to  fortune.  Charley  Mordaunt  used  to  call  me  Jack, 
and  drink  canary  at  nry-  chambers  ;  I  used  to  make  one  at  m}' 
Lord  Treasurer's  levee  ;  I  had  even  got  Mr.  Army-Secretary 
Walpole  to  take  a  hundred  guineas  in  a  compliment ;  and  he 
had  promised  me  a  majority  :  when  bad  luck  turned,  and  all 
my  fine  hopes  were  overthrown  in  a  twinkling. 

"You  see,  my  dear,  that  after  we  had  left  that  gab}*,  Gal- 
genstein,  — ha,  ha,  —  with  a  gag  in  his  mouth,  and  twopence- 
halfpenny  in  his  pocket,  the  honest  Count  was  in  the  sorriest 
plight  in  the  world  ;  owing  money  here  and  there  to  tradesmen, 


318  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

a  cool  thousand  to  the  Warwickshire  Squire :  and  all  this  on 
eighty  pounds  a  year !  Well,  for  a  little  time  the  tradesmen 
held  their  hands  ;  while  the  jolly  Count  moved  heaven  and 
earth  to  catch  hold  of  his  dear  Corporal  and  his  dear  money- 
bags over  again,  and  placarded  every  town  from  London  to 
Liverpool  with  descriptions  of  m3'  pretty  person.  The  bird 
was  flown,  however, — the  money  clean  gone,  —  and  when 
there  was  no  hope  of  regaining  it,  what  did  the  creditors  do 
but  clap  my  gay  gentleman  into  Shrewsbury  gaol :  where  I 
wish  he  had  rotted,  for  my  part, 

"But  no  such  luck  for  honest  Peter  Brock,  or  Captain 
Wood,  as  he  was  in  those  days.  One  blessed  Monday  I  went 
to  wait  on  Mr.  Secretary,  and  he  squeezed  my  hand  and  whis- 
pered to  me  that  I  was  to  be  Major  of  a  regiment  in  Virginia  — 
the  very  tiling :  for  you  see,  my  dear,  I  didn't  care  about  join- 
ing my  Lord  Duke  in  Flanders  ;  being  pretty  well  known  to 
the  army  there.  The  Secretary  squeezed  ra}^  hand  (it  had  a 
fifty-pound  bill  in  it)  and  wished  me  joy,  and  called  me  Major, 
and  bowed  me  out  of  his  closet  into  the  ante-room  ;  and,  as 
gay  as  may  be,  I  went  off  to  the  '  Tilt-yard  Coffee-house '  in 
Whitehall,  which  is  much  frequented  by  gentlemen  of  our  pro- 
fession, where  I  bragged  not  a  little  of  my  good  luck. 

"  Amongst  the  company  were  several  of  my  acquaintance, 
and  amongst  them  a  gentleman  I  did  not  much  care  to  see, 
look  you !  I  saw  a  uniform  that  I  knew  —  red  and  3-ellow 
facings  —  Cutts's,  my  dear ;  and  the  wearer  of  this  was  no 
other  than  his  Excellency  Gustavus  Adolphus  Maximilian, 
whom  we  all  know  of! 

"He  stared  me  full  in  the  face,  right  into  my  63-6  (t'other 
one  was  patched,  you  know)  ;  and  after  standing  stock-still 
with  his  mouth  open,  gave  a  step  back,  and  then  a  step  for- 
ward, and  then  screeched  out,  '  It's  Brock  ! ' 

"  '  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,'  says  I ;  '  did  3'ou  speak  to  me?' 

"  '  I'll  swem^  it's  Brock,'  cries  Gal,  as  soon  as  he  hears  m3'^ 
voice,  and  laid  hold  of  my  cuff  (a  pretty  bit  of  mechlin  as  ever 
you  saw,  by  the  wa3-). 

"  '  Sirrah  ! '  sa3's  I,  drawing  it  back,  and  giving  my  lord  a 
little  touch  of  the  fist  (just  at  the  last  button  of  the  waistcoat, 
m3'-  dear,  —  a  rare  place  if  3'ou  wish  to  prevent  a  man  from 
speaking  too  much  :  it  sent  him  reehng  to  the  other  end  of  the 
room).  '  Ruffian  ! '  says  I.  '  Dog  ! '  says  I.  '  Insolent  puppy 
and  coxcomb  !  w^iat  do  3-ou  mean  1^3^  laying  3'our  hand  on  me  ? ' 

"  '  Faith,  Major,  you  giv  him  his  billyful^'  roared  out  a  long 
Irish  unattached  ensign,  that  I  had  treated  with  many  a  glass 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  319 

of  Nantz  at  the  tavern.  And  so,  indeed,  I  had  ;  for  the  wretch 
could  not  speak  for  some  minutes,  and  all  the  officers  stood 
laughing  at  him,  as  he  writhed  and  wriggled  hideousl}'. 

"  '  Gentlemen,  this  is  a  monstrous  scandal,'  sa^-s  one  officer. 
'  Men  of  rank  and  honor  at  fists  like  a  parcel  of  carters  ! ' 

"  '  Men  of  honor ! '  says  the  Count,  who  had  fetched  up  his 
breath  by  this  time.  (I  made  for  the  door,  but  Macshane  held 
me  and  said,  'Major,  you  are  not  going  to  shirk  him,  sure?' 
Whereupon  I  gripped  his  hand  and  vowed  ,1  would  have  the 
dog's  life.) 

"  '  Men  of  honor  ! '  saj's  the  Count.  '  I  tell  you  the  man  is 
a  deserter,  a  thief,  and  a  swindler !  He  was  my  corporal,  and 
ran  away  with  a  thou — ' 

"'Dog,  3'ou  lie!'  I  roared  out,  and  made  another  cut  at 
him  with  my  cane  ;  but  the  gentlemen  rushed  between  us. 

"'O  bluthanowns ! '  says  honest  Macshane,  'the  lying 
scounthrel  this  fellow  is  !  Gentlemen,  I  swear  be  me  honor 
that  Captain  Wood  was  wounded  at  Barcelona  ;  and  that  I  saw 
him  there  ;  and  that  he  and  I  ran  away  together  at  the  battle 
of  Almanza,  and  bad  luck  to  us.' 

"  You  see,  my  dear,  that  these  Irish  have  the  strongest  im- 
aginations in  the  world  ;  and  that  I  had  actually  persuaded 
poor  Mac  that  he  and  I  were  friends  in  Spain.  Everybody 
knew  Mac,  who  was  a  character  in  his  way,  and  believed  him. 

"'Strike  a  gentleman!'  says  I.  'I'll  have  your  blood, 
I  will.' 

"  '  This  instant,'  says  the  Count,  who  was  boiling  with  fury ; 
'  and  where  you  like.' 

"'Montague  House,'  sa3's  I.  'Good,'  says  he.  And  off 
we  went.  In  good  time  too,  for  the  constables  came  in  at  the 
thought  of  such  a  disturbance,  and  wanted  to  take  us  in  charge. 

"  But  the  gentlemen  present,  being  militar}'  men,  would  not 
hear  of  this.  Out  came  Mac's  rapier,  and  that  of  half  a  dozen 
others  ;  and  the  constables  were  then  told  to  do  their  dut}'  if 
they  liked,  or  to  take  a  crown-piece  and  leave  us  to  ourselves. 
Otf  they  went ;  and  presently,  in  a  couple  of  coaches,  the  Count 
and  his  friends,  I  and  mine,  drove  off  to  the  fields  behind  Mon- 
tague House.     Oh,  that  vile  coffee-house  !  wh}'  did  I  enter  it? 

"We  came  to  the  ground.  Honest  Macshane  was  m^' 
second,  and  much  disappointed  because  the  second  on  the 
other  side  would  not  make  a  fight  of  it,  and  exchange  a  few 
passes  with  him  ;  but  he  was  an  old  major,  a  cool  old  hand,  as 
brave  as  steel,  and  no  fool.  Well,  the  swords  are  measured, 
Galgeustein  strips  off  his  doublet,  and  I  my  handsome  cut- 


320  CATHERINE:    A  STORY. 

velvet  in  like  fashion.  Galgenstein  flings  off  his  hat,  and  I 
handed  mine  over  —  the  lace  on  it  cost  me  twenty  pounds. 
I  longed  to  be  at  hira,  for  —  curse  him!  —  I  hate  him,  and 
know  that  he  has  no  chance  with  me  at  sword's-play. 

"'You'll  not  fight  in  that  periwig,  sure?'  sa^-s  Macshane. 
'  Of  course  not,'  sa3-s  I,  and  took  it  otf. 

"May  all  barbers  be  roasted  in  flames;  may  all  periwigs, 
bobwigs,  scratch  wigs,  and  Ramillies  cocks,  frizzle  in  purgatory 
from  this  day  forth  to  the  end  of  time  !  Mine  was  the  ruin  of 
me  :  what  might  I  not  have  been  now  but  for  that  wig? 

^  I  gave  it  over  to  Ensign  Macshane,  and  with  it  went  what 
I  had  quite  forgotten,  the  large  patch  which  I  wore  over  one 
eye.,  which  popped  out  fierce,  staring,  and  lively  as  was  ever 
an}-  eye  in  the  world. 

"  '  Come  on  ! '  sa^'s  I,  and  made  a  lunge  at  my  Count ;  but 
he  sprang  back,  (the  dog  was  as  active  as  a  hare,  and  knew, 
from  old  times,  that  I  was  his  master  with  the  small-sword,)  and 
his  second,  wondering,  struck  up  my  blade. 

"  '  I  will  not  fight  that  man,'  saj's  he,  looking  mighty  pale. 
'  I  swear  upon  mj-  honor  that  his  name  is  Peter  Brock :  he  was 
for  two  years  my  corporal,  and  deserted,  running  away  with  a 
thousand  pounds  of  ni}'  mone3^s.  Look  at  the  fellow  !  what  is 
the  matter  with  his  eye?  why  did  he  wear  a  patch  over  it? 
But  stop ! '  says  he.  'I  have  more  proof.  Hand  me  my 
pocket-book.'  And  from  it,  sure  enough,  he  produced  the  infer- 
nal proclamation  announcing  my  desertion  !  '  See  if  the  fellow 
has  a  scar  across  his  left  ear '  (and  I  can't  say,  m}'  dear,  but  what 
I  have  :  it  was  done  by  a  cursed  Dutchman  at  the  Bo3'ne).  '  Tell 
me  if  he  has  not  got  C.  R.  in  blue  upon  his  right  arm  '  (and 
there  it  is  sure  enough).  'Yonder  swaggering  Irishman  may 
be  his  accomplice  for  what  I  know  ;  but  I  will  have  no  dealings 
with  Mr.  Brock,  save  with  a  constable  for  a  second.' 

"  '  This  is  an  odd  storj^.  Captain  Wood,'  said  the  old  Major, 
who  acted  for  the  Count. 

"  '  A  scounthrelly  falsehood  regarding  me  and  my  friend  ! ' 
shouted  out  Mr.  Macshane  ;  '  and  the  Count  shall  answer  for  it.' 

"  '  Stop,  stop,'  says  the  Major.  '  Captain  Wood  is  too  gal- 
lant a  gentleman,  I  am  sure,  not  to  satisfy  the  Count ;  and  will 
show  us  that  he  has  no  such  mark  on  his  arm  as  only  private 
soldiers  put  there.' 

"  'Captain  Wood,'  sa^-s  I,  'will  do  no  such  thing,  Major. 
I'll  fight  that  scoundrel  Galgenstein,  or  you,  or  any  of  you,  like 
a  man  of  honor ;  but  I  won't  submit  to  be  searched  like  a 
thief.'-' 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  321 

"  'No,  in  coorse,'  said  Macshane. 

"  '  I  must  take  my  man  off  the  ground,'  says  the  Major. 

"  '  Well,  take  him,  sir,'  says  I,  in  a  rage,  '  and  just  let  me 
have  the  pleasure  of  telling  him  that  he's  a  coward  and  a  liar ; 
and  that  my  lodgings  are  in  Piccadilly,  where,  if  ever  he  finds 
courage  to  meet  me,  he  may  hear  of  me  ! ' 

'^  '  Faugh  !  I  shpit  on  ye* all,'  cries  my  gallant  ally  Macshane. 
And  sure  enough  he  kept  his  word,  or  all  but  —  suiting  the 
action  to  it  at  any  rate. 

"  And  so  we  gathered  up  our  clothes,  and  went  back  in  our 
separate  coaches,  and  no  blood  spilt. 

"  '  And  is  it  thrue  now,'  said  Mr.  Macshane,  when  we  were 
alone —  '  is  it  thrue  now,  all  these  divvies  have  been  saying?  ' 

"  '  Ensign,'  says  I,  '  you're  a  man  of  the  world  ? ' 

"  'Deed  and  1  am,  and  Insign  these  twenty-two  years.' 

"  '  Perhaps  you'd  like  a  few  pieces?'  says  I. 

"  '  Faith  and  I  should  ;  for,  to  tell  you  the  secred  thrut,  I've 
not  tasted  mate  these  four  days.' 

"  '  Well  then,  Ensign,  it  is  true,'  says  I ;  '  and  as  for  meat, 
3'ou  shall  have  some  at  the  first  cook-shop.'  I  bade  the  coach 
stop  until  he  bought  a  plateful,  which  he  ate  in  the  carriage,  for 
my  time,  was  precious.  I  just  told  him  the  whole  story :  at 
which  he  laughed,  and  swore  that  it  was  the  best  piece  of  gen- 
eralship he  ever  heard  on.  When  his  belly  was  full,  I  took 
out  a  couple  of  guineas  and  gave  them  to  him.  Mr.  Macshane 
began  to  cry  at  this,  and  kissed  me,  and  swore  he  never  would 
desert  me  :  as,  indeed,  my  dear,  I  don't  think  he  will ;  for  we 
have  been  the  best  of  friends  ever  since,  and  he's  the  only  man 
I  ever  could  trust,  I  think. 

"  I  don't  know  what  put  it  into  my  head,  but  I  had  a  scent 
of  some  mischief  in  the  wind  ;  so  stopped  the  coach  a  little  be- 
fore I  got  home,  and,  turning  into  a  tavern,  begged  Macshane 
to  go  before  me  to  my  lodging,  and  see  if  the  coast  was  clear : 
wdiich  he  did  ;  and  came  back  to  me  as  pale  as  death,  saying 
that  the  house  was  full  of  constables.  The  cursed  quarrel  at 
the  Tilt-yard  had,  I  suppose,  set  the  beaks  upon  me;  and  a 
pretty  sweep  they  made  of  it.  Ah,  my  dear !  five  hundred 
pounds  in  money,  five  suits  of  laced  clothes,  three  periwigs, 
besides  laced  shirts,  swords,  canes,  and  snufll'-boxes  ;  and  all 
to  go  back  to  that  scoundrel  Count. 

"  It  was  all  over  with  me,  I  saw  —  no  more  being  a  gentle- 
man for  me  ;  and  if  I  remained  to  be  caught,  onl}-  a  choice 
between  Tyburn  and  a  file  of  grenadiers.  My  love,  under  such 
circumstances,  a  gentleman  can't  be  particular,  and  must  be 

46 


322  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

prompt :  the  liver3--stable  was  hard  by  where  I  used  to  hire  my 
coach  to  go  to  Court,  —  ha  !  ha  !  —  and  was  known  as  a  man 
of  substance.  Thither  I  went  immediately.  '  Mr.  Warmmash,' 
sa^'s  I,  '  my  gaUant  friend  here  and  I  have  a  mind  for  a  ride 
and  a  supper  at  Twickenham,  so  you  must  lend  us  a  pair  of 
your  best  horses.'  Which  he  did  in  a  twinkling,  and  off  we 
rode. 

"  "We  did  not  go  into  the  Park,  but  turned  off  and  cantered 
smartlj^  up  towards  Kilburn  ;  and,  when  we  got  into  the  country, 
galloped  as-if  the  devil  were  at  our  heels.  Bless  ^uju,  m}-  love, 
it  was  all  done  in  a  minute  :  and  the  Ensign  and  I  found  our- 
selves regular  knights  of  the  road,  before  we  knew  where  we 
were  almost.  Only  think  of  our  finding  you  and  your  new  hus- 
band at  the  '  Three  Rooks  ! '  There's  not  a  greater  fence  than 
the  landlady  in  all  the  country.  It  was  she  that  put  us  on 
seizing  your  husband,  and  introduced  us  to  the  other  two  gen- 
tlemen, whose  names  I  don't  know  any  more  than  the  dead." 

"And  what  became  of  the  horses?"  said  Mrs.  Catherine 
to  Mr.  Brock,   when  his  tale  was  finished. 

"Eips,  madam,"  said  he;  "mere  rips.  We  sold  them  at 
Stourbridge  fair,  and  got  but  thirteen  guineas  for  the  two." 

"And — and — the  Count,  Max;  where  is  he,  Brock?" 
sighed   she. 

"AVhew!  "  w-histled  Mr.  Brock.  "What,  hankering  after 
him  still?  My  dear,  he  is  off  to  Flanders  with  his  regiment; 
and  I  make  no  doubt,  there  have  been  twenty  Countesses 
of  Galgenstein  since  j'our  time." 

"  I  don't  believe  any  such  thing,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Catherine, 
starting  up  very  angi'il3\ 

"If  you  did,  I  suppose  j'ou'd  laudanum  him;  wouldn't 
you?" 

"Leave  the  room,  fellow,"  said  the  lady.  But  she  recol- 
lected herself  speedily  again ;  and,  clasping  her  hands  and 
looking  very  wretched  at  Brock,  at  the  ceiling,  at  the  floor,  at 
her  husband  (from  whom  she  violentl}'  turned  away  her  head), 
she  began  to  cr}^  piteously :  to  which  tears  the  Corporal  set  up 
a  gentle  accompaniment  of  whistling,  as  they  trickled  one  after 
another  down  her  nose. 

I  don't  think  they  were  tears  of  repentance  ;  but  of  regret 
for  the  time  when  she  had  her  first  love,  and  her  fine  clothes, 
and  her  white  hat  and  blue  feather.  Of  tlie  two,  the  Corporal's 
whistle  was  much  more  innocent  than  the  girl's  sobbing:  he 
was  a  rogue  ;  but  a  good-natured  old  fellow,  when  his  humor  was 


CATHERINE:    A  STORY.  323 

not  crossed.  Surely  our  novel-writers  make  a  great  mistake 
in  divesting  their  rascals  of  all  gentle  human  qualities  ;  they 
have  such  —  and  the  only  sad  point  to  think  of  is,  in  all 
private  concerns  of  life,  abstract  feelings,  and  dealings  with 
friends,  and  so  on,  how  dreadful!}'  like  a  rascal  is  to  an*  honest 
man.  The  man  who  murdered  the  Italian  boy,  set  him  first  to 
plaj^  with  his  children  whom  he  loved,  and  who  doubtless  de- 
plored his  loss. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   ADVENTURES    OF   THE   AMBASSADOR,    MR.    MACSHANE. 

If  we  had  not  been  obliged  to  follow  history  in  all  respects, 
it  is  probable  that  we  should  have  left  out  Ihe  last  adventure 
of  Mrs.  Catherine  and  her  husband,  at  the  inn  at  Worcester, 
altogether ;  for,  in  truth,  verj^  little  came  of  it,  and  it  is  not 
ver}^  romantic  or  striking.  But  we  are  bound  to  stick  closel}^ 
above  all,  b}-  the  truth  —  the  truth,  though  it  be  not  particu- 
larly' pleasant  to  read  of  or  to  tell.  As  an3'body  may  read  in 
the  "Newgate  Calendar,"  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hayes  were  taken 
at  an  inn  at  Worcester ;  were  confined  there  ;  were  swindled 
by  persons  who  pretended  to  impress  the  bridegroom  for  military 
service.  What  is  one  to  do  after  that?  Had  we  been  writino; 
novels  instead  of  authentic  histories,  we  might  have  carried 
them  anywhere  else  we  chose  :  and  we  had  a  great  mind  to 
make  Hayes  philosophizing  with  Bolingbroke,  like  a  certain 
Devereux  ;  and  Mrs.  Catherine  mcntresse  en  titre  to  Mr.  Alexan- 
der Pope,  Doctor  Sacheverel,  Sir  John  Reade  the  oculist,  Dean 
Swift,  or  Marshal  Tallard  ;  as  the  very  commonest  romancer 
would  under  such  circumstances.  But  alas  and  alas  !  truth 
must  be  spoken,  whatever  else  is  in  the  wind  ;  and  the  excel- 
lent "  Newgate  Calendar,"  which  contains  the  biographies  and 
thanatographies  of  Hayes  and  his  wife,  does  not  sa^'  a  word 
of  their  connections  with  an}'  of  the  leading  literary  or  military 
heroes  of  the  time  of  her  Majesty  Queen  Anne.  The  "  Calen- 
dar" says,  in  so  many  words,  that  Ha3'es  was  obliged  to  send 
to  his  father  in  AVarwickshire  for  money  to  get  him  out  of  the 
scrape,  and  that  the  old  gentleman  came  down  to  his  aid.  By 
this  truth  must  we  stick  ;  and  not  for  the  sake  of  the'  most 
brilliant  episode,  —  no,  not  for  a  bribe  of  twenty  extra  guineas 
per  sheet,  would  we  depart  from  it. 


324  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

Mr.  Brock's  account  of  his  adventure  in  London  has  sriven 
the  reader  some  short  notice  of  his  friend,  Mr.  Macsliane. 
Neither  the  wits  nor  the  principles  of  that  worth}'  Ensign  were 
particularly  firm  :  for  drink,  poverty,  and  a  crack  on  the  skull 
at  the 'battle  of  Steenkirk  had  served  to  injure  the  former ;  and 
the  Ensign  was  not  in  his  best  days  possessed  of  any  share 
of  the  latter.  He  had  really,  at  one  period,  held  such  a  rank  in 
the  army,  but  pawned  his  half-pay  for  drink  and  pla}^ ;  and 
for  many  years  past  had  lived,  one  of  the  hundred  thousand 
miracles  of  our  citj',  upon  nothing  that  anybody  knew  of,  or 
of  which  he  himself  could  give  an}'  account.  Who  has  not  a 
catalogue  of  these  men  in  his  list?  who  can  tell  whence  comes 
the  occasional  clean  shirt,  who  sujDplies  the  continual  means  of 
drunkenness,  who  wards  off  the  daily -impending  starvation? 
Their  life  is  a  wonder  from  day  to  day :  their  breakfast  a 
wonder ;  their  dinner  a  miracle ;  their  bed  an  interposition 
of  Providence.  If  3'ou  and  I,  my  dear  sir,  want  a  shilling 
to-morrow,  who  will  give  it  us?  Will  our  butchers  give  us 
mutton-chops?  will  our  laundresses  clothe  us  in  clean  linen?  — 
not  a  bone  or  a  rag.  Standing  as  we  do  (ma}'  it  be  ever  so) 
somewhat  removed  from  want,*  is  there  one  of  us  who  does 
not  shudder  at  the  thought  of  descending  into  the  lists  to  com- 
bat with  it,  and  expect  anything  but  to  be  utterly  crushed  in 
the  encounter? 

Not  a  bit  of  it,  my  dear  sir.  It  takes  much  more  than  you 
think  for  to  starve  a  man.  Starvation  is  very  little  when  you 
are  used  to  it.  Some  people  I  know  even,  who  live  on  it  quite 
comfortably,  and  make  their  daily  bread  by  it.  It  had  been 
our  friend  Macshane's  sole  profession  for  many  years  ;  and  he 
did  not  fail  to  draw  from  it  such  a  livelihood  as  was  sufficient, 
and  perhaps  too  good,  for  him.  He  managed  to  dine  upon  it 
a  certain  or  rather  uncertain  number  of  days  in  the  week,  to 
sleep  somewhere,  and  to  get  drunk  at  least  three  hundred  times 
a  year.  He  was  known  to  one  or  two  noblemen  who  occasion- 
ally helped  him  with  a  few  pieces,  and  whom  he  helped  in  turn 
—  never  mind  how.  He  had  other  acquaintances  whom  he 
pestered  undauntedly  ;  and  from  whom  he  occasionally  extracted 
a  dinner,  or  a  crown,  or  mayhap,  by  mistake,  a  gold-headed 
cane,  which  found  its  way  to  the  pawnbroker's.  When  flush 
of  cash,  he  would  appear  at  the  coffee-house  ;  when  low  in 
funds,  the  deuce  knows  into  what  mystic  caves  and  dens  he 
slunk  for  food  and  lodging.     He  was  perfectly  ready  with  his 

*  The  author,  it  must  be  remembered,  has  his  lodgings  and  food  pro- 
vided for  him  by  the  government  of  his  country. 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  325 

sword,  and  when  sober,  or  better  still,  a  very  little  tips}^,  was 
a  complete  master  of  it ;  in  the  art  of  boasting  and  lying  he 
had  hardly  any  equals  ;  in  shoes  he  stood  six  feet  five  inches  ; 
and  here  is  his  complete  signalement.  It  was  a  fact  that  he 
had  been  in  Spain  as  a  volunteer,  where  he  had  shown  some 
gallantr}'^,  had  had  a  brain-fever,  and  was  sent  home  to  starve 
as  before. 

Mr.  Macshane  had,  however,  like  Mr.  Conrad,  the  Corsair, 
one  virtue  in  the  midst  of  a  thousand  ci'imes,  — he  was  faithful 
to  his  employer  for  the  time  being :  and  a  story  is  told  of  him, 
which  may  or  may  not  be  to  his  credit,  viz.,  that  being  hired 
on  one  occasion  by  a  certain  lord  to  intlict  a  punishment  upon 
a  roturier  who  had  crossed  his  lordship  in  his  amours,  he, 
Macshane,  did  actuall}^  refuse  from  the  person  to  be  belabored, 
and  who  entreated  his  forbearance,  a  larger  sum  of  money  than 
the  nobleman  gave  him  for  the  beating ;  which  he  performed 
punctually,  as  bound  in  honor  and  friendship.  This  tale  would 
the  Ensign  himself  relate,  with  much  self-satisfaction ;  and 
when,  after  the  sudden  flight  from  London,  he  and  Brock  took 
to  their  roving  occupation,  he  cheerfully  submitted  to  the  latter 
as  his  commanding  officer,  called  him  always  Major,  and,  bating 
blunders  and  drunkenness,  was  perfectly  true  to  his  leader. 
He  had  a  notion  —  and,  indeed,  I  don't  know  that  it  was  a 
wrong  one  —  that  his  profession  was  now,  as  before,  strict!}' 
military,  and  according  to  the  rules  of  honor.  Robbing  he 
called  plundering  the  enem}' ;  and  hanging  was,  in  his  idea, 
a  dastardly  and  cruel  advantage  that  the  latter  took,  and  that 
called  for  the  sternest  reprisals. 

The  other  gentlemen  concerned  were  strangers  to  Mr.  Brock, 
who  felt  little  inclined  to  trust  either  of  them  upon  such  a 
message,  or  with  such  a  large  sum  to  bring  back.  They  had, 
strange  to  say,  a  similar  mistrust  on  their  side  ;  but  Mr.  Brock 
lugged  oiit  five  guineas,  which  he  placed  in  the  landlady's  hand 
as  security  for  his  comrade's  return  ;  and  Ensign  Macshane, 
being  mounted  on  poor  Hayes's  own  horse,  set  off  to  visit  the 
parents  of  that  unhappy  .young  man.  It  was  a  gallant  sight  to 
behold  our  thieves'  ambassador,  in  a  faded  sk^'-blue  suit  with 
orange  facings,  in  a  pair  of  huge  jack-boots  unconscious  of 
blacking,  with  a  mighty  basket-hilted  sword  by  his  side,  and 
a  little  shabby  beaver  cocked  over  a  large  tow-periwig,  ride  out 
from  the  inn  of  the  "  Three  Rooks"  on  his  mission  to  Hayes's 
paternal  village. 

It  was  eighteen  miles  distant  from  Worcester ;  but  Mr. 
Macshane  performed  the  distance  in  safety,  and  in  sobriet}'' 


326  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

moreover  (for  such  had  been  his  instructions),  and  had  no 
difficulty  in  discovering  the  house  of  old  Hayes  :  towards  which, 
indeed,  John's  horse  trotted  incontinently.  Mrs.  Haj^es,  who 
was  knitting  at  the  house-door,  was  not  a  little  surprised  at  the 
appearance  of  the  well-known  gray  gelding,  and  of  the  stranger 
mounted  upon  it. 

Flinging  himself  off  the  steed  with  much  agility,  Mr.  Mac- 
shane,  as  soon  as  his  feet  reached  the  ground,  brought  them 
rapidly  together,  in  order  to  make  a  profound  and  elegant  bow 
to  Mrs.  Hayes  ;  and  slapping  his  greasy  beaver  against  his 
heart,  and  poking  his  periwig  almost  into  the  nose  of  the  old 
lady,  demanded  whether  he  had  the  "  shooprame  honor  of 
adthressing  Misthriss  Hees  ?  " 

Having  been  answered  in  the  affirmative,  he  then  proceeded 
to  ask  whether  there  was  a  blackguard  boy  in  the  house  who 
would  take  ' '  the  horse  to  the  steeble  ;  "  whether  ' '  he  could 
have  a  dthrink  of  small-beer  or  buthermilk,  being,  faith,  un- 
common dthry;"  and  whether,  finally,  "he  could  be  feevored 
with  a  few  minutes'  private  conversation  with  her  and  Mr.  Hees, 
on  a  matther  of  consitherable  impartance?"  All  these  prelimi- 
naries were  to  be  complied  with  before  Mr.  Macshane  would 
enter  at  all  into  the  subject  of  his  visit.  The  horse  and  man 
were  cared  for ;  Mr.  Hayes  was  called  in  ;  and  not  a  little 
anxious  did  Mrs.  Hayes  grow,  in  the  meanwhile,  with  regard 
to  the  fate  of  her  darling  son.  "  Where  is  he  ?  How  is  he  ?  Is 
he  dead?  "  said  the  old  lady.     "  O  yes,  I'm  sure  he's  dead  !  " 

"  Indeed,  madam.,  and  you're  misteeken  intirely  :  the  young 
man  is  perfectly  well  in  health." 

"  Oh,  praised  be  heaven  !  " 

"  But  mighty  cast  down  in  sperrits.  To  misfortunes,  madam, 
look  you,  the  best  of  us  are  subject ;  and  a  trifling  one  has  fell 
upon  3our  son." 

And  herewith  Mr.  Macshane  produced  a  letter  in  the  hand- 
writing of  young  Hayes,  of  which  we  have  had  the  good  luck  to 
procure  a  copy.     It  ran  thus  :  — 

"Honored  Father  and  Mother,  —  Tlie  bearer  of  this  is 
a  kind  gentleman,  who  has  left  me  in  a  great  deal  of  trouble. 
Yesterday,  at  this  towne,  I  fell  in  with  some  gentlemen  of  the 
queene's  servas ;  after  drinking  with  whom,  I  accepted  her 
Majesty's  mony  to  enliste.  Repenting  thereof,  I  did  endeavor 
to  escape  ;  and,  in  so  doing,  had  the  misfortune  to  strike  my 
superior  officer,  whereby  I  made  myself  liable  to  Death,  accord- 
ing to  the  rules  of  warr.     If,  however,  I  pay  twenty  ginnys, 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  327 

all  will  be  wel.  You  must  give  the  same  to  the  barer,  els  I 
shall  be  shott  without  fail  on  Tewsday  morning.  And  so  no 
more  from  your  loving  son, 

"John  Hates. 

"  From  my  prison  at  Bristol, 
this  unliappy  Monday." 

When  Mrs.  Hayes  read  this  pathetic  missive,  its  success 
with  her  was  complete,  and  she  Avas  for  going  immediately  to 
the  cupboard,  and  producing  the  money  necessary  for  her  dar- 
ling son's  release.  But  the  carpenter  Hayes  was  much  more 
suspicious.  "I  don't  know  you,  sir,"  said  he  to  the  ambas- 
sador. 

"Do  3'ou  doubt  my  honor,  sir?"  said  the  Ensign,  very 
fiercely. 

"  Why,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Ha.yes,  "  I  know  little  about  it  one 
way  or  other,  but  shall  take  it  for  granted,  if  3'ou  will  explain  a 
little  more  of  this  business." 

"  I  sildom  condescind  to  explean,"  said  Mr.  Macshane,  "  for 
it's  not  the  custom  in  my  rank  ;  but  I'll  explean  anything  in 
reason." 

"Pray,  will  you  tell  me  in  what  regiment  my  son  is  en- 
listed?" 

"In  coorse.  In  Colonel  Wood's  fut,  my  dear;  and  a  gal- 
lant corps  it  is  as  any  in  the  arm3\" 

"And  you  left  him?" 

"  On  me  soul,  only  three  hours  ago,  having  rid  like  a  horse- 
jockey  ever  since  ;  as  in  the  sacred  cause  of  humanity,  curse 
me,  every  m.an  should." 

As  Hayes's  house  was  seventy  miles  from  Bristol,  the  old 
gentleman  thought  this  was  marvellous  quick  riding,  and  so  cut 
the  conversation  short.  "You  have  said  quite  enough,  sir," 
said  he,  "  to  show  me  there  is  some  roguery  in  the  matter,  and 
that  the  whole  storv  is  false  from  beginning  to  end." 

At  this  abrupt  charge  the  Ensign  looked  somewhat  puzzled, 
and  then  spoke  with  much  gravity.  "  Roguer}^,"  said  he, 
"  Misthur  Hees,  is  a  sthrong  term;  and  which,  in  consider- 
ation of  my  friendship  for  your  family,  I  shall  pass  over.  You 
doubt  your  son's  honor,  as  there  wrote  by  him  in  black  and 
white?" 

"  You  have  forced  him  to  write,"  said  Mr.  Hayes. 

"  The  sly  old  divvle's  right,"  muttered  Mr.  Macshane,  aside. 
"  Well,  sir,  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it,  he  has  been  forced  to 
write  it.     The  story  about  the  enlistment  is  a  pretty  fib,  if  you 


328  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

will,  from  beginning  to  end.     And  wliat  then,  my  dear?     Do 
you  think  3-our  son's  any  better  off'  for  that? " 

"Oh,  wliere  is  he?"  screamed  Mrs.  Ha^es,  plumping  down 
on  her  knees.  "  We  will  give  him  the  money,  won't  we, 
John?" 

"  I  know  you  will,  madam,  when  I  tell  you  where  he  is.  He 
is  in  the  hands  of  some  gentlemen  of  my  acquaintance,  who  are 
at  war  with  the  present  government,  and  no  more  care  about 
cutting  a  man's  throat  than  they  do  a  chicken's.  He  is  a 
prisoner,  madam,  of  our  sword  and  spear.  If  3-ou  choose  to 
ransom  him,  well  and  good  ;  if  not,  peace  be  with  him !  for 
never  more  shall  you  see  him." 

"  And  how  do  I  know  yon  won't  come  back  to-morrow  for 
more  money?"  asked  Mr.  Hayes. 

"  Sir,  you  have  my  honor ;  and  I'd  as  lieve  break  my  neck 
as  my  word,"  said  Mr.  Macshane,  gravely.  "  Twenty  guineas 
is  the  bargain.  Take  ten  minutes  to  talk  of  it  —  take  it  then, 
or  leave  it ;  it's  all  the  same  to  me,  m}-  dear."  And  it  must  be 
said  of  our  friend  the  Ensign,  that  he  meant  every  word  he 
said,  and  that  he  considered  the  embassy'  on  which  he  had 
come  as  perfectly  honorable  and  regular. 

"  And  pray,  what  prevents  us,"  said  Mr.  Ha^-es,  starting  up 
in  a  rage,  "  from  taking  hold  of  3-ou,  as  a  surety  for  him?" 

"  You  wouldn't  fire  on  a  flag  of  truce,  would  ye,  you  dis- 
honorable ould  civilian?"  replied  Mr.  Macshane,  '•Besides," 
says  he,  "there's  more  reasons  to  prevent  you:  the  first  is 
this,"  pointing  to  his  sword  ;  "  here  are  two  more  "  — and  these 
were  pistols;  "and  the  last  and  the  best  of  all  is,  that  yow 
might  hang  me  and  dthraw  me  and  quarther  me,  and  3'et  never 
see  so  much  as  the  tip  of  your  son's  nose  again.  Look  3'ou, 
sir,  we  run  might}-  risks  in  our  profession  —  it's  not  all  pla}',  I 
can  tell  3'ou.  We're  obliged  to  be  punctual,  too,  or  it's  all  up 
with  the  thrade.  If  I  promise  that  3'our  son  will  die  as  sure  as 
fate  to-morrow  morning,  unless  I  return  home  safe,  our  people 
must  keep  my  promise  ;  or  else  what  chance  is  there  for  me  ? 
You  would  be  down  upon  me  in  a  moment  with  a  posse  of  con- 
stables, and  have  me  swinging  before  Warwick  gaol.  Pooh, 
m_y  dear !  j-ou  never  would  sacrifice  a  darling  boy  like  John 
Ha^'cs,  let  alone  his  lad}',  for  the  sake  of  my  long  carcass. 
One  or  two  of  our  gentlemen  have  been  taken  that  way  already, 
because  parent?  and  guardians  would  not  believe  them." 

'■''And  lohat  became  of  the  poor  children'?''  said  Mrs.  Hayes, 
who  began  to  perceive  the  gist  of  the  argument,  and  to  grow 
dreadfully  frightened. 


CATHERINE:    A    STORY.  329 

"Don't  let's  talk  of  thera,  ma'ara  :  humanity  shndthers  at 
the  thought !  "  And  herewith  Mr.  Macshane  drew  his  flngei-^ 
across  his  throat,  in  such  a  dreadful  way  as  to  make  tlie  two 
parents  tremble.  "It's  the  way  of  war,  madam,  look  30U. 
The  service  I  have  the  honor  to  belong  to  is  not  paid  by  the 
Queen  ;  and  so  we're  obliged  to  make  our  prisoners  pay,  accord- 
ing to  established  military  practice." 

No  lawyer  could  have  argued  his  case  better  than  Mr.  Mac- 
shane so  far ;  and  he  completely  succeeded  m  convincing  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Hayes  of  the  necessity  of  ransoming  their  son.  Prom- 
ising that  the  young  man  should  be  restored  to  them  next 
morning,  along  with  his  beautiful  lad}',  he  courteously  took 
leave  of  the  old  couple,  and  made  the  best  of  his  way  back  to 
Worcester  again.  The  elder  Haves  wondered  who  the  lady 
could  be  of  whom  the  ambassador  had  spoken,  for  their  son's 
elopement  was  altogether  unknown  to  thera  ;  b«it  anger  or  doubt 
about  this  subject  was  overwhelmed  by  their  fears  for  tlieir 
darling  Jolin's  safety.  Away  rode  the  gallant  Macshane  with 
the  money  necessary  to  effect  this  ;  and  it  must  be  mentioned, 
as  highly  to  his  credit,  that  he  never  once  thought  of  appropri- 
ating the  sum  to  himself,  or  of  deserting  his  comrades  in  any- 
way. 

His  ride  from  Worcester  had  been  a  long  one.  He  had  left 
that  city  at  noon,  but  before  his  return  thitlier  the  sun  had  gone 
down  ;  and  the  landscape,  which  had  been  dressed  like  a  prodi- 
gal, in  purple  and  gold,  now  appeared  like  a  Quaker,  in  dusky 
gray ;  and  the  trees  by  the  road-side  grew  black  as  undertakers 
or  physicians,  and,  bending  their  solemn  heads  to  each  other, 
whispered  ominously  among  themselves  ;  and. the  mists  hung  on 
the  common  ;  and  the  cottage  lights  went  out  one  by  one  ;  and 
the  earth  and  heaven  grew  black,  but  for  some  twinkling  useless 
stars,  whicli  freckled  tiie  ebon  countenance  of  the  latter ;  and 
the  air  grew  colder ;  and  about  two  o'clock  the  moon  appeared, 
a  dismal,  pale-faced  rake,  walking  solitary  througli  the  deserted 
sky  ;  and  about  four,  mayhap,  the  Dawn  (wretched  'prentice- 
boy !)  opened  in  the  east  the  shutters  of  the  Day:  —  in  other 
words,  more  than  a  dozen  hours  had  passed.  Corporal  Brock 
had  been  relieved  by  Mr.  Redcap,  the  latter  by  Mr.  Sicklop,  the 
one-eyed  gentleman  :  Mrs.  John  Hayes,  in  spite  of  her  sorrows 
and  bashfnlness,  had  followed  the  example  of  her  husband,  and 
fallen  asleep  by  his  side  —  slept  for  many  hours  —  and  awakened 
still  under  the  guardianship  of  Mr.  Brock's  troop  ;  and  all  par- 
ties began  anxiously  to  expect  the  return  of  the  ambassador,  Mr. 
Macshane. 


330  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

That  officer,  who  had  performed  the  first  part  of  his  journey 
.with  such  distinguished  prudence  and  success,  found  tlie  night, 
on  his  journey  homewards,  was  growing  might}-  cold  and  darlc  ; 
and  as  he  was  thirsty  and  hungry,  had  money  in  his  purse,  and 
saw  no  cause  to  hurry,  he  determined  to  take  refuge  at  an  ale- 
house for  the  night,  and  to  make  for  Worcester  by  dawn  the 
next  morning.  He  accordingly  alighteS  at  the  first  inn  on  his 
road,  consigned  his  horse  to  the  stable,  and  entering  the  kitchen, 
called  for  the  best  liquor  in  the  house. 

A  small  company  was  assembled  at  the  inn,  among  whom 
Mr.  Macshane  took  his  place  with  a  great  deal  of  dignity ;  and 
having  a  considerable  sum  of  money  in  his  pocket,  felt  a  mighty 
contempt  for  his  society,  and  soon  let  them  know  the  contempt 
he  felt  for  them.  After  a  third  flagon  of  ale,  he  discovered 
that  the  liquor  was  sour,  and  emptied,  with  much  spluttering  and 
grimaces,  the  remainder  of  the  beer  into  the  fire.  This  process 
so  offended  the  parson  of  the  pai-ish  (who  in  those  good  old 
times  did  not  disdain  to  take  the  post  of  honor  in  the  chimney- 
nook),  that  he  left  his  corner,  looking  wrathfully  at  the  offender ; 
who  without  any  more  ado  instantly  occupied  it.  It  was  a  fine 
thing  to  hear  the  jingling  of  the  twenty  pieces  in  his  pocket,  the 
oaths  which  he  distributed  between  the  landlord,  the  guests, 
and  the  liquor  —  to  remark  the  sprawl  of  his  mighty  jack-boots, 
before  the  sweep  of  which  the  timid  guests  edged  further  and 
further  away  ;  and  the  langaishing  leers  which  he  cast  on  the  land- 
lady, as  with  wide-spread  arms  he  attempted  to  seize  upon  Iier. 

When  the  ostler  had  done  his  duties  in  the  stable,  he  entered 
the  inn,  and  whispered  the  landlord  that  "the  stranger  was 
riding  John  Hayes's  horse  :  "  of  which  fact  the  host  soon  con- 
vinced himself,  and  did  not  fail  to  have  some  suspicions  of  his 
guest.  Had  he  not  thought  that  times  were  unquiet,  horses 
might  be  sold,  and  one  man's  money  was  as  good  as  another's, 
he  probably  would  have  arrested  the  Ensign  immediately,  and 
so  lost  all  the  profit  of  the  score  which  the  latter  was  causing 
every  moment  to  be  enlarged. 

In  a  couple  of  hours,  with  that  happy  facility  which  one 
may  have  often  remarked  in  men  of  the  gallant  Ensign's  nation, 
he  had  managed  to  disgust  every  one  of  the  landlord's  other 
guests,  and  scare  them  from  the  kitchen.  Frightened  by  his 
addresses,  the  landlady  too  had  taken  flight ;  and  the  host  was 
the  only  person  left  in  the  apartment ;  who  there  stayed  for 
interest's  sake  merel}-,  and  listened  moodily  to  his  tipsy"'guest's 
conversation.  In  an  hour  more,  the  whole  house  was  awak- 
ened by  a  violent  noise  of  howling,  curses,  and  pots  clattering 


CATPIERINE:    A    STORY.  331 

to  and  fro.  Forth  issued  Mrs.  Landlady  in  lier  niglit-gear,  out 
came  Jolin  Ostler  witii  his  pitchfork,  down  stairs  tumbled 
Mrs.  Cook  and  one  or  two  guests,  and  found  the  landlord  and 
Ensign  on  the  kitchen  floor  —  the  wig  of  the  latter  laying,  much 
singed  and  emitting  strange  odors,  in  the  fireplace,  his  face  hid- 
eously distorted,  and  a  great  quantity  of  his  natural  hair  in  the 
partial  occupation  of  the  landlord  ;  who  had  drawn  it  and  the 
head  down  towards  him,  in  order  that  he  might  have  the  bene- 
fit of  pummelling  the  latter  more  at  his  ease.  In  revenge,  the 
landlord  was  undermost,  and  the  Ensign's  arms  were  working 
up  and  down  his  face  and  body  like  the  flaps  of  a  paddle- 
wheel  :  the  man  of  war  had  clearly  the  best  of  it. 

The  combatants  were  separated  as  soon  as  possible ;  but  as 
soon  as  the  excitement  of  the  fight  was  over,  Ensign  Macshane 
was  found  to  have  no  further  powers  of  speech,  sense,  or  loco- 
motion, and  was  carried  by  his  late  antagonist  to  bed.  His 
sword  and  pistols,  which  had  been  placed  at  his  side  at  the 
commencement  of  the  evening,  were  carefully  put  b3',  and  his 
pocket  visited.  Twenty  guineas  in  gold,  a  large  knife  —  used, 
probably,  for  the  cutting  of  bread-and-cheese  —  some  crumbs 
of  those  delicacies  and  a  paper  of  tobacco  found  in  the 
breeches-pockets,  and  in  the  bosom  of  the  sky-blue  coat  the 
leg  of  a  cold  fowl  and  half  of  a  raw  onion,  constituted  his 
whole  property. 

These  articles  were  not  very  suspicious ;  but  the  beating 
which  the  landlord  had  received  tended  greatl}'  to  confirm  his 
own  and  his  wife's  doubts  about  their  guest ;  and  it  was  deter- 
mined to  send  off  in  the  early  morning  to  Mr.  Hayes,  inform- 
ing him  how  a  person  had  lain  at  their  inn  who  had  ridden 
thither  mounted  upon  young  Hayes's  horse;  Off  set  John 
Ostler  at  earliest  dawn  ;  but  on  his  way  he  woke  up  Mr.  Jus- 
tice's clerk,  and  communicated  his  suspicions  to  him  ;  and  Mr. 
Clerk  consulted  with  the  village  baker,  who  was  up  always 
early ;  and  the  clerk,  the  baker,  the  butpher  with  his  cleaver, 
and  two  gentlemen  who  were  going  to  work,  all  adjourned  to 
the  inn. 

According]}',  when  Ensign  Macshane  was  in  a  truckle-bed, 
plunged  in  that  deep  slumber  which  only  innocence  and  drunk- 
enness enjoy  in  this  world,  and  charming  the  ears  of  morn  by 
the  regular  and  melodious  music  of  his  nose,  a  vile  plot  was 
laid  against  him  ;  and  when  about  seven  of  the  clock  he  woke, 
he  found,  on  sitting  up  in  his  bed,  three  gentlemen  on  each  side 
of  it,  armed  and  looking  ominous.  One  held  a  constable's 
staff",  and,  albeit  unprovided  with  a  warrant,  would  take  upon 


332  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

himself  the  responsibilit}'  of  seizing  Mr.  Macshane,   and  of 
carrying  him  before  his  worship  at  the  hall. 

"  Taranouns,  man  !  "  said  the  Ensign,  springing  up  in  bed, 
and  abruptly  breaking  off  a  loud,  sonorous  j'awn,  with  which 
he  had  opened  the  business  of  the  day,  "you  won't  deteen  a 
gentleman  who's  on  life  and  death?  I  give  ye  my  word,  an 
affair  of  honor." 

"  How  came  3'ou  by  that  there  horse?  "  said  the  baker. 
"  How  came  30U  bj'  these  here  fifteen  guineas?"  said  the 
landlord,  in  whose  hands,  by  some  process,  live  of  the  gold 
pieces  had  disappeared. 

"What  is  this  here  idolatrous  string  of  beads?"  said  the 
clerk. 

Mr.  Macshane,  the  fact  is,  was  a  Catholic,  but  did  not  care 
to  own  it;  for  in  those  days  his  religion  was  not  popular. 
"Baids?  Holy  Mother  of  saints!  give  me  back  them  baids," 
said  Mr.  Macshane,  clasping  his  hands.  "They  were  blest, 
I  tell  3'^ou,  by  his  holiness  the  po — psha !  I  mane  they  be- 
long to  a  darling  little  daughter  I  had  that's  in  heaven  now : 
and  as  for  the  money  and  the  horse,  I  should  like  to  know 
how  a  gentleman  is  to  travel  in  this  counthry  without  them  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  see,  he  ma}'  travel  in  the  country"  to  f/it  'em," 
here  shrewdly  remarked  the  constable;  "and  it's  our  belief 
that  neither  horse  nor  monej'  is  honest!}'  come  by.  If  his  wor- 
ship is  satisfied,  why  so,  in  course,  shall  we  be  ;  bnt  there  is 
highway-men  abroad,  look  you ;  and,  to  our  notion,  3'ou  have 
very  much  the  cut  of  one." 

Further  remonstrances  or  threats  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Mac- 
shane were  useless.  Although  he  vowed  that  he  was  first- 
cousin  to  the  Duke  of  Leinster,  an  officer  in  her  Majesty's 
service,  and  the  dearest  friend  Lord  Marlborough  had,  his 
impudent  captors  would  not  believe  a  word  of  his  statement 
(which,  further,  was  garnished  with  a  tremendous  number  of 
oaths)  ;  and  he  was»  about  eight  o'clock,  carried  up  to  the 
house  of  Squire  Ballance,  the  neighboring  justice  of  the  peace. 

When  the  worthy  magistrate  asked  the  crime  of  which 
the  prisoner  had  been  guilty,  the  captors  looked  somewhat 
puzzled  lor  the  moment;  since,  in  truth,  it  could  not  be 
shown  that  the  Ensign  had  committed  an}'  crime  at  all ;  and 
if  he  had  confined  himself  to  simple  silence,  and  thrown  upon 
them  the  onus  of  proving  his  misdemeanors,  Justice  Ballance 
must  have  let  him  loose  and  soundly  rated  his  clerk  and  the 
landlord  for  detaining  an  honest  gentleman  on  so  frivolous  a 
charge. 


I 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  333 

But  this  caution  was  not  in  the  Ensign's  disposition ;  and 
though  his  accusers  produced  no  satisfactory  charge  against 
him,  his  own  words  were  quite  enough  to  show  how  suspi- 
cious his  character  was.  When  asked  his  name,  he  gave  it 
in  as  Captain  Geraldine,  on  his  wa}-  to  Ireland,  by  Bristol,  on 
a  visit  to  his  cousin  the  Duke  of  Leinster.  He  swore  sol- 
emnly that  his  friends,  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  and  Lord 
Peterborougli,  under  both  of  whom  he  had  served,  should 
hear  of  the  manner  in  Avhich  he  had  been  treated  ;  and  when 
the  justice,  —  a  sly  old  gentleman,  and  one  that  read  the 
Gazettes,  —  asked  him  at  what  battles  he  had  been  present,  the 
gallant  Ensign  pitched  on  a  couple  in  Spain  and  in  Flanders, 
which  had  been  fought  within  a  week  of  each  other,  and 
vowed  that  he  had  been  desperately  wounded  at  both ;  so 
that,  at  the  end  of  his  examination,  which  had  been  taken 
down  by  the  clerk,  he  had  been  made  to  acknowledge  as  fol- 
lows :  —  Captain  Geraldine,  six  feet  four  inches  in  height ;  thin, 
with  a  very  long  red  nose,  and  red  hair ;  gray  eyes,  and 
speaks  with  a  strong  Irish  accent;  is  the  first-cousin  of  the 
Duke  of  Leinster,  and  in  constant  communication  with  him : 
does  not  know  wliether  his  Grace  has  any  children  ;  does  not 
know  whereabouts  he  lives  in  London  ;  cannot  say  what  sort 
of  a  looking  man  his  Grace  is  :  is  acquainted  with  the  Duke  of 
Marlborough,  and  served  in  the  dragoons  at  the  battle  of  Ilam- 
illies ;  at  which  time  he  was  with  my  Lord  Peterborough 
before  Barcelona.  Borrowed  the  horse  which  he  rides  from  a 
friend  in  London,  three  weeks  since.  Peter  Hobbs,  ostler, 
swears  that  it  was  in  his  master's  stable  four  days  ago,  and 
is  the  property  of  John  Hayes,  carpenter.  Cannot  account 
for  the  liftcen  guineas  found  on  him  by  the  landlord  ;  says  they 
were  twentj' ;  sa3"S  he  won  them  at  cards,  a  fortnight  since,  at 
Edinburgh ;  says  he  is  riding  about  the  country  for  his 
amusement;  afterwards  says  he  is  on  a  matter  of  life  and 
death,  and  going  to  Bristol ;  declared  last  night,  in  the  hear- 
ing of  several  witnesses,  that  he  was  going  to  York  ;  says 
he  is  a  man  of  independent  property,  and  has  large  estates 
in  Ireland,  and  a  lumdred  thousand  pounds  in  the  Bank  of 
England.  Has  no  shirt  or  stockings,  and  the  coat  he  wears  is 
marked  "S.S."  In  his  boots  is  written  "  Thomas  Rodgers," 
and  in  his  hat  is  the  name  of  the  "  Ilev.  Doctor  SnofHer." 

Dr.  Snoffler  lived  at  Worcester,  and  had  lately  advertised 
in  the  Hue  and  Cry  a  number  of  articles  taken  from  his  house. 
Mr.  Macshane  said,  in  reply  to  this,  that  his  hat  had  been 
changed  at  the  inn,  and  he  was  ready  to  take  his  oath  that 


334  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

he  came  thither  in  a  gold-laced  one.  But  this  fact  was  dis- 
proved by  the  oaths  of  many  persons  who  had  seen  him  at 
the  inn.  And  he  was  about  to  be  imprisoned  for  the  thefts 
which  lie  had  not  committed  (the  fact  about  the  hat  being, 
that  he  had  purchased  it  from  a  gentleman  at  the  "  Three 
Rooks  "  for  two  pints  of  beer)  —  he  was  about  to  be  remanded, 
when,  behold,  Mrs.  Hayes  the  elder  made  her  appearance  ; 
and  to  her  it  was  that  the  Ensign  was  indebted  for  his  free- 
dom. 

Old  Hayes  had  gone  to  work  before  the  ostler  arrived ; 
but  when  his  wife  heard  the  lad's  message,  she  instantly 
caused  her  pillion  to  be  placed  behind  the  saddle,  and  mount- 
ing the  gray  horse,  urged  the  stable-boy  to  gallop  as  hard  as 
ever  he  could  to  the  justice's  house. 

She  entered  panting  and  alarmed.  "Oh,  what  is  j'our 
honor  going  to  do  to  this  honest  gentleman?  "  said  she.  "  In 
the  name  of  heaven,  let  him  go!  His  time  is  precious — he 
has  important  business — business  of  life  and  death." 

"I  tould  the  jidge  so,"  said  the  Ensign,  "but  he  refused 
to  take  my  word  —  the  sacred  wurrd  of  honor  of  Captain 
Geraldine." 

Macshane  was  good  at  a  single  lie,  though  easily  flustered 
on  an  examination  ;  and  this  was  a  very  creditable  stratagem 
to  acquaint  Mrs.  Hayes  with  the  name  that  he  bore. 

"What!  you  know  Captain  Geraldine?"  said  Mr.  Bal- 
lance,  who  was  perfectly  well  acquainted  with  the  carpenter's 
wife. 

"In  coorse  she  does.  Hasn't  she  known  me  these  tin 
years?  Are  we  not  related?  Didn't  she  give  me  the  very 
horse  which  I  rode,  and,  to  make  belave,  toukl  you  I'd  bought 
in  London  ?  " 

"  Let  her  tell  her  own  story.  Are  you  related  to  Captain 
Geraldine,  Mrs.  Hayes?" 

"  Yes  —  oh,  yes  ! 

"  A  very  elegant  connection  !  and  j'ou  gave  him  the  horse, 
did  you,  of  your  own  free-will?  " 

"Oh,  3'es  !  of  my  own  will  —  I  would  give  him  anything. 
Do,  do,  j-our  honor,  let  him  go  !  His  child  is  dying,"  said  the 
old  lady,  bursting  into  tears.  "  It  may  be  dead  before  he  gets 
to  —  before  he  gets  there.  Oh,  jour  honor,  your  honor,  pray, 
pray,  don't  detain  him  !  " 

The  justice  did  not  seem  to  understand  this  excessive  sj^m- 
path}'  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Hayes  ;  nor  did  the  father  himself 
appear  to  be  nearlj'  so  affected  by  his  child's  probable  fate  as 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  335 

the  honest  woman  who  interested  herself  for  him.  On  the  con- 
trary, when  she  made  this  passionate  speech,  Captain  Geraldine 
only  grinned  and  said,  "  Niver  mind,  my  dear.  If  his  honor 
wiU  keep  an  honest  gentleman  for  doing  nothing,  wh}'  let  him  — 
the  law  must  settle  between  us  ;  and  as  for  the  child,  poor 
thing,  the  Lord  deliver  it !  " 

At  this,  Mrs.  Hayes  fell  to  entreating  more  loudly  than  ever ; 
and  as  there  was  really  no  charge  against  him,  Mr.  Ballance 
was  constrained  to  let  him  go. 

The  landlord  and  his  friends  were  making  off,  rather  con- 
fused, when  Ensign  Macshane  called  upon  the  former  in  a  thun- 
dering voice  to  stop,  and  refund  the  five  guineas  which  he  had 
stolen  from  him.  Again  the  host  swore  there  were  but  fifteen 
in  his  pocket.  But  when,  on  the  Bible,  the  Ensign  solemnly 
vowed  that  he  had  twent}",  and  called  upon  Mrs.  Hayes  to  say 
whether  yesterda}',  half  an  hour  before  he  entered  the  inn,  she 
had  not  seen  him  with  twenty  guineas,  and  that  lady  expressed 
herself  ready  to  swear  that  she  had,  Mr.  Landlord  looked  more 
crestfallen  than  ever,  and  said  that  he  had  not  counted  the 
money  Avhen  he  took  it ;  and  though  he  did  in  his  soul  believe 
that  there  were  only  fifteen  guineas,  rather  than  be  suspected  of 
a  shabby  action,  he  would  pay  the  five  guineas  out  of  his  own 
pocket:  which  he  did,  and  with  the  Ensign's,  or  rather  Mrs. 
Ha3'es's  own  coin.  . 

As  soon  as  they  were  out  of  the  justice's  house,  Mr.  Mac- 
shane, in  the  fulness  of  his  gratitude,  could  not  help  bestowing 
an  embrace  upon  Mrs.  Hayes.  And  when  she  implored  him  to 
let  her  ride  behind  him  to  her  darling  son,  he  yielded  with  a  very 
good  grace,  and  off  the  pair  set  on  John  Hayes's  gray. 

"  Who  has  Nosey  brought  with  him  now? "  said  Mr.  Sicklop, 
Brock's  one-ej'ed  confederate,  who,  about  three  hours  after  the 
above  adventure,  was  lolling  in  the  yard  of  .the  "  Three  Rooks." 
It  was  our  Ensign,  with  the  mother  of  his  captive.  They  had 
not  met  with  an3^  accident  in  their  ride. 

"  I  shall  now  have  the  shooprame  bliss,"  said  Mr.  Mac- 
shane, with  much  feeling,  as  he  lifted  Mrs.  Hayes  from  the 
saddle — "the  shooprame  bliss  of  intwining  two  harrts  that 
are  mead  for  one  another.  Ours,  my  dear,  is  a  dismal  pro- 
fession ;  but  ah !  don't  moments  like  this  make  amiuds  for 
years  of  pain?  This  wa}',  my  dear.  Turn  to  your  right, 
then  to  your  left  —  mind  the  stip  —  and  the  third  door  round 
the  corner." 

All  these  precautions  were  attended  to  ;  and  after  giving  his 


336  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

concerted  knock,  Mr.  Macshane  was  admitted  into  an  apart- 
ment, which  he  entered  holding  his  gold  pieces  in  the  one  hand,, 
and  a  lady  by  the  other. 

We  shall  not  describe  the  meeting  which  took  place  between 
mother  and  son.  The  old  lady  wept  copiously  ;  the  young  man 
was  really  glad  to  see  his  relative,  for  he'  deemed  that  his 
troubles  were  over.  Mrs.  Cat  bit  her  lips  and  stood  aside, 
looking  somewhat  foolish  ;  Mr.  Brock  counted  the  money  ;  and 
Mr.  Macshane  took  a  large  dose  of  strong  waters,  as  a  pleasing 
solace  for  his  labors,  dangers,  and  fatigue. 

When  the  maternal  feelings  were  somewhat  calmed,  the  old 
lady  had  leisure  to  look  about  her,  and  really  felt  a  kind  of 
friendship  and  good-will  for  the  company  of  thieves  in  which  she 
foimd  herself.  It  seemed  to  her  timt"  they  had  conferred  an 
actual  favor  on  her,  in  robbing  her  of  twenty  guineas,  threaten- 
ing her  son's  life,  and  finally  letting  him  go. 

"Who  is  that  droll  old  gentleman?"  said  she;  and  bemg 
told  that  it  was  Captain  Wood,  she  dropped  him  a  curtsy, 
and  said,  with  much  respect,  "Captain,  your  very  humble 
servant ;  "  which  compliment  Mr.  Brock  acknowledged  by  a 
gracious  smile  and  bow.  "And  who  is  this  pretty  young 
lady?"  continued  Mrs.  Hayes. 

"Why  —  hum — oh  —  mother,  you  must  give  her  your 
blessing.  She  is  Mrs.  John  Hayes."  And  herewith  Mr.  Hayes 
brought  forward  his  interesting  lady,  to  introduce  her  to  "his 
mamma. 

TJie  news  did  not  at  all  please  the  old  lady ;  who  received 
Mrs.  Catherine's  embrace  with  a  very  sour  face  indeed.  How- 
ever, the  mischief  was  done  ;  and  she  was  too  glad  to  get  back 
her  son  to  be,  on  such  an  occasion,  very  angry  with  him.  So, 
after  a  proper  rebuke,  she  told  Mrs.  John  Hayes  that  though 
she  never  approved  of  her  son's  attachment,  and  thought  he 
married  below  his  condition,  yet  as  the  evil  was  done,  it  was 
their  duty  to  make  the  best  of  it ;  and  she,  for  her  part,  would 
receive  her  into  her  house,  and  make  her  as  comfortable  there 
as  she  could. 

"  I  wonder  whether  she  has  any  more  money  in  tliat  house?  " 
whispered  Mr.  Sicklop  to  Mr.  Redcap  ;  who,  with  the  landlady, 
had  come  to  the  door  of  the  room,  and  had  been  amusing  them- 
selves by  the  contemplation  of  this  sentimental  scene. 

"  What  a  fool  that  wild  Hirishman  was  not  to  bleed  her  for 
more,"  said  the  •  landlady  ;  "but  he's  a  poor  ignorant  Papist. 
I'm  sure  my  man  "  (this  gentleman  had  been  hanged)  "  wouldn't 
have  come  away  with  such  a  beggarly  sum." 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  337 

"  Suppose  we  have  some  more  out  of  'em?  "  said  Mr.  Red- 
cap. "  What  prevents  us?  We  have  got  the  old  mare,  and 
the  colt  too,  —  ha  !  ha  !  and  the  pair  of  'em  ought  to  he  worth 
at  least  a  hundred  to  us." 

This  conversation  was  carried  on  sotto  voce ;  and  I  don't 
know  whether  Mr.  Brock  had  any  notion  of  the  plot  which 
was  arranged  by  tlie  three  worthies.  The  landlady'  began  it. 
"  Which  punch,  madam,  will  you  take?"  says  she.  "You  must 
have  something  for  the  good  of  the  house,  now  you  are  in  it." 

*'  In  coorse,"  said  the  Ensign. 

"Certainly,"  said  the  other  three.  But  the  old  lady  said 
she  was  anxious  to  leave  the  place  ;  and  putting  down  a  crown- 
piece,  requested  the  hostess  to  treat  the  gentlemen  in  her 
absence.     "■  Good-by,  Captain,"  said  the  old  Xady. 

"  Ajew  !  "  cried  the  Ensign,  "  and  long  life  to  you,  my  dear. 
You  got  me  out  of  a  scrape  at  the  justice's  yonder ;  and,  split 
me !  but  Inbign  Macshane  w  ill  remimber  it  as  long  as  he 
lives." 

And  now  Hayes  and  the  two  ladies  made  for  the  door ;  but  the 
landlady  placed  herself  against  it,  and  Mr.  Sicklop  said,  "  No, 
no,  my  pretty  madams,  you  ain't  a-going  off  so  cheap  as  that 
neitlier ;  you  are  not  going  out  for  a  beggarly  twenty  guineas, 
look  you,  — we  must  have  more." 

Mr.  Hayes  starting  back,  and  cursing  his  fate,  fairly  burst 
into  tears ;  the  two  women  screamed ;  and  Mr.  Brock  looked 
as  if  the  proposition  both  amused  and  had  been  expected  by 
him  :  but  not  so  I^nsign  Macshane. 

"  Major  !  "  said  he,  clawing  fiercely  hold  of  Brock's  arms. 

"Ensign,"  said  Mr.  Brock,  smiling. 

"  Arr  we,  or  arr  we  not,  men  of  honor?" 

"  Oh,  in  coorse,"  said  Brock,  laughing,  and  using  Macshane's 
favorite  expression. 

"  H*  we  arr  men  of  honor,  we  are  bound  to  stick  to  our  word  ; 
and  hark  ye,  you  dirty  one-eyed  scoundrel,  if  you  don't  imma- 
diately  make  way  for  these  leedies,  and  this  lily-livered  young 
jontloVnan  who's  crying  so,  tlie  Meejor  here  and  I  will  lug  out 
and  force  you."  And  so  saying,  he  drew  his  great  sword  and 
made  a  pass  at  Mr.  Sicklop  ;  whicli  that  gentleman  avoided,  and 
which  caused  hhn  and  his  companion  to  retreat  from  tlie  door. 
Tlie  landlady  still  kept  her  position  at  it,  and  Avith  a  storm  of 
oaths  against  the  Ensign,  and  against  two  Englisiimen  who  ran 
away  from  a  wild  Hirishman,  swore  she  woukl  not  budge  a 
foot,  and  would  stand  there  until  her  dying  day. 

"  Faith,  then,  needs  must,"  said  the  Ensign,  and  made  a 

47 


338  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

lunge  at  the  hostess,  which  passed  so  near  the  wretch's  throat, 
that  she  screamed,  sank  on  her  knees,  and  at  last  opened  the 
door. 

Down  the  stairs,  then,  with  great  state,  Mr.  Macshane  led 
the  elder  lady,  the  married  couple  following ;  and  having  seen 
them  to  the  street,  took  an  afliectionate  farewell  of  the  party, 
whom  he  vowed  that  he  would  come  and  see.  "  You  can  walk 
the  eighteen  miles  ais}-,  between  this  and  nightfall,"  said  he. 

"  Walk!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Hayes.  "Why,  haven't  we  got 
Ball,  and  shall  ride  and  tie  all  the  way?  " 

"Madam!"  cried  Macshane,  in  a  stern  voice,  "honor  be- 
fore everything.  Did  3-ou  not,  in  the  presence  of  his  worship, 
vow  and  declare  that  you  gave  me  that  horse,  and  now  d'3'e 
talk  of  taking  it  back  again  !  Let  me  tell  you,  madam,  that 
such  paltr}'  thricks  ill  become  a  person  of  your  years  and  re- 
spectability, and  ought  never  to  be  played  with  Insign  Timothy 
Macshane." 

He  waved  his  hat  and  strutted  down  the  street ;  and  Mrs. 
Catherine  Hayes,  along  with  her  bridegroom  and  mother-in-law, 
made  the  best  of  their  wa}^  homeward  on  foot. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

•WHICH    ElMBRACES    A    PERIOD    OF    SEVEN   YEARS. 

The  recovery  of  so  considerable  a  portion  of  his  property 
from  the  clutches  of  Brock  was,  as  may  be  imagined,  no  trifling 
source  of  joy  to  that  excellent  3'oung  man,  Count  Gustavus 
Adolphus  de  Galgenstein  ;  and  he  was  often  known  to  say,  with 
much  archness,  and  a  proper  feeling  of  gratitude  to  the  Fate 
which  had  ordained  things  so,  that  the  robber}-  was,  in  reality, 
one  of  the  best  things  that  could  have  happened  to  him  :  for, 
in  event  of  Mr.  Brock's  not  stealing  the  money,  his  Excellency 
the  Count  would  have  had  to  pay  the  whole  to  the  AYarwickshire 
Squire,  <vho  had  won  it  from  him  at  play.  He  was  enabled,  in 
the  present  instance,  to  plead  his  notorious  povert}'  as  an  ex- 
cuse ;  and  the  Warwicksliire  conqueror  got  off  with  nothing, 
except  a  very  badly  written  autograph  of  the  Count's,  simply 
acknowledging  the  debt. 

This  point  his  Excellency  conceded  with  the  greatest  candor  ; 
but  (as,  doubtless,  the  reader  may  have  remarked  in  the  course 


CATHERIXE:    A   STORY.  339 

of  his  experience,)  to  owe  is  not  quite  tlie  same  thing  as  to  pa}- ; 
and  from  the  day  of  his  winning  the  money  until  the  day  of  his 
death  the  Warwiclcshire  Squire  did  never,  by  any  chance,  touch 
a  single  bob,  tizzy,  tester,  moidore,  maravedi,  doubloon,  to- 
maun,  or  rupee,  of  the  sum  which  Monsieur  de  Galgenstein 
had  lost  to  him. 

That  young  nobleman  was,  as  Mr.  Brock  hinted  in  the  little 
autobiographical  sketch  which  we  gave  in  a  former  chapter,  in- 
carcerated for  a  certain  period,  and  for  certain  other  clebts,  in 
the  donjons  of  Shrewsbury  ;  but  he  released  himself  from  them 
by  that  noble  and  consolatory  method  of  whitewashing  which 
the  law  has  provided  for  gentlemen  in  his  oppressed  condition  ; 
and  he  had  not  been  a  week  in  London,  when  he  fell  in  with, 
and  overcame,  or  put  to  flight,  Captain  Wood,  nllas  Brock,  and 
immediately  seized  upon  the  remainder  of  his  property.  After 
receiving  this,  the  Count,  with  commendable  discretion,  dis- 
appeared from  England  altogether  for  a  while  ;  nor  are  we  at 
all  authorized  to  state  that  any  of  his  debts  to  his  tradesmen 
were  discharged,  any  more  than  his  debts  of  honor,  as  they  are 
pleasantly  called. 

Having  thus  settled  with  his  creditors,  the  gallant  Count 
had  interest  enough  with  some  of  the  great  folk  to  procure  for 
himself  a  post  abroad,  and  was  absent  in  Holland  for  some 
time.  It  was  here  that  he  became  acquainted  with  the  lovely 
Madam  Silverkoop,  the  widow  of  a  deceased  gentleman  of  Ley- 
den  ;  and  although  the  lady  was  not  at  that  age  at  which  tender 
passions  are  usually  inspired  —  being  sixty  —  and  though  she 
could  not,  like  Mademoiselle  Ninon  de  I'Enclos,  then  at  Paris, 
boast  of  charms  which  defied  the  progress  of  time,  —  for  Mrs. 
Silverkoop  was  as  red  as  a  boiled  lobster,  and  as  unwieldy  as  a 
porpoise  ;  and  altliough  her  mental  attractions  did  by  no  means 
make  up  for  her  personal  deficiencies,  —  for  slie  was  jealous,  vio- 
lent, vulgar,  drunken,  and  stingy  to  a  miracle  :  yei  her  charms 
had  an  immediate  effect  on  Monsieur  de  Galgenstein ;  and 
hence,  perhaps,  the  reader  (the  rogue  !  how  well  he  knows  the 
world  !)  will  be  led  to  conclude  that  the  honest  widow  was  rich. 

Such,  indeed,  she  was  ;  and  Count  Gustavus,  despising  the 
difference  between  his  twent}"  quarterings  and  her  twenty  thou- 
sand pounds,  laid  the  most  desperate  siege  to  her,  and  finished 
by  causing  her  to  capitulate  ;  as  I  do  believe,  after  a  reasonable 
degree  of  pressing,  any  woman  will  do  to  any  man :  such,  at 
least,  has  been  mij  experience  in  the  matter. 

The  Count  then  married  ;  and  it  was  curious  to  see  how  he 
—  who,  as  we  have  seen  in  the  case  of  Mrs.  Cat,  had  been  as 


340  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

great  a  tiger  and  domestic  bully  as  any  extant —  now,  by  de- 
grees, fell  into  a  quiet  submission  towards  his  enormous  Coun- 
tess ;  who  ordered  him  up  and  down  as  a  lad}'  orders  her 
f®otman,  who  permitted  him  speedilj-  not  to  have  a  will  of  his 
own,  and  who  did  not  allow  him  a  shilling  of  her  money,  with- 
out receiving  for  the  same  an  accurate  account. 

How  was  it  that  he,  the  abject  slave  of  Madam  Silverkoop, 
had  been  victorious  over  Mrs.  Cat?  The  first  blow  is,  I  be- 
lieve, the  decisive  one  in  these  cases,  and  the  Countess  had 
stricken  it  a  week  after  their  marriage  ;  —  establishing  a  su- 
premacy which  the  Count  never  afterwards  attempted  to  ques- 
tion. 

We  have  alluded  to  his  Excellency's  marriage,  as  in  duty 
bound,  because  it  will  be  necessary  to  account  for  his  appear- 
ance hereafter  in  a  more  splendid  fashion  than  that  under  which 
he  has  hitherto  been  known  to  us  ;  and  just  comforting  the 
reader  b}'  the  knowledge  that  the  union,  though  prosperous  in 
a  worldlj'  point  of  view,  was,  in  reality,  extremelj^  unhappy, 
we  must  sa}^  no  more  from  this  time  forth  of  the  fat  and  legiti- 
mate Madam  de  Galgenstein.  Our  darling  is  Mrs.  Catherine, 
who  had  formerly  acted  in  her  stead  ;  and  only  in  so  much  as 
the  fat  Countess  did  influence  in  an}'  way  the  destinies  of  our 
heroine,  or  those  wise  and  virtuous  persons  who  have  appeared 
and  are  to  follow  her  to  her  end,  shall  we  in  any  degree  allow 
her  name  to  figure  here.  It  is  an  awful  thing  to  get  a  glimpse, 
as  one  sometimes  does,  when  the  time  is  past,  of  some  little, 
little  wheel  which  works  the  whole  mighty  machinery  of  Fate, 
and  see  how  our  destinies  turn  on  a  minute's  delay  or  advance, 
or  on  the  turning  of  a  street,  or  on  somebody  else's  turning 
of  a  street,  or  on  somebody  else's  doing  of  something  else  in 
Downing  Street  or  in  Timbuctoo,  now  or  a  thousand  years  ago. 
Thus,  for  instance,  if  Miss  Foots,  in  the  year  1C95,  had  never 
been  the  lovely  inmate  of  a  Spielhaus  at  Amsterdam,  Mr.  Van 
Silverkoop  would  never  have  seen  her  ;  if  tlie  day  had  not  been 
extraordhiarily  hot,  the  worthy  merchant  would  never  have 
gone  thither ;  if  he  had  not  been  fond  of  Rhenish  wine  and 
eugar,  he  never  would  have  called  for  any  such  delicacies ;  if 
he  had  not  called  for  them.  Miss  Ottilia  Foots  would  never 
have  brought  them,  and  partaken  oi"  tliem  ;  if  he  had  not  been 
rich,  she  would  certainly  have  rejected  all  the  advances  made 
to  her  by  Silverkooi) ;  if  he  had  not  been  so  fond  of  Rhenish 
and  sugar,  he  never  would  have  died  ;  and  Mrs.  Silverkoop 
would  have  been  neither  rich  nor  a  widow,  nor  a  wife  to  Count 
von  Galgenstein.     Na}',  nor  would  this  history  have  ever  beeu 


CATHERIXE:    A   STORY.  341 

written  ;  for  if  Count  Galgenstein  had  not  married  the  rich 
widow,  Mrs.  Catherine  would  never  have  — 

Oh,  my  dear  Madam  !  you  thought  we  were  going  to  tell 
you.  Pooh  !  nonsense,  —  no  such  thing  !  not  for  two  or  three 
and  seventy  pages  or  so  —  when,  perhaps,  30U  may  know  what 
Mrs.  Catherine  never  would  have  done. 

The  reader  will  remember,  in  the  second  chapter  of  these 
Memoirs,  the  announcement  that  Mrs.  Catherine  had  given  to 
the  world  a  child,  who  might  bear,  if  he  chose,  the  arms  of 
Galgenstein,  with  the  further  adornment  of  a  bar-sinister.  This 
child  had  been  put  out  to  nurse  some  time  before  its  mother's 
elopement  from  the  Count ;  and  as  that  nobleman  was  in  funds 
at  the  time  (having  had  that  success  at  plaj-  which  we  duly 
chronicled),  he  paid  a  sum  of  no  less  than  twentj'  guineas, 
which  was  to  be  the  3'early  reward  of  the  nurse  into  whose 
charge  the  bo_y  was  put.  The  woman  grew  fond  of  the  brat ; 
and  when,  after  the  first  year,  she  had  no  farther  news  or  remit- 
tances from  father  or  motli3r,  she  determined,  for  a  while  at  least, 
to  maintain  the  infant  at  her  own  expense  :  for,  when  rebuked 
b}'  her  neighbors  on  this  score,  she  stoutl3'  swore  that  no  parents 
could  ever  desert  their  children,  and  that  some  day  or  other  she 
should  not 'fail  to  be  rewarded  for  her  trouble  with  this  one. 

Under  this  strange  mental  hallucination  poor  Good^'  Billings, 
who  had  five  children  and  a  husband  of  her  own,  continued  to 
give  food  and  shelter  to  little  Tom  for  a  period  of  no  less  than 
seven  j'ears  ;  and  though  it  must  be  acknowledged  that  the 
young  gentleman  did  not  in  the  slightest  degree  merit  the  kind- 
nesses shown  to  him,  Goody  Billings,  who  was  of  a  A'er}^  soft 
and  pitiful  disposition,  continued  to  bestow  them  upon  him  : 
because,  she  said,  he  was  lonely  and  unprotected,  and  deserved 
them  more  than  other  children  who  had  fathers  and  mothers  to 
look  after  them.  If,  then,  any  difference  w-as  made  between 
Tom's  treatment  and  that  of  her  own  brood,  it  was  considerably 
in  favor  of  the  former  ;  to  whom  the  largest  proportions  of  trea- 
cle were  allotted  for  his  bread,  and  the  handsomest  supplies  of 
hasty-pudding.  Besides,  to  do  Mrs.  Billings  justice,  there  rvas 
a  party  against  him  ;  and  that  consisted  not  only  of  her  husband 
and  her  five  children,  but  of  every  single  person  in  the  neigh- 
borhood who  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  and  becoming  ac- 
quainted with  Master  Tom. 

A  celcbi'ated  philosopher  —  I  think  Miss  Edgeworth  —  has 
broached  the  consolatory  doctrine,  that  in  intellect  and  disposi- 
tion all  human  beings  are  entirely  equal,  and  that  circumstance 
and  education  arc  the  causes  of  the  distinctions  and  divisions 


342  CATHERINE:    A  STORY. 

which  afterwards  unhappily  take  place  among  them.  Not  to  ar- 
gue this  question,  which  places  Jack  Howard  and  Jack  Thurtell 
on  an  exact  level,  —  which  would  have  us  to  belieVe  that  Lord 
Melbourne  is  1)}'  natural  gifts  and  excellences  a  man  as  honest, 
brave,  and  far-sighted  as  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  —  which 
would  make  out  that  Lord  Lyndhurst  is,  in  point  of  principle, 
eloquence,  and  political  honest}^,  no  better  than  Mr.  O'Con- 
nell,  —  not,  I  say,  arguing  this  doctrine,  let  us  simply  state 
that  Master  Thomas  liillings  (for,  having  no  other,  he  took  the 
name  of  the  worthy  people  who  adopted  him)  was  iu  his  long- 
coats  fearful!}^  passionate,  screaming  and  roaring  perpetualh^, 
and  showing  ali  the  ill  that  he  could  show.  At  the  age  of  two, 
when  his  strength  enabled  him  to  toddle  abroad,  his  favorite 
resort  was  the  coal-hole  or  the  dung-heap  :  his  roarings  had  not 
diminished  in  the  least,  and  he  had  added  to  his  former  virtues 
two  new  ones,  —  a  love  of  fighting  and  stealing ;  both  which 
amiable  qualities  he  had  many  opportunities  of  exercising  every 
day.  He  fought  his  little  adoptive  brothers  and  sisters  ;  he 
kicked  and  cuffed  his  father  and  mother ;  he  fought  the  cat, 
stamped  upon  the  kittens,  was  worsted  in  a  severe  battle  with 
the  hen  in  the  back-yard  ;  but,  in  revenge,  nearly  beat  a  little 
sucking-pig  to  death,  whom  he  caught  alone,  and  rambling  near 
his  favorite  haunt,  the  dunghill.  As  for  stealing,  he  stole  the 
eggs,  which  lie  perforated  and  emptied  ;  the  butter,  which  he 
ate  with  or  without  bread,  as  he  could  find  it ;  the  sugar,  which 
he  cunningly  secreted  in  the  leaves  of  a  Baker's  Chronicle,  that 
nobod3^  in  the  establishment  could  read  ;  and  thus  from  the 
pages  of  history  he  used  to  suck  in  all  he  knew  —  thieving  and 
lying  namely  ;  in  which,  for  his  years,  he  made  wonderful  prog- 
ress. If  any  followers  of  Miss  Edge  worth  and  the  philoso- 
phers are  inclined  to  disbelieve  this  statement,  or  to  set  it  down 
as  overcharged  and  distorted,  let  them  be  assured  that  just  this 
very  picture  was,  of  all  pictures  in  the  world,  taken  from  nature. 
I,  Ikej'  Solomons,  once  had  a  dear  little  brother  who  could 
steal  before  he  could  walk  (and  this  not  from  encouragement, 
—  for,  if  you  know  the  world,  you  must  know  that  in  famihes 
of  our  profession  the  point  of  honor  is  sacred  at  home,  —  but 
from  pure  nature) — who  could  steal,  I  sa}',  before  he  could 
walk,  and  lie  before  he  could  speak  ;  and  who,  at  four  and 
a  half  years  of  age,  having  attacked  my  sister  Rebecca  on 
some   question   of  lollipops,   had   smitten   her  on   the   elbow 

with  a  fire-shovel,  apologized  to  us  by  saying  simply,  " 

her,  I  wish  it  had  been  her  head  !  "     Dear,  dear  Aminadab ! 
I  think  of  you,  and  laugh  these  philosophers  to  scorn.     Na- 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  343 

ture  made  j'ou  for  that  career  which  you  fulfilled :  you  were 
from  j'our  birth  to  3-our  dyiug  a  scoundrel ;  3'ou  coidda't  have 
been  anything  else,  however  your  lot  was  cast ;  and  blessed  it 
was  that  you  were  born  among  the  prigs,  —  for  had  3-ou  been 
of  any  other  profession,  alas  !  alas !  Avhat  ills  might  you  liave 
done?  As  I  have  heard  the  author  of  "  Richelieu,"  "  Siamese 
Twins,"  (fcc,  say,  "  Poeta  naseitur,  uon  fit,"  which  means  that 
though  he  had  tried  ever  so  much  to  be  a  poet,  it  was  all  moon- 
shine:  in  the  like  manner,  I  say,  '■'■  Eoar/its  naseitur,  non  fit." 
We  have  it  from  nature,  and  so  a  fig  for  Miss  Edge  worth. 

In  this  manner,  then,  while  his  father,  blessed  witli  a  wealthy 
wife,  was  leading,  in  a  fine  house,  the  life  of  a  galle^'-slave  ; 
while  his  mother,  married  to  Mr.  Hayes,  and  made  an  honest 
woman  of,  as  the  saying  is,  was  passing  her  time  respectably 
in  Warwickshire,  Mr.  Thomas  Billings  was  inhabiting  the  same 
count}',  not  cared  for  bj'  either  of  them  ;  but  ordained  by  Fate 
to  join  them  one  day,  and  have  a  mighty  influence  upon  the 
fortunes  of  both.  For,  as  it  has  often  happened  to  the  traveller 
in  the  York  or  the  Exeter  coach  to  fall  snugly  asleep  in  his 
corner,  and  on  awaking  suddenly  to  find  himself  sixty  or  seventy 
miles  from  the  place  where  Somnus  first  visited  him  :  as,  we 
say,  although  you  sit  still.  Time,  poor  wi'etch,  keeps  perpetually 
running  on,  and  so  must  run  da}-  and  niglit,  with  never  a  pause 
or  a  halt  of  five  minutes  to  get  a  drink,  until  his  dying  da}' ; 
let  the  reader  imagine  that  since  he  left  jMrs.  Hayes  and  all 
the  other  worthy  personages  of  this  history,  in  the  last  chapter, 
seven  years  have  sped  away  ;  during  which,  all  our  heroes  and 
heroines  have  been  accomplishing  their  destinies. 

Seven  years  of  country  carpentering,  or  otlier  trading,  on 
the  part  of  a  husband,  of  ceaseless  scolding,  violence,  and  dis- 
content on  the  part  of  a  wife,  are  not  pleasant  to  describe  :  so 
we  shall  omit  altogether  an}-  account  of  the  early  married  life 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Hayes.  The  "  Newgate  Calendar" 
(to  which  ^excellent  compilation  we  and  the  other  popular  nov- 
elists of  the  day  can  never  be  sufficiently  grateful)  states  that 
Hayes  left  his  house  tliree  or  four  times  during  this  period, 
and,  urged  by  the  restless  humors  of  his  wife,  tried  sc^•cral 
professions  ;  returning,  however,  as  he  grew  weary  of  each,  to 
his  wife  and  his  paternal  home.  After  a  certain  time  his  i)arents 
died,  and  by  their  demise  he  succeeded  to  a  small  proj)erty,  and 
the  carpentering  business,  which  he  for  some  time  followed. 

What,  then,  in  the  meanwhile,  had  become  of  Captain  Wood, 
or  Brock,  and  Ensign  Macshane?  —  the  only  persons  now  to  be 
accounted  for  in  our  catalogue.     For  about  six  months  after 


344  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

their  capture  and  release  of  Mr.  Ha5'es,  those  noble  gentlemen 
had  followed,  with  much  prudence  and  success,  that  trade  which 
the  celebrated  and  polite  Duval,  the  ingenious  Sheppard,  the 
dauntless  Turpin,  and  indeed  many  other  heroes  of  our  most 
popular  novels,  had  pursued,  or  were  pursuing,  in  their  time. 
And  so  considerable  were  said  to  be  Captain  Wood's  gains, 
that  rei)orts  were  abroad  of  his  having  somewhere  a  buried 
treasure  ;  to  which  he  might  have  added  more,  had  not  Fate 
sudden!}'  cut  short  his  career  as  a  prig.  He  and  the  Ensign 
were  —  shame  to  say  —  transported  for  stealing  three  pewter- 
pots  off  a  railing  at  Exeter  ;  and  not  being  known  in  the  town, 
which  the}'  had  only  reached  that  morning,  they  were  detained 
by  no  further  charges,  but  simply  condemned  on  this  one. 
For  this  misdemeanor,  her  Majesty's  Government  vindictively 
sent  them  for  seven  years  beyond  the  sea ;  and,  as  the  fashion 
then  was,  sold  the  use  of  their  bodies  to  Virginian  planters 
during  that  space  of  time.  It  is  thus,  alas  !  that  the  strong  are 
always  used  to  deal  with  the  weak,  and  many  an  honest  fellow 
has  been  led  to  rue  his  unfortunate  difference  with  the  law. 

Thus,  then,  we  have  settled  all  scores.  The  Count  is  in 
Holland  with  his  wife  ;  Mrs.  Cat  in  Warwicksiiire  along  with 
her  excellent  husband  ;  Master  Thomas  Billings  with  his  adop- 
tive parents  in  the  same  county  ;  and  the  two  military  gentle- 
men watching  the  progress  and  cultivation  of  the  tobacco  and 
cotton  plant  in  the  New  World.  All  these  things  have  passed 
betvveen  the  acts,  dingaring-a-dingaring-a-dingledingle-ding,  the 
drop  draws  uj),  and  the  next  act  begins.  By  the  way,  the  play 
ends  with  a  drop :  but  that  is  neither  here  nor  there. 


[Here,  as  in  a  theatre,  the  orchestra  is  supposed  to  play  something 
melodious.  Tiie  people  get  up,  shake  themselves,  yawn,  and 
settle  down  in  their  seats  again.  "  Porter,  ale,  ginger-beer, 
cider,"  comes  round,  squeezing  through  the  legs  of  the  gentle- 
men in  the  pit.  Nobody  takes  anything  as  usual;  and  lo  !  the 
curtain  rises  again.  " 'Sh,  'shsh, 'shshshhh !  Hats  off!"  says 
everybody.] 

Mrs.  Ha^'es  had  now  been  for  six  years  the  adored  wife  of 
Mr.  Hayes,  and  no  offspring  had  arisen  to  bless  their  loves  and 
perpetuate  their  name.  She  had  obtained  a  complete  mastery 
over  her  lord  and  master  ;  and  having  had,  as  far  as  was  in  that 
gentleman's  power,  every  single  wish  gratified  that  she  could 
demand,  in  the  way  of  dress,  treats  to  Coventry  and  Birming- 
ham,  drink,  and  what  not  —  for,  though   a  hard  man,  John 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  345 

Hayes  had  learned  to  spend  his  monej^  pretty  freel}'  on  himself 
and  her  —  having  had  all  her  wishes  gratified,  it  was  natural 
that  she  should  begin  to  find  out  some  more  ;  and  the  next 
whim  she  hit  upon  was  to  be  restored  to  her  child.  It  may 
be  as  well  to  state  tliat  she  had  never  informed  her  husband 
of  the  existence  of  that  phenomenon,  although  he  was  aware  of 
his  wife's  former  connection  with  the  Count,  —  Mrs.  Hayes, 
in  their  matrimonial  quarrels,  invariabl}-  taunting  him  with 
accounts  of  her  former  splendor  and  happiness,  and  with  his 
own  meanness  of  taste  in  condescending  to  take  up  with 
his  Excellency's  leavings. 

She  determined,  then  (but  as  3-et  had  not  confided  her  deter- 
mination to  her  husband),  she  would  have  lier  boy;  altliough 
in  her  seven  3-ears'  residence  within  twenty  miles  of  him  she 
had  never  once  thought  of  seeing  him  :  and  tlie  kind  reader 
knows  that  when  Ids  excellent  lady  determines  on  a  thing  — 
a  shawl,  or  an  opera-box,  or  a  new  carriage,  or  twenty-four 
singing-lessons  from  Tamburini,  or  a  night  at  the  "Eagle 
Tavern"  C it}' Road,  or  a  ride  in  a  buss  to  Richmond  and  tea 
and  brandy-and-water  at  "Rose  Cottage  Hotel"  —  the  reader, 
high  or  low,  knows  that  when  Mrs.  Reader  desires  a  thing, 
have.it  she  will;  3'ou  may  just  as  well  talk  of  avoiding  her  as 
of  avoiding  gout,  bills,  or  graj'  liairs — and  that  you  know  is 
impossible.  I,  for  m}'  part,  have  had  all  three  —  a}',  and 
a  wife  too. 

I  say  that  when  a  woman  is  resolved  on  a  thing,  happen  it 
will :  if  husbands  refuse,  Fate  will  interfere  {fli'dcre  si  nequeo, 
&c.  ;  but  quotations  are  odious) .  And  some  hidden  power  was 
working  in  the  case  of  Mrs.  Ha^'es,  and,  for  its  own  awful 
purposes,  lending  her  its  aid. 

Who  has  not  felt  how  he  works — the  dread ful,  conquering 
Spirit  of  111?  AVho  cannot  see,  in  the  circle  of  his  own  society, 
the  fated  and  foredoomed  to  woe  and  evil?  Some  call  the  doc- 
trine of  destiny'  a  dark  creed  ;  but,  for  me,  I  would  fain  try 
and  think  it  a  consolator}'  one.  It  is  better,  with  all  one's  sins 
upon  one's  head,  to  deem  oneself  in  the  hands  of  Fate  than 
to  think  —  with  our  fierce  passions  and  weak  repentances ; 
witli  our  resolves  so  loud,  so  vain,  so  ludicrously,  despicably 
weak  and  frail;  with  our  dim,  wavering,  wretched  conceits 
about  virtue,  and  our  irresistible  propensity  to  wrong,  —  that 
we  are  the  workers  of  our  future  sorrow  or  happiness.  If  we 
depend  on  our  strength,  what  is  it  agrtinst  mighty  circumstance? 
If  W'C  look  to  ourselves,  what  hope  have  we?  Look  back  at 
the  whole  of  your  life,  and  see  how  Fate  has  mastered  you  and 


346  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

it.  Think  of  your  disappointments  and  your  successes.  Has 
your  striving  influenced  one  or  tlie  other?  A  fit  of  indigestion 
puts  itself  between  you  and  honors  and  reputation  ;  an  apple 
plops  on  your  nose,  and  makes  you  a  world's  wonder  and  glory  ; 
a  fit  of  poverty  makes  a  rascal  of  you,  who  were,  and  are  still, 
an  honest  man;  clubs,  trumps,  or  six  lucky  mains  at  dice, 
make  an  honest  man  for  life  of  you,  who  ever  were,  will  be, 
and  are  a  rascal.  Who  sends  the  illness?  who  causes  the  apple 
to  fall?  who  deprives  3-ou  of  your  w^orldly  goods?  or  who 
shuflfles  the  cards,  and  brings  trumps,  honor,  virtue,  and  pros- 
perity back  again  ?  You  call  it  chance  ;  a}-,  and  so  it  is  chance 
that  wlien  the  floor  gives  way,  and  the  rope  stretches  tight,  the 
poor  wretch  before  St.  Sepulchre's  clock  dies.  Only  with  us, 
clear-sighted  mortals  as  we  are,  we  can't  see  the  rope"  by  which 
we  hang,  and  know  not  when  or  how  the  drop  may  fall. 

But  revenons  a  nos^muutons  :  let  us  return  to  that  sweet  lamb. 
Master  Thomas,  and  the  milk-white  ewe,  Mrs.  Cat.  Seven 
3'ears  had  passed  away,  and  she  began  to  think  that  she  should 
very  much  like  to  see  her  child  once  more.  It  was  written  that 
she  should  ;  and  you  shall  hear  how,  soon  after,  without  any 
great  exertions  of  hers,  back  he  came  to  her. 

In  the  month  of  July,  in  the  year  1715,  there  came  down  a 
road  about  ten  miles  from  the  city  of  Worcester,  two  gentlemen  ; 
not  mounted,  Templar-like,  on  one  horse,  but  having  a  horse 
between  them  —  a  sorry  bay,  with  a  sorry  saddle,  and  a  large 
pack  behind  it ;  on  which  each  by  turn  took  a  ride.  Of  the 
two,  one  was  a  man  of  excessive  stature,  with  red  hair,  a  verv 
prominent  nose,  and  a  faded  military  dress  ;  while  the  other,  an 
old  weather-beaten,  sober-looking  personage,  wore  the  costume 
of  a  civilian  —  both  man  and  dress  appearing  to  have  reached 
the  autumnal,  or  seedy  state.  However,  the  pair  seemed,  in 
spite  of  their  apparent  poverty,  to  be  passably  merry.  The  old 
gentleman  rode  the  horse,  and  had,  in  the  coiu'se  of  their  jour- 
ney, ridden  him  two  miles  at  least  in  every  three.  The  tall 
one  walked  Avith  immense  strides  b}'  his  side ;  and  seemed,  in- 
deed, as  if  he  could  have  quickly  outstripped  the  four-footed 
animal,  had  he  chosen  to  exert  his  speed,  or  had  not  aflection 
for  his  comrade  retained  him  at  his  stirrup, 

A  short  time  previously  the  horse  had  cast  a  shoe  ;  and  this 
the  tall  man  on  foot  had  gathered  up,  and  was  holding  in  his 
hand  :  it  having  been  voted  that  the  first  blacksmith  to  whose 
shop  they  should  come  should  be  called  upon  to  fit  it  again  upon 
the  bay  horse. 

"Do  you  remimber  this  counthry,  Meejor?"  said  the  tall 


CATHERTXE:    A  STORY.  347 

man,  who  was  looking  about  him  veiy  much  pleased,  and  suck- 
ing a  flower.  "  I  think  tliim  green  cornfields  is  prettier  looking 
at^than  the  d tobacky  out  yondther,  and  bad  luck  to  it !  " 

"  I  recollect  the  place  right  well,  and  some  queer  pranks  we 
played  here  seven  years  agone,"  responded  the  gentleman  ad- 
(h-essed  as  Major.  "You  remember  that  man  and  his  wife, 
whom  we  took  in  pawn  at  the  '•  Three  Rooks  ? '  " 

"And  the  landlady  only  hung  last  Michaelmas?"  said  the 
tall  man,  parentlieticall3'. 

"  Hang  the  landlad}- !  —  we've  got  all  we  ever  would  out  of 
her,  you  know.  But  about  the  man  and  woman.  You  went 
after  the  chap's  mother,  and,  like  a  jackass,  as  you  are,  let  him 
loose.     Well,  the  woman  was  that  Catherine  that  you've  often 

heard  me  talk  about.     I  like  the  wench,  her,  for  I  almost 

brought  her  up  ;  and  she  was  for  a  year  or  two  along  with  that 
scoundrel  Galgenstein,  who  has  been  the  cause  of  my  ruin."    . 

"  The  inferrnal  blackguard  and  ruffian  !  "  said  the  tall  man  ; 
who,  with  his  companion,  has  no  doubt  been  recognized  by  the 
reader. 

"  Well,  this  Catherine  had  a  child  by  Galgenstein  ;  and 
somewhere  here  hard  by  the  woman  lived  to  whom  we  carried  the 
brat  to  nurse.  She  was  the  wife  of  a  blacksmith,  one  Billings  : 
it  won't  be  out  of  the  way  to  get  our  horse  shod  at  his  house,  if 
he  is  alive  still,  and  we  may  learn  something  a'bout  the  little 
beast.     I  should  be  glad  to  see  the  mother  well  enough." 

"  Do  I  reraimber  her?"  said  the  Ensign.  "Do  I  remim- 
ber  whiske}'?  Sure  I  do,  and  the  snivelling  sneak  her  husband, 
and  the  stout  old  ladv  her  mother-in-law,  and  the  dirty  one- 
eyed  ruftlan  who  sold  me  the  parson's  hat,  that  had  so  nearh' 
brought  me  into  trouble.  Oh  but  it  was  a  rare  rise  we  got 
out  of  them  chaps,  and  the  old  landlady  that's  hanged  too  ! " 
And  here  both  Ensign  Macshane  and  Major  Brock,  or  Wood, 
grinned,  and  showed  much  satisfaction. 

It  will  be  necessary  to  explain  the  reason  of  it.  We  gave 
the  British  public  to  understand  that  the  landlady  of  the  "  Three 
Rooks,"  at  Worcester,  was  a  notorious  fence,  or  banker  of 
thieves  ;  that  is,  a  purchaser  of  their  merchandise.  In  her 
hands  Mr.  Brock  and  his  companion  had  left  property  to  the 
amount  of  sixty  or  seventy  pounds,  which  was  sec-re  ted  in  a 
cunning  recess  in  a  chamber  of  the  "Three  Rooks,"  known 
only  to  the  landlady'  and  the  gentlemen  who  banked  with  her; 
and  in  this  place,  Mr.  Sicklop,  the  one-eyed  man  who  had 
joined  in  the  Hayes  adventure,  his  comrade,  and  one  or  two  of 
the  topping  prigs  of  the  county,  were  free.     Mr.  Sicklop  had 


348  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

been  shot  dead  in  a  night  attack  near  Bath ;  the  landlad.y  had 
been  suddenly  hanged,  as  an  accomphce  in  another  case  of  rob- 
beiy ;  and  when,  on  their  return  from  Virginia,  our  two  heroes, 
whose  hopes  of  hvehhood  depended  upon  it,  had  bent  their 
steps  towards  Worcester,  they  were  not  a  little  frightened  to 
hear  of  the  cruel  fate  of  the  hostess  and  many  of  the  amiable  fre- 
quenters of  the  "  Three  Rooks."  All  the  goodly  company  were 
separated  ;  the  house  was  no  longer  an  inn.  Was  the  money 
gone  too?  At  least  it  was  worth  while  to  look  —  which  Messrs. 
Brock  and  Macshane  determined  to  do. 

The  house  being  now  a  private  one,  Mr.  Brock,  with  a 
genius  that  was  above  his  station,  visited  its  owner,  with  a  huge 
portfolio  under  his  arm,  and,  in  the  cliaracter  of  a  painter,  re- 
quested permission  to  take  a  particular  sketch  from  a  particular 
window.  The  Ensign  followed  with  the  artist's  materials,  (con- 
sisting simpl}'  of  a  screw-driver  and  a  crow-bar)  ;  and  it  is 
hardly  necessary  to  say  that,  when  admission  was  grunted  to 
them,  they  opened  the  well-known  door,  and  to  their  inexpres- 
sible satisfaction  discovered,  not  their  own  peculiar  savings  ex- 
actly, for  these  had  been  ai)propriated  instantly  on  hearing  of 
their  transportation,  but  stores  of  mone}-  and  goods  to  the 
amount  of  near  three  hundred  pounds  :  to  which  Mr.  Macshane 
said  the}'  had  as  just  and  honorable  a  right  as  anybody  else. 
And  so  the}'  had  as  just  a  right  as  an}body  —  except  the  origi- 
nal owners  ;  but  who  was  to  discover  them  ? 

With  this  booty  they  set  out  on  their  journey — anywhere, 
for  they  knew  not  whither ;  and  it  so  chanced  that  when  their 
horse's  shoe  came  off,  they  were  within  a  few  furlongs  of  the 
cottage  of  Mr.  Billings,  the  blacksmith.  As  they  came  near, 
they  were  saluted  by  tremendous  roars  issuing  from  the  smithy. 
A  small  boy  was  held  across  the  bellows,  two  or  three  children 
of  smaller  and  larger  growth  were  holding  him  down,  and  many 
others  of  the  village  were  gazing  in  at  the  window,  while  a  man, 
half-naked,  was  lashing  the  little  boy  with  a  whip,  and  occasion- 
ing the  cries  heard  by  the  travellers.  As  the  horse  drew  up, 
the  operator  looked  at  the  new-comers  for  a  moment,  and  then 
proceeded  incontinently  wdth  his  w^ork  ;  belaboring  the  child 
more  fiercely  than  ever. 

When  he  had  done,  he  turned  round  to  the  new-comers  and 
asked  how  he  could  serve  them?  whereupon  Mr.  Wood  (for 
such  was  the  name  he  adopted,  and  by  such  we  shall  call  him 
to  the  end)  wittily  remarked  that  how^ever  he  nnght  wish  to 
serve  them.,  he  seemed  mightily  inclined  to  serve  that  young 
gentleman  first. 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  "       349 

"It's  no  joking  matter,"  said  the  blacksmith:  "if  I  don't 
serve  him  so  now,  he'll  be  worse  off  in  his  old  age.  He'll  come 
to  the  gallows,  as  sure  as  his  name  is  Bill  —  never  mind  what 
his  name  is."  And  so  saying,  he  gave  the  urchin  another  cut ; 
which  elicited,  of  course,  another  scream. 

"  Oh  !  his  name  is  Bill?  "  said  Captain  Wood. 

"  His  name's  not  Bill !  "  said  the  blacksmith,  sulkily.  "He's 
no  name  ;  and  no  heart,  neither.  My  wife  took  the  brat  in, 
seven  j-ears  ago,  from  a  beggarh'  French  chap  to  nurse,  and 
she  kept  him,  for  she  was  a  good  soul"  (here  his  e^xs  began  to 
wink),  "  and  she's  —  she's  gone  now  "  (here  he  began  fairly  to 

blubber).     "And  d him,  out  of  love  for  her,  I  kept  him 

too,  and  the  scoundrel  is  a  liar  and  a  thief.  This  blessed  da}-, 
merely  to  vex  me  and  my  boys  here,  he  spoke  ill  of  her  he  did, 

and  I'll  —  cut  —  his life  —  out  —  I  —  will !  "  and  with  each 

word  honest  Mulciber  applied  a  whack  on  the  body  of  little  Tom 
Billings  ;  who,  by  shrill  shrieks,  and  oaths  in  treble,  acknowl- 
edged the  receipt  of  the  blows. 

"Come,  come,"  said  Mr.  Wood,  "set  the  bo}-  down,  and 
the  bellows  a-going  ;  m}'  horse  wants  shoeing,  and  the  poor  lad 
has  had  strapping  enough." 

The  blacksmith  obeyed,  and  cast  poor  Master  Thomas  loose. 
As  he  staggered  away  and  looked  back  at  his  tormentor,  his 
countenance  assumed  an  expression  which  made  Mr.  Wood  say, 
grasping  hold  of  Macshane's  arm,  "It's  the  boy,  it's  the  boy! 
when  his  mother  gave  Galgenstein  the  laudanum,  she  had  the 
self-same  look  with  her !  " 

"  Had  she  really  now?"  said  Macshane.  "  And  pree,  Mee- 
jor,  who  was  his  mother?" 

"  Mrs.  Cat,  you  fool !  "  answered  Wood. 

"  Then,  upon  my  secred  word  of  honor,  she's  a  mighty  fine 
kitten  anyhow,  ray  dear.     Aha  !  " 

"They  don't  flroion  such  kittens,"  said  Mr.  Wood,  archly; 
and  Macshane,  taking  the  allusion,  clapped  his  finger  to  his 
nose  in  token  of  perfect  approbation  of  his  conuiiander's  senti- 
ment. 

While  the  blacksmith  was  shoeing  the  horse,  Mr.  Wood 
asked  him  manj'  questions  concerning  the  lad  whom  he  had  just 
been  chastising,  and  succeeded,  beyond  a  doubt,  in  establishing 
his  identity'  with  the  child  whom  Catherine  Hall  had  brought 
into  the  world  seven  years  since.  Billings  told  him  of  all  the 
virtues  of  his  wife,  and  the  manifold  crimes  of  tlie  lad  :  how  he 
stole,  and  fought,  and  lied,  and  swore  ;  and  tliougli  the  young- 
est under  his  roof,  exercised  the  most  baneful  intluence  over  all 


350       ■  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

the  rest  of  his  family.     He  was  determined  at  last,  he  said,  to 
put  him  to  the  parish,  for  he  did  not  dare  to  keep  him. 

"  He's  a  fine  whelp,  and  would  fetch  ten  pieces  in  Virginny," 
sighed  the  Ensign. 

"  Crimp,  of  Bristol,  would  give  five  for  him,"  said  Mr. 
Wood,  ruminating. 

"  Why  not  take  him?"  said  the  Ensign. 

"Faith,  why  not?"  said  Mr.  Wood.  "His  keep,  mean- 
while, will  not  be  sixpence  a  day."  Then  turning  round  to  the 
blacksmith,  "Mr.  Billings,"  said  he,  "you  will  be  surprised, 
perhaps,  to  hear  that  I  know  everything  regarding  that  poor 
lad's  history.  His  mother  was  an  unfortunate  lady  of  high 
family,  now  no  more ;  his  father  a  German  nobleman,  Count 
de  Galgenstein  bj^  name." 

"The  very  man!"  said  Billings:  "a  3'oung,  fair-haired 
man,  who  came  here  with  the  child,  and  a  dragoon  sergeant." 

"  Count  de  Galgenstein  by  name,  who,  on  the  point  of 
death,  recommended  the  infant  to  me." 

"And  did  he  pay  3-ou  seven  years'  boarding?"  said  Mr. 
Billings,  who  was  quite  alive  at  the  very  idea. 

"Alas,  sir,  not  a  jot!  he  died,  sir,  six  hundred  pounds  in 
my  debt;  didn't  he.  Ensign?" 

"  Six  hundred,  upon  my  seered  honor !  I  remember  when 
he  got  into  the  house  along  with  the  poli —  " 

"Psha!  what  matters  it?"  here  broke  out  Mr.  Wood,  look- 
ing fiercely  at  the  Ensign.  "  Six  hundred  pounds  he  owes  me  : 
how  was  he  to  pay  you  ?  But  he  told  me  to  take  charge  of  this 
boy,  if  I  found  him  ;  and  found  him  I  have,  and  ivill  take 
charge  of  him,  if  3'ou  will  hand  him  over." 

"Send  our  Tom!"  cried  Billings.  And  when  that  youth 
appeared,  scowling,  and  yet  trembling,  and  prepared,  as  it 
seemed,  for  another  casligation,  his  father,  to  his  surprise, 
asked  him  if  he  was  willing  to  go  along  with  those  gentlemen, 
or  whether  he  would  be  a  good  lad  and  stay  with  him. 

Mr.  Tom  replied  immediatelj^  "  I  won't  be  a  good  lad,  and 
I'd  rather  go  to than  stay  with  you  !  " 

"  Will  you  leave  your  brothers  and  sisters?"  said  Billings, 
looking  ver}'  dismal. 

"  Hang  m^'  brothers  and  sisters  —  I  hate  'em  ;  and,  besides, 
I  haven't  got  any  !  " 

"  But  3'ou  had  a  good  mother,  hadn't  3'ou,  Tom?" 

Tom  paused  for  a  moment. 

"  Mother's  gone,"  said  he,  "  and  yoxx  flog  me,  and  I'll  go 
with  these  men." 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  351 

"Well,  then,  go  thy  wa3-s,"  said  Billings,  starting  up  in  a 
passion:  "go  thy  wa^'s  for  a  gi'aceless  reprobate;  and  if  this 
gentleman  will  take  you,  he  may  do  so." 

After  some  further  parley,  the  conversation  ended,  and  the 
next  morning  Mr.  Wood's  party  consisted  of  three  :  a  little  boy 
being  mounted  upon  the  bay  horse,  in  addition  to  the  Ensign 
or  himself;  and  the  whole  company  went  journeying  towards 
Bristol. 

We  have  said  that  Mrs.  Hayes  had,  on  a  sudden,  taken  a 
fit  of  maternal  affection,  and  was  bent  upon  being  restored  to 
her  child  ;  and  that  benign  destiny  whicli  watched  over  the  life 
of  this  lucky  lady  instantly  set  about  gratifying  her  wish,  and, 
without  cost  to  herself  of  coach-hire  or  saddie-horse,  sent  the 
young  gentleman  very  quickly  to  her  arms.  The  village  in 
which  the  Hayeses  dwelt  was  but  a  very  few  miles  out  of  the 
road  from  Bristol ;  whither,  on  the  beueA'olent  mission  above 
hinted  at,  our  part}'  of  worthies  were  bound :  and  coming, 
towards  tlie  afternoon,  in  sight  of  the  house  of  that  very  Jus- 
tice Ballance  who  had  been  so  nearlj^  the  ruin  of  Ensign  Mac- 
shane,  that  officer  narrated,'  for  the  hundredth  time,  and  with 
much  glee,  the  circumstances  which  had  then  befallen  him,  and 
the  manner  in  which  Mrs.  Hayes,  the  elder,  had  come  forward 
to  his  rescue. 

"Suppose  we  go  and  see  the  old  girl?"  suggested  Mr. 
Wood.  "No  harm  can  come  to  us  now."  And  his  comrade 
always  assenting,  they  wound  their  wa}'  towards  the  village, 
and  reached  it  as  the  evening  came  on.  In  the  public-house 
where  they  rested,  Wood  made  inquiries  concerning  the  Hayes 
family  ;  was  informed  of  the  death  of  the  old  couple,  of  the 
establishment  of  John  Hayes  and  his  wife  in  their  place,  and 
of  the  kind  of  life  tliat  these  latter  led  together.  When  all  these 
points  had  been  imparted  to  Tiim,  he  ru'minated  much  :  an  ex- 
pression of  sublime  triumph  and  exultation  at  length  lighted 
up  his  features.  "I  think,  Tim,"  said  he  at  last,  "that  we 
can  make  more  than  five  pieces  of  that  bny." 

"Oh,  in  coorse!"  said  Timothy  Macshane,  Esq.;  who 
alwa3's  agreed  with  his  "  Meejor." 

"In  coorse,  yon  fool!  and  how?  I'll  tell  j'ou  how.  This 
Hayes  is  well  to  do  in  the  world,  and  —  " 

"And  we'll  nab  him  again  —  ha,  ha!"  roared  out  Mac- 
shane. "By  my  secrod  honor,  Meejor,  there  never  was  a  gin- 
eral  like  j'ou  at  a  strathyjam  !  " 

"Peace,  you  bellowing  donkey,  and  don't  wake  the  child. 


352  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

The  man  is  well  to  do,  his  wife  rules  him,  and  they  have  no 
children.  Now,  either  she  will  be  very  glad  to  have  the  boy 
back  again,  and  pay  for  the  finding  of  him,  or  else  she  has  said 
nothing  about  him,  and  will  pay  us  for  being  silent  too  :  or,  at 
any  rate,  Hayes  himself  will  be  ashamed  at  finding  his  wife  the 
mother  of  a  child  a  year  older  than  his  marriage,  and  will  pay 
for  the  keeping  of  the  brat  away.  There's  profit,  my  dear,  in 
any  one  of  the  eases,  or  my  name's  not  Peter  Brock." 

When  the  Ensign  understood  this  wondrous  ai'gument,  he 
would  fain  have  fallen  on  his  knees  and  worshipped  his  friend 
and  guide.  They  began  operations,  almost  immediately,  b}- 
an  attack  on  Mrs.  Ha^'es.  On  hearing,  as  she  did  in  private 
interview  with  the  ex-corporal  the  next  morning,  that  her  son 
was  found,  she  was  agitated  by  both  of  the  passions  which 
Wood  attributed  to  her.  She  longed  to  have  the  boy  back, 
and  would  give  any  reasonable  sum  to  see  him  ;  but  she  dreaded 
exposure,  and  would  pay  equally  to  avoid  that.  How  could 
she  gain  the  one  point  and  escape  the  other? 

Mrs.  Hayes  hit  upon  an  expedient  which,  I  am  given  to  un- 
derstand, is  not  uncommon  now-a-days.  She  suddenlj^  discov- 
ered that  she  had  a  dear  brother,  who  had  been  obliged  to  fly 
the  country  in  consequence  of  having  joined  the  Pretender,  and 
had  died  in  France,  leaving  behind  him  an  only  son.  This 
boy  her  brother  had,  with  his  last  breath,  recommended  to  her 
protection,  and  had  confided  him  to  the  charge  of  a  brother 
officer  who  was  now  in  the  countr}',  and  would  speedily  make 
his  appearance  ;  and,  to  put  the  story  beyond  a  doubt,  Mr. 
Wood  wrote  the  letter  from  her  brother  stating  all  these  partic- 
ulars, and  Ensign  Macshane  received  full  instructions  how  to 
perform  the  part  of  the  "  brother  officer."  AVhat  consideration 
Mr.  Wood  received  for  his  services,  we  cannot  say  ;  only  it  is 
well  known  that  Mr.  Hayes  caused  to  be  committed  to  gaol 
a  young  apprentice  in  his  ser^'ice,  charged  with  having  broken 
open  a"  cupboard  in  which  Mr.  Hayes  had  forty  guineas  in 
gold  and  silver,  and  to  which  none  but  he  and  his  wife  had 
access. 

Having  made  these  arrangements,  the  Corporal  and  his  little 
party  decamped  to  a  short  distance,  and  Mrs.  Catherine  was 
left  to  prepare  her  husband  for  a  speedy  addition  to  his  family, 
in  the  shape  of  this  darling  nephew.  John  Hayes  received  the 
news  with  anything  but  pleasure.  He  had  never  heard  of  any 
brother  of  Catherine's ;  she  had  been  bred  at  the  workhouse, 
and  nobody  ever  hinted  that  she  had  relatives:  but  it  is  easy 
for  a  lad}'  of  moderate  genius  to  invent  circumstances  ;  and 


Catherine's  Present  to  Mr    Hayes. 


CATHERINE:    A  STORY.  353 

with  lies,  tears,  threats,  coaxings,  oaths,  and  other  blandish- 
ments, she  compelled  him  to  submit. 

Two  days  afterwards,  as  Mr.  Hayes  was  working  in  his  shop 
with  his  lady  seated  beside  him,  the  trampling  of  a  horse  was 
heard  in  his  court-yard,  and  a  gentleman,  of  huge  stature,  de- 
scended from  it,  and  strode  into  the  shop.  His  figure  was 
wrapped  in  a  large  cloak  ;  but  Mr.  Hayes  could  not  help  fancy- 
ing tliat  he  had  somewhere  seen  his  face  before. 

"  This,  I  preshoom,"  said  the  gentleman,  "  is  Misther  Hayes, 
that  I  have  come  so  many  miles  to  see,  and  this  is  his  amiable 
lady?  I  was  the  most  intimate  frind,  madam,  of  your  lamintcd 
brother,  who  died  in  King  Lewis's  service,  and  whose  last 
touching  letthers  I  despatched  to  you  two  days  ago.  I  have 
with  me  a  further  precious  token  of  my  dear  friend,  Captain 
Hall  — it  is  here:' 

And  so  saying,  the  military  gentleman,  with  one  arm,  re- 
moved his  cloak,  and  stretching  forward  the  other  into  Ha^-es's 
face  almost,  stretched  likewise  forward  a  little  boy,  grinning 
and  sprawling  in  the  air,  and  prevented  on!}'  from  falling  to 
the  ground  by  the  hold  which  the  Ensign  kept  of  the  waistband 
of  his  little  coat  and  breeches. 

''  Isn't  he  a  pretty  boy? "  said  Mrs.  Ha^-es,  sidling  up  to  her 
husband  tenderly',  and  pressing  one  of  Mr.  Hayes's  hands. 

About  the  lad's  beauty  it  is  needless  to  say  what  the  carpen- 
ter thought ;  but  that  night,  and  for  many,  many  nights  after, 
the  lad  stayed  at  Mr.  Hayes's. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

ENOTIERATES     THE    ACCOMPLISHMENTS    OF    MASTER    THOMAS     BILL- 
INGS    INTRODUCES    BROCK    AS    DR.    WOOD AND    ANNOUNCES 

THE    EXECUTION    OF    ENSIGN    MACSHANE. 

We  are  obliged,  in  recording  this  histoiy,  to  follow  accurately 
that  great  authority,  the  "  Calendarium  Newgaticnm  Roago- 
rumquc  Registerium,"  of  which  ever}-  lover  of  literature  in  the 
present  da}'  knows  the  value  ;  and  as  that  remarkable  work 
totally  discards  all  the  unities  in  its  narratives,  and  reckons  the 
life  of  its  heroes  only  b_y  their  actions,  and  not  by  periods  of 
time,  we  must  follow  in  the  wake  of  this  mighty  ark  —  a  humble 

48 


354  CATHERINE  :    A  STORY. 

cockboat.  When  it  pauses,  we  pause  ;  when  it  runs  ten  knots 
an  hour,  we  run  with  the  same  celerity  ;  and  as,  in  order  to 
cany  the  reader  from  the  penultimate  chapter  of  this  work 
unto  the  last  chapter,  we  were  compelled  to  make  him  leap 
over  a  gap  of  seven  blank  3-ears,  ten  3-ears  more  must  like- 
wise be  granted  to  us  before  we  are  at  liberty  to  resume  our 
his  tor}'. 

During  that  period,  Master  Thomas  Billings  had  been  under 
the  especial  care  of  his  mother ;  and,  as  may  be  imagined,  he 
rather  increased  than  diminished  the  accomplishments  for  which 
he  had  been  remarkable  while  under  the  roof  of  his  foster- 
father.  And  with  this  advantage,  that  while  at  the  blacksmith's, 
and  only  three  or  four  years  of  age,  his  virtues  were  necessarily 
appreciated  only  in  his  family  circle,  and  among  those  few  ac- 
quaintances of  his  own  time  of  life  whom  a  youth  of  three  can 
be  expected  to  meet  in  the  alleys  or  over  the  gutters  of  a  small 
countr}'  hamlet,  — in  his  mother's  residence,  his  circle  extended 
with  his  own  growth,  and  he  began  to  give  proofs  of  those 
powers  of  which  in  infancy  there  had  been  only  encouraging 
indications.  Thus  it  was  nowise  remarkable  that  a  child  of 
four  years  should  not  know  his  letters,  and  should  have  had  a 
great  disinclination  to  learn  them  ;  but  when  a  j'oung  man  of 
fifteen  showed  the  same  creditable  ignorance,  the  same  unde- 
viating  dislike,  it  was  easy  to  see  that  he  possessed  much  reso- 
lution and  perseverance.  When  it  was  remarked,  too,  that,  in 
case  of  any  difference,  he  not  onl}'  beat  the  usher,  but  by  no 
means  disdained  to  torment  and  bull}^  the  very  smallest  boys  of 
the  school,  it  was  easy  to  see  that  his  mind  was  comprehensive 
and  careful,  as  well  as  courageoiis  and  grasping.  As  it  w^as 
said  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  in  the  Peninsula,  that  he  had 
a  thought  for  everybody  —  from  Lord  Hill  to  the  smallest  drum- 
mer in  the  army  —  in  like  manner  Tom  Billings  bestowed  his 
attention  on  high  and  low  ;  but  in  the  shape  of  blows  :  he  would 
fight  the  strongest  and  kick  the  smallest,  and  was  always  at 
work  with  one  or  the  other.  At  thirteen,  when  he  was  removed 
from  the  establishment  whither  he  had  been  sent,  he  was  the 
cock  of  the  school  out  of  doors,  and  the  very  last  bo}'  in.  He 
used  to  let  the  little  boys  and  new-comers  pass  him  b}',  and 
laugh  ;  but  he  always  belabored  them  unmercifuU}"  afterwards  ; 
and  then  it  was,  he  said,  his  turn  to  laugh.  With  such  a  pug- 
nacious turn,  Tom  Billings  ought  to  have  been  made  a  soldier 
and  might  have  died  a  marshal ;  but,  hy  an  unlucky  ordinance 

of  fate,  he  was  made  a  tailor,  and  died  a never  mind  what 

for  the  present ;  suffice  it  to  say,  that  he  was  suddenly  cut  off 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  355 

at  a  very  early  period  of  his  existence,  by  a  disease  wliich  has 
exercised  considerable  ravages  among  the  British  youth. 

B}^  consulting  the  autliorit}'  above  mentioned,  we  find  that 
Hayes  did  not  confine  himself  to  tlie  profession  of  a  carpenter, 
or  remain  long  established  in  the  country  ;  but  was  induced,  by 
the  eager  si)irit  of  Mrs.  Catherine  most  probably,  to  try  his 
fortune  in  the  metropolis  ;  where  he  lived,  flourished,  and  died. 
Oxford  Road,  Saint  Giles's,  and  Tottenham  Court,  were,  at 
various  periods  of  his  residence  in  town,  inhabited  by  him.  At 
one  place,  he  carried  on  the  business  of  green-grocer  and  small- 
coalman  ;  iu  anotlier,  he  was  carpenter,  undertaker,  and  lender 
of  money  to  the  poor :  finally,  he  was  a  lodging-house  keeper 
in  the  Oxford  or  Tyburn  Road ;  but  continued  to  exercise  the 
last-named  charitable  profession. 

Lending  as  he  did  upon  pledges,  and  carrying  on  a  pretty 
large  trade,  it  was  not  for  him,  of  course,  to  inquire  into  the 
pedigree  of  all  the  pieces  of  plate,  the  bales  of  cloth,  swords, 
watches,  wigs,  shoe-buckles,    &c.,  that  were  confided  by  his 
friends  to  his  keeping  ;  but  it  is  clear  that  his  friends  had  the 
requisite  confidence  in  him,  and  tliat  he  enjo^'ed  the  esteem  of 
a  class  of  characters  who  still  live  in  history,  and  are  admired 
unto  tins  very  day.     The  mind  loves  to  tliink  that,  perhaps,  in 
Mr.  Hayes's  back-parlor  the  gallant  Turpin  might  have  hob- 
and-nobbed  with  Mrs.  Catherine  ;  that  here,  pcrliaps,  the  noble 
Sheppard  might  have  cracked  his  joke,  or  quaffed  his  pint  of 
rum.     Who  knows  but  that  Machcath  and  Raul  Clifford  may 
have  crossed  legs  under  Ha3'es's  dinner-table?     But  why  pause 
to  speculate  on'things  that  might  have  been?  why  desert  reabty 
for  fond  imagination,  or  call  up  from  their  honored  graves  the 
sacred  dead?     I  know  not :  and  yet,  in  sooth,  I  can  never  pass 
Cumberland  Gate  without  a  sigh,  as  I  think  of  the  gallant 
cavaliers  who  traversed  that  road  in  old  time.     Rious  priests 
accompanied  their  triumphs  ;  tlieir  chariots  were  surrounded  by 
hosts  of  glittering  javelin-men.     As  the  slave  at  the  car  of  the 
Roman  conqueror  shouted,  "  Remember  thou  art  mortal !  "  be- 
fore the  eyes  of  the  British  warrior  rode  the  undertaker  and  his 
coffin,  telling  liim  that  he  too  must  die  !     Mark  well  the  spot ! 
A  hundred  years  ago  Albion  Street  (where  comic  Rower  dwelt, 
Milesia's   darling   son) — Albion    Street  was   a  desert.      The 
square  of  Connaught  was  witlrout  its  penultimate,  and,  strictly 
speaking,  nanr/ht.     The  Edgware  Road  was  then  a  road,  'tis 
true;   with  tinkling  wagons   passing  now  and  then,  and   fra- 
grant walls  of  snowy  hawthorn   blossoms.      Tlie   ploughman 
whistled  over  Nutforcl  Place  ;  down  the  green  solitudes  of  Sov- 


356  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

creign  Street  the  merry  milkmaid  led  the  lowing  kine.  Here, 
then,  in  the  midst  of  green  fields  and  sweet  air — before  ever 
omnibuses  were,  and  when  Pineapple  Turnpike  and  Terrace 
were  alike  unknown  —  here  stood  Tybnrn :  and  on  the  road 
towards  it,  perhaps  to  enjoy  the  prospect,  stood,  in  the  year 
1725,  the  habitation  of  Mr.  John  Hayes. 

One  fine  morning  in  the  year  1725,  Mrs.  Hayes,  who  had 
been  abroad  in  her  best  hat  and  riding-hood  ;  Mr.  Hayes,  who 
for  a  wonder  had  accompanied  her ;  and  Mrs.  Springatt,  a 
lodger,  who  for  a  remuneration  had  the  honor  of  sharing  Mrs. 
Hayes's  friendship  and  table  :  all  returned,  smiling  and  rosy,  at 
about  half-past  ten  o'clock,  from  a  walk  which  they  had  taken 
to  Baj-swater.  Many  thousands  of  people  were  likewise  seen 
flocking  down  the  Oxford  Road  ;  and  you  would  rather  have 
thought,  from  the  smartness  of  their  appearance  and  the  pleas- 
ure depicted  in  their  countenances,  that  they  were  just  issuing 
from  a  sermon,  than  quitting  the  ceremony  which  they  had  been 
to  attend. 

The  fact  is,  that  they  had  just  been  to  see  a  gentleman 
hanged,  —  a  cheap  pleasure,  which  the  Hayes  family  never 
denied  themselves  ;  and  they  returned  home  with  a  good  appe- 
tite to  breakfast,  braced  by  the  walk,  and  tickled  into  hunger 
as  it  were  by  the  spectacle.  I  can  recollect,  when  I  was  a  gyp 
at  Cambridge,  that  the  "men"  used  to  have  breakfast-parties 
for  the  very  same  purpose  ;  and  the  exhibition  of  the  morning 
acted  infallibly  upon  the  stomach,  and  caused  the  young  stu- 
dents to  eat  with  much  voracit}'. 

Well,  Mrs.  Catherine,  a  handsome,  well-dressed,  plump,  rosy 
woman,  of  three  or  four  and  thirty  (and  when,  my  dear,  is  a 
woman  handsomer  than  at  that  age?)  came  in  quite  merrily 
from  her  walk,  and  entered  the  back-parlor,  which  looked  into 
a  pleasant  yard,  or  garden,  whereon  the  sun  was  shining  very 
gayly ;  and  where,  at  a  table  covered  with  a  nice  white  cloth, 
laid  out  with  some  silver  mugs,  too,  and  knives,  all  with  dif- 
ferent crests  and  patterns,  sat  an  old  gentleman  reading  in  an 
old  book. 

"Here  we  are  at  last.  Doctor,"  said  Mrs.  Hayes,  "and 
here's  his  speech."  She  produced  the  little  halfpenny  tract, 
which  to  this  day  is  sold  at  the  gallows-foot  upon  the  death  of 
every  offender.  "I've  seen  a  many  men  turned  off,  to  be 
sure  ;  but  I  never  did  see  one  who  bore  it  more  like  a  man  than 
he  did." 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  gentleman  addressed  as  Doctor,  "he 


CATHERmE:    A   STORY.  357 

was  as  cool  and  as  brave  as  steel,  and  no  more  minded  hanging 
than  tooth-drawing." 

"  It  was  the  drink  that  ruined  him,"  said  Mrs.  Cat. 

"  Drink,  and  bad  company.  I  warned  him,  my  dear,  —  I 
warned  him  years  ago  :  and  directly  he  got  into  Wild's  gang, 
I  knew  that  he  had  not  a  year  to  run.  Ah,  wh}-,  my  love,  will 
men  continue  such  dangerous  courses,"  continued  the  Doctor, 
with  a  sigh,  "'  and  jeopaitly  their  hves  for  a  miserable  watch  or 
a  snuff-box,  of  which  Mr.  Wild  takes  three-fourths  of  the  prod- 
uce? But  here  comes  the  breakfast*;  and,  egad,  I  atn  as 
hungry  as  a  lad  of  twenty." 

Indeed,  at  this  moment  Mrs.  Hayes's  servant  appeared  with 
a  smoking  dish  of  bacon  and  greens  ;  and  Mr.  Hayes  himself 
ascended  from  the  cellar  (of  which  he  kept  the  key),  bearing 
with  him  a  tolerably  large  jug  of  small  beer.  To  this  repast 
the  Doctor,  Mrs.  Springatt  (the  other  lodger),  and  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  IIa3-es,  proceeded  with  great  alacrity.  A  fifth  cover  was 
laid,  but  not  used;  the  company  remarking  that  "  Tom  had 
very  likely  found  some  acquaintances  at  Tyburn,  with  whom  he 
might  choose  to  pass  the  morning." 

Tom  was  Master  Thomas  Billings,  now  of  the  age  of  sixteen  : 
slim,  smart,  five  feet  ten  inches  in  height,  handsome,  sallow  in 
complexion,  black-eyed,  and  black-haired.  Mr.  Billings  was 
apprentice  to  a  tailor,  of  tolerable  practice,  who  was  to  take 
him  into  partnership  at  the  end  of  his  term.  It  was  supposed, 
and  with  reason,  that  Tom  would  not  fail  to  make  a  fortune  in 
this  business  ;  of  which  the  present  head  was  one  Beinkleider, 
a  German.  Beinkleider  was  skilful  in  his  trade  (after  the  man- 
ner of  his  nation,  which  in  breeches  and  metaph3'sics  —  in  in- 
expressibles and  incomprohensibles  —  may  instruct  all  Europe), 
but  too  fond  of  his  pleasure.  Some  promissory-notes  of  his  had 
found  their  way  into  IIa3-es's  hands,  and  had  given  him  the 
means  not  onlj'  of  providing  Master  Billings  with  a  cheap 
apprenticeship,  and  a  cheap  partnership  afterwords  ;  but  would 
empower  him,  in  one  or  two  years  after  the  young  partner  had 
joined  the  firm,  to  eject  the  old  one  altogether.  80  that  there 
was  every  prospect  that,  Avhen  Mr.  Billings  was  twenty-one 
3'ears  of  age,  poor  Beinkleider  would  have  to  act,  not  as  his 
master,  but  his  journeyman. 

Tom  was  a  very  pi-ecocious  youth  ;  was  supplied  by  a  doting 
mother  with  plent3- of  pocket-mone}-,  and  spent  it  with  a  number 
of  livel3-  companions  of  both  sexes,  at  plays,  bull-baitings,  fairs, 
joll}'  parties  on  the  river,  and  such  like  innocent  amusements.' 
He  could  throw  a  main,  too,  as  well  as  his  elders ;  had  pinked 


358  CATHERINE  :    A  STORY. 

his  man,  in  a  row  at  Madam  King's  in  the  Piazza  ;  and  was 
much  respected  at  tlic  Roundliouse. 

Mr.  Ha_yes  was  not  very  fond  of  this  promising  young  gen- 
tleman ;  indeed,  lie  had  the  baseness  to  bear  malice,  because,  in 
a  quarrel  which  occurred  about  two  j^ears  previously,  he,  IIa3"es, 
being  desirous  to  chastise  Mr.  Billings,  had  found  himself  not  onl}^ 
quite  incompetent,  but  actually  at  the  mercy  of  the  boy  ;  who 
struck  him  over  the  head  with  a  joinl-stool,  felled  him  to  the 
ground,  and  swore  he  would  have  his  life.  The  Doctor,  who  was 
then  also  a  lodger  at  Mr.  Hayes's,  interposed,  and  restored  the 
combatants,  not  to  friendship,  but  to  peace.  Hayes  never 
afterwards  attempted  to  lift  his  hand  to  the  3'oung  man,  but 
contented  himself  with  hating  him  profoundly.  In  this  senti- 
ment Mr.  Billings  participated  cordially ;  and,  quite  unlike  Mr. 
Hayes,  who  never  dared  to  show  his  dislike,  used  on  every 
occasion  when  they  met,  by  actions,  looks,  words,  sneers,  and 
curses,  to  let  his  step-father  know  the  opinion  which  he  had  of 
him.  Why  did  not  Hayes  discard  the  boy  altogether?  Because, 
if  he  did  so,  he  was  really  afraid  of  his  life,  and  because  he 
trembled  before  Mrs.  Hayes,  his  lad}',  as  the  leaf  trembles  be- 
fore the  tempest  in  October.  His  breath  was  not  his  own,  but 
hers  ;  his  money,  too,  had  been  chicfl}-  of  her  getting,  —  for 
though  he  was  as  stingy  and  mean  as  mortal  man  can  be,  and 
so  likely  to  save  much,  he  had  not  the  genius  for  getting  which 
Mrs.  Hayes  possessed.  She  kept  his  books  (for  she  had  learned 
to  read  and  write  by  this  time),  she  made  his  bargains,  and  she 
directed  the  operations  of  the  poor-spirited  little  capitalist. 
When  bills  became  due,  and  creditors  pressed  for  time,  then 
she  brought  Hayes's  own  professional  merits  into  plaj-.  The 
man  was  as  deaf  and  cold  as  a  rock ;  never  did  poor  trades- 
man gain  a  penny  from  him  ;  ncA^er  were  the  bailiffs  delayed  one 
single  minute  from  their  prey.  The  Beinkleider  business,  for 
instance,  showed  pretty  well  the  genius  of  the  two.  Ha^'es  was 
for  closing  with  him  at  once  ;  but  his  w^ife  saw  the  vast  profits 
which  might  be  drawn  out  of  him,  and  arranged  the  apprentice- 
ship and  the  partnership  before  alluded  to.  The  woman  heartily 
scorned  and  spit  upon  her  husband,  who  fawned  upon  her  like 
a  spaniel.  She  loved  good  cheer  ;  she  did  not  want  for  a  certain 
kind  of  generosity.  The  only  feeling  that  Hayes  had  for  any 
one  except  himself  was  for  his  wife,  whom  he  held  in  a  cowardly 
awe  and  attachment :  he  liked  drink,  too,  which  made  him 
chirping  and  merr}-,  and  accepted  willinglj^  any  treats  that  his 
acquaintances  might  offer  him ;    but  he  would  suffer  agonies 


CATHERINE:    A  STORY.  359 

■when  his  wife  brought  or  ordered  from  the  cellar  a  bottle  of 
wine. 

And  now  for  the  Doctor.  He  was  about  seventy  years  of 
age.  He  had  been  much  abroad  ;  he  was  of  a  sober,  cheerful 
aspect ;  he  dressed  handsomely  and  quietly  in  a  broad  hat  and 
cassock ;  but  saw  no  company  except  the  few  friends  whom  he 
met  at  the  coflEee-house.  He  had  an  income  of  about  a  hundred 
pounds,  which  lie  promised  to  leave  to  young  Billings.  He  was 
amused  with  the  lad,  and  fond  of  his  mother,  and  had  boarded 
with  tBem.  for  some  3'ears  past.  The  Doctor,  in  fact,  was  our 
old  friend  Corporal  Brock  ;  the  Rev.  Dr.  Wood  now,  as  he  had 
been  Major  Wood  fifteen  3-ears  back. 

Any  one  who  has  read  the  former  part  of  this  history  must 
have  seen  that  we  have  spoken  throughout  with  invariable  re- 
spect of  Mr.  Brock;  and  that  in  every  circumstance  in  which 
he  has  appeared,  he  has  acted  not  only  with  prudence,  but  often 
with  genius.  The  early  obstacle  to  Mr.  Brock's  success  was 
want  of  conduct  simply.  Drink,  women,  plaj-  —  how  many  a 
brave  fellow  have  the}^  ruined  !  —  had  pulled  Brock  down  as 
often  as  his  merit  had  carried  him  up.  When  a  man's  passion 
for  pla}^  has  brought  him  to  be  a  scoundrel,  it  at  once  ceases  to 
be  hurtful  to  him  in  a  worldl}^  point  of  view  ;  he  cheats,  and 
wins.  It  is  only  for  the  idle  and  luxurious  that  women  retain 
their  fascinations  to  a  ver}'  late  period ;  and  Brock's  passions 
had  been  whipped  out  of  him  in  Virginia  ;  where  much  ill  health, 
ill  treatment,  hard  labor,  and  hard  food,  speedily  put  an  end  to 
them.  He  forgot  there  even  how  to  drink  ;  rum  or  wine  made 
this  poor  declining  gentleman  so  ill  that  he  could  indulge  in 
them  no  longer ;  and  so  his  three  vices  were  cured.  Had  he 
been  ambitious,  there  is  little  doubt  but  that  Mr.  Brock,  on  his 
return  from  transportation,  might  have  risen  in  the  woj-ld  ;  but 
he  was  old  and  a  philosopher :  he  did  not  care  about  rising. 
Living  was  cheaper  in  those  days,  and  interest  for  money 
higher :  when  he  had  amassed  about  six  hundred  pounds,  he 
purchased  an  annuity  of  sevent^'-two  pounds,  and  gave  out  — 
why  should  he  not? — that  he  had  the  capital  as  well  as  the 
interest.  After  leaving  the  Haj'es  family  in  the  countr3',  he 
found  them  again  in  London  :  he  took  up  liis  abode  with  them, 
and  was  attached  to  the  mother  and  the  son.  Do  3"ou  suppose 
that  rascals  have  not  affections  like  other  people?  hearts, 
madam  —  a}',  hearts  —  and  family  ties  which  they  cherish?  As 
the  Doctor  lived  on  with  this  charming  family,  he  began  to 
regret  that  he  had  sunk  all  his  money  in  annuities,  and  could 


360  CATHERINE:    A  STORY. 

not,  as  he  repeatedly  vowed  he  would,  leave  his  savings  to  his 
adopted  children. 

He  felt  an  indescribable  pleasure  ("  suave  mari  magno"  &c.) 
in  watching  the  storms  and  tempests  of  the  Haj-es  menar/e. 
He  used  to  encourage  Mrs.  Catherine  into  anger  when,  hapl^y, 
that  lady's  fits  of  calm  would  last  too  long ;  he  used  to  warm 
up  the  disputes  between  wife  and  husband,  mother  and  son, 
and  enjoy  them  beyond  expression  :  the}'  served  him  for  daily 
amusement ;  and  he  used  to  laugh  until  the  tears  ran  down  his 
venerable  cheeks  at  the  accounts  which  3'oung  Tom  continuall}' 
brought  him  of  his  pranks  abroad  among  watchmen  and  con- 
stables, at  taverns  or  elsewhere. 

When,  therefore,  as  the  party  were  discussing  their  bacon 
and  cabbage,  before  which  the  Rev.  Doctor  with  much  gravity 
said  grace.  Master  Tom  entered.  Doctor  Wood,  who  had  before 
been  rather  gloomy,  immediately  brightened  up,  and  made  a 
place  for  Billings  between  himself  and  Mrs.  Catherine. 

"  How  do,  old  cock?  "  said  that  3'oung  gentleman  familiarly. 
"How  goes  it,  mother?"  And  so  saying,  he  seized  eagerly 
upon  the  jug  of  beer  which  Mr.  Hayes  had  drawn,  and  from 
which  the  latter  was  about  to  help  himself,  ajid  poured  down 
his  throat  exactly  one  quart. 

"Ah!"  said  Mr.  Billings,  drawing  breath  after  a  draught 
which  he  had  learned  accurately  to  gauge  from  the  habit  of 
drinking  out  of  pewter  measures  which  held  precisely  that 
quantity.  —  "Ah!"  said  Mr.  Billings,  drawing  breath,  and 
wiping  his  mouth  with  his  sleeves,  *'  this  is  very  thin  stuff,  old 
Squaretoes  ;  but  my  coppers  have  been  red-hot  since  last  night, 
and  they  wanted  a  sluicing." 

"Should  you  like  some  ale,  dear?"  said  Mrs.  Ha3'es,  that 
fond  and  judicious  parent. 

"  A  quart  of  brandy,  Tom?  "  said  Dr.  Wood.  "  Your  papa 
will  run  down  to  the  cellar  for  it  in  a  minute." 

"  I'll  see  him  hanged  first !  "  cried  Mr.  Hayes,  quite  fright- 
ened. 

"  Oh,  fie,  now,  3'ou  unnatural  father !  "  said  the  Doctor. 

The  very  name  of  father  used  to  put  Mr.  Hayes  in  a  fury. 
"  I'm  not  his  father,  thank  heaven  !  "  said  he. 

"  No,  nor  nobody  else's,"  said  Tom. 

Mr.  Hayes  only  muttered  "  Base-born  brat !  " 

"  His  father  was  a  gentleman,  —  that's  more  than  i/ou  ever 
were!"  screamed  Mrs.  Hayes.  "His  father  was  a  man  of 
spirit ;  no  cowardly  sneak  of  a  carpenter,  Mr.  Hayes  !  Tom 
has  noble  blood  in  his  veins,  for  all  he  has  a  tailor's  appearance  ; 


CATIIERIXE:    A    STORY.  361 

and  if  his  mother  had  had  her  right,  she  would  be  now  in  a 
coach-and-six." 

"  I  wish  I  could  find  my  father,"  said  Tom ;  "  for  I  think 
Polly  Briggs  and  I  would  look  mighty  well  in  a  coach-and-six." 
Tom  fancied  that  if  his  father  was  a  Count  at  the  time  of  his 
birth,  he  must  be  a  prince  now  ;  and,  indeed,  went  among  his 
companions  by  the  latter  august  title. 

"A}',  Tom,  that  3'ou  would,"  cried  his  mother,  looking  at 
him  fondl}'. 

"  With  a  sword  bj^  my  side,  and  a  hat  and  feather,  there's 
never  a  lord  at  St.  James's  would  cut  a  finer  figure." 

After  a  little  more  of  this  talk,  in  which  Mrs.  Hayes  let  the 
company  know  her  high  opinion  of  her  son  —  who,  as  usual, 
took  care  to  show  his  extreme  contempt  for  his  step-father  — 
the  latter  retired  to  his  occupations  ;  the  lodger,  Mrs.  Springatt, 
who  had  never  said  a  word  all  this  time,  retired  to  her  apart- 
ment on  the  second  floor ;  and,  pulling  out  their  pipes  and 
tobacco,  the  old  gentleman  and  the  3'oung  one  solaced  liiem- 
selves  with  half  an  hour's  more  talk  and  smoking ;  while  the 
thrifty  Mrs.  Ha3'es,  opposite  to  them,  was  busy  with  her  books. 

"What's  in  the  confessions?"  said  Mr.  Billings  to  Doctor 
Wood.  "There  were  six  of  'em  besides  Mac:  two  for  sheep, 
four  housebreakers  ;  but  nothing  of  consequence,  I  fancj'." 

"  There's  the  paper,"  said  Wood.  archl3'.  "  Read  for  3'our- 
self,  Tom." 

Mr.  Tom  looked  at  the  same  time  ver3'  fierce  and  very 
•foolish  ;  for,  though  he  could  drink,  swear,  and  fight,  as  well 
as  an3-  lad  of  his  inches  in  England,  reading  was  not  among  his 

accomplishments.     "  I  tell  you  wiiat,  Doctor,"  said  he,  " 

3'Ou  !  have  no  bantering  with  me, — for  I'm  not  the  man  that 
will  bear  it,  — —  me  !  "  and  he  threw  a  tremendous  swaggeinng 
look  across  the  tal)le. 

"  I  want  3'ou  to  learn  to  read,  Tomm3-  dear.  Look  at  3'our 
mother  there  over  her  books:  she  keeps  them  as  neat  as  a 
scrivener  now,  and  at  twent3^  she  could  make  never  a  stroke." 

"Your  godfather  speaks  for  3-our  good,  child;  and  for  me, 
thou  knowcst  that  I  have  promised  thee  a  gold-headed  cane  and 
periwig  on  the  first  da3-  that  thou  canst  read  me  a  column  of  the 
Flying  Post" 

"Hang  the  periwig !"  said  Mr.  Tom,  testilj-.  "Let  ray 
godfather  read  the  paper  himself,  if  he  has  a  liking  for  it." 

Whereupon  the  old  gentleman  put  on  his  spectacles,  and 
glanced  over  the  sheet  of  white^'-brown  paper,  which,  orna- 
mented with  a  Dicture  of  a  gallows  at  the  top,  contained  the 


362  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

biographies  of  the  seven  unlucky  individuals  who  had  that  morn- 
ing suffered  the  penalty  of  the  law.  With  the  six  heroes  who 
came  first  in  the  list  we  have  nothing  to  do  ;  but  have  before 
us  a  copy  of  the  paper  containing  the  life  of  No.  7,  and  which 
the  Doctor  read  with  an  audible  voice  : 

"CAPTAIN   MACSHANE. 

"The  seventh  victim  to  his  own  crimes  was  the  famous 
highwayman,  Captain  Macshane,  so  well  known  as  the  Irish 
Fire-eater. 

"  The  Captain  came  to  the  ground  in  a  fine  white  lawn  shirt 
and  nightcap  ;  and,  being  a  Papist  in  his  rehgion,  was  attended 
by  Father  O'Flaherty,  Popish  priest,  and  chaplain  to  the  Ba- 
varian Envoy. 

"  Captain  Macshane  was  born  of  respectable  parents,  in  the 
town  of  Clonakilty,  in  Ireland,  being  descended  from  most  of 
the  kings  in  that  country.  He  had  the  honor  of  serving  their 
Majesties  Khig  William  and  Queen  Mar}-,  and  her  Majestj' 
Queen  Anne,  in  Flanders  and  Spain,  and  obtained  much  credit 
from  my  Lords  Marlborough  and  Peterborough  for  his  valor. 

"  But  being  placed  on  half-pay  at  the  end  of  the  war.  Ensign 
Macshane  took  to  evil  courses  ;  and,  frequenting  the  bagnios 
and  dice-houses,  was  speedily  brought  to  ruin. 

"Being  at  this  pass,  he  fell  in  with  the  notorious  Captain 
Wood,  and  they  two  together  committed  man}-  atrocious  rob- 
beries in  the  inland  counties  ;  but  these  being  too  hot  to  hold 
them,  they  went  into  the  west,  where  they  were  unknown. 
Here,  however,  the  day  of  retribution  arrived ;  for,  having 
stolen  three  pewter-pots  from  a  public-house,  they,  under  false 
names,  were  tried  at  Exeter,  and  ti'ansported  for  seven  years 
beyond  the  sea.  Thus  it  is  seen  that  Justice  neveu.  sleeps  ; 
but,  sooner  or  later,  is  sure  to  overtake  the  criminal. 

"  On  their  return  from  Virginia,  a  quarrel  about  boot}^  arose 
between  these  two,  and  Macshane  killed  Wood  in  a  combat  that 
took  place  between  them  near  to  the  town  of  Bristol :  but  a 
wagon  coming  up,  Macshane  was  obliged  to  fly  without  the  ill- 
gotten  wealth  :  so  true  is  it,  that  wickedness  never  prospers. 

"Two  days  afterwards,  Macshane  met  the  coach  of  Miss 
Macraw,  a  Scotch  lady  and  heiress,  going,  for  lumbago  and 
gout,  to  the  Bath.  He  at  first  would  have  robbed  this  lady ; 
but  such  were  his  arts,  that  he  induced  her  to  marry  him  ;  and 
the}'  lived  together  for  seven  3-ears  in  the  town  of  Eddenboro, 
in  Scotland,  —  he  passing  under  the  name  of  Colonel  Geraldine. 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  363 

The  lady  dying,  and  Macshane  having  expended  all  her  wealth, 
he  was  obliged  to  resume  his  former  evil  courses,  in  order  to 
save  himself  from  starvation ;  whereupon  he  robbed  a  Scotch 
lord,  b}'  name  the  Lord  of  Whistlebinkie,  of  a  mull  of  snuff; 
for  which  crime  he  was  condemned  to  the  Tol booth  prison 
at  Eddenboro,  in  Scotland,  and  whipped  manj^  times  in 
publick. 

"These  deserved  punishments  did  not  at  all  alter  Captain 
Macshane's  disposition;  and  on  the  17th  of  February  last,  he 
stopped  the  Bavarian  Envoy's  coach  on  Blackheath,  coming 
from  Dover,  and  robbed  his  Excellencj'  and  his  chaplain  ;  taking 
from  the  former  his  mone}',  watches,  star,  a  fur-cloak,  his 
sword  (a  very  valuable  one) ;  and  from  the  latter  a  Romish 
missal,  out  of  which  he  was  then  reading,  and  a  case-bottle." 

"  The  Bavarian  Envoy  !  "  said  Tom  parentheticall}'.  "  My 
master,  Beinkleider,  was  his  lordship's  regimental  tailor  in 
German}',  and  is  now  making  a  court  suit  for  him.  It  will 
be  a  matter  of  a  hundred  pounds  to  him,  I  warrant." 

Dr.  Wood  resumed  his  reading.  "  Hum  —  hum  !  A  Romish 
missal,  out  of  which  he  was  reading,  and  a  case-bottle. 

"  By  means  of  the  famous  Mr.  Wild,  this  notorious  criminal 
was  brought  to  justice,  and  the  case-bottle  and  missal  have  been 
restored  to  Father  O'Flaherty. 

"  During  his  confinement  in  Newgate,  Mr.  Macshane  could 
not  be  brought  to  express  an}-  contrition  for  his  crimes,  except 
that  of  having  killed  his  commanding  officer.  For  this  Wood 
he  pretended  an  excessive  sorrow,  and  vowed  that  usquebaugh 
had  been  the  cause  of  his  death,  —  indeed,  in  prison  he  partook 
of  no  other  liquor,  and  drunk  a  bottle  of  it  on  the  day  before 
his  death. 

"  He  was  visited  by  several  of  the  clergy  and  gentry  in  his 
cell ;  among  others,  by  the  Popish  priest  whom  he  had  robbed. 
Father  O'Flaherty,  before  mentioned,  who  attended  him  like- 
wise in  his  last  moments  (if  that  idolatrous  worship  may  be 
called  attention) ;  and  likewise  by  the  Father's  patron,  the 
Bavarian  Ambassador,  his  Excellency  Count  Maximilian  de 
Galarenstein." 


*t3^ 


As  old  Wood  came  to  these  words,  he  paused  to  give  them 
utterance. 

"What!  Max?"  screamed  Mrs.  Ha^^es,  letting  her  ink- 
bottle  fall  over  her  ledgers. 

"  Why,  be  hanged  if  it  ben't  my  father  !  "  said  Mr.  Billings. 

"Your  father,  sure  enough,  unless  there  be  others  of  his 


364  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

name,  and  unless  the  scoundrel  is  hanged,"  said  the  Doctor  — 
sinking  his  voice,  however,  at  the  end  of  the  sentence, 

Mr.  Billings  broke  his  pipe  in  an  agon}-  of  J03'.  "I  think 
we'll  have  the  coach  now,  mother,"  sa^'s  he  ;  "  and  I'm  blessed 
if  Polly  Briggs  shall  not  look  as  fine  as  a  duchess." 

"  Polly  Briggs  is  a  low  slut,  Tom,  and  not  fit  for  the  likes 
of  3'ou,  his  Excellency's  son.  Oh,  fie  !  You  must  be  a  gentle- 
man now,  sirrah  ;  and  I  doubt  whether  I  shan't  take  j'ou  awa}' 
from  that  odious  tailor's  shop  altogether." 

To  this  proposition  Mr.  Billings  objected  altogether ;  for, 
besides  Mrs.  Bi'iggs  before  alluded  to,  the  3'oung  gentleman 
was  much  attached  to  his  master's  daughter,  Mrs.  Margaret 
Gretel,  or  Gretchen  Beinkleider. 

"  No,"  says  he.  "  There  will  be  time  to  think  of  that  here- 
after, ma'am.  If  ni}'  Pa  makes  a  man  of  me,  why,  of  course, 
the  shop  may  go  to  the  deuce,  for  what  I  care  ;  but  we  had 
better  wait,  look  you,  for  something  certain,  before  we  give  up 
such  a  prett}'  bird  in  the  hand  as  this." 

"  He  speaks  like  Solomon,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"  I  always  said  he  would  be  a  credit  to  his  old  mother, 
didn't  I,  Brock?"  cried  Mrs.  Cat,  embracing  her  son  very 
affectionatel}'.  "  A  credit  to  her;  aj^  I  warrant,  a  real  bless- 
ing !  And  dost  thou  want  any  mone}',  Tom  ?  for  a  lord's  son 
must  not  go  about  without  a  few  pieces  in  his  pocket.  And  I 
tell  thee.  Tommy,  thou  must  go  and  see  his  lordship  ;  and  thou 
shalt  have  a  piece  of  brocade  for  a  waistcoat,  thou  shalt ;  ay, 
and  the  silver-hilted  sword  I  told  thee  of:  but  oh,  Tommy, 
Tommy  !  have  a  care,  and  don't  be  a-drawing  of  it  in  naughts- 
company  at  the  gaming-houses,  or  at  the " 

"A  drawing  of  fiddlesticks,  mother!  If  I  go  to  see  my 
father,  I  must  have  a  reason  for  it ;  and  instead  of  going  with 
a  sword  in  my  hand,  I  shall  take  something  else  iu  it." 

"  The  lad  is  a  lad  of  nous,"  cried  Dr.  Wood,  "  although  his 
mother  does  spoil  him  so  cruelly-.  Look  you,  Madam  Cat :  did 
you  not  hear  what  he  said  about  Beinkleider  and  the  clothes? 
Tomni}'  will  just  wait  on  the  Count  with  his  lordship's  breeches. 
A  man  may  learn  a  deal  of  news  in  the  trying  on  of  a  pair  of 
breeches." 

And  so  it  was  agreed  that  in  this  manner  the  son  should 
at  first  make  his  appearance  before  his  father.  Mrs.  Cat  gave 
him  the  piece  of  brocade,  which,  in  the  course  of  the  day, 
was  fashioned  into  a  smart  waistcoat  (forBeinkleider's  shop  was 
close  by,  in  Cavendish  Square).  Mrs.  Gretel,  with  many  blushes, 
tied  a  fine  blue  ribbon  round  his  neck  ;  and,  in  a  pair  of  silk 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  365 

stockings,  with  gold  buckles  to  his  shoes,  Master  Billings  looked 
a  very  proper  young  gentleman. 

"And,  Tommy,"  said  his  mother,  blushing  and  hesitating, 
"should  Max  —  should  his  lordship  ask  after  your  —  want  to 
know  if  your  mother  is  ali^'e,  you  can  say  she  is,  and  well,  and 
often  talks  of  old  times.  And,  Tommy  "  (after  another  pause), 
"  you  needn't  say  anything  about  Mr.  Hayes  ;  only  say  I'm 
quite  well." 

Mrs.  Hayes  looked  at  him  as  he  marched  down  the  street,  a 
long,  long  way.  Tom  was  proud  and  gay  in  his  new  costume, 
and  was  not  unlike  his  father.  As  she  looked,  lo  !  Oxford 
Street  disappeared,  and  she  saw  a^reen  common,  and  a  village, 
and  a  little  inn.  There  was  a  soldier  leading  a  pair  of  horses 
about  on  the  green  common  ;  and  in  the  inn  sat  a  cavalier-, 
so  young,  so  merry,  so  beautiful !  Oh,  what  slim  white  hands 
he  had ;  and  winning  words,  and  tender,  gentle  blue  eyes ! 
Was  it  not  an  honor  to  a  country  lass  that  such  a  noble  gentle- 
man should  look  at  her  for  a  moment?  Had  he  not  some  charm 
about  him  that  she  must  needs  obey  when  he  whispered  in  her 
ear,  "Come,  follow  me!"  As  she  walked  towards  the  lane 
that  morning,  how  well  she  remembered  each  spot  as  she  passed 
it,  and  the  look  it  wore  for  the  last  time  !  How  the  smoke  was 
rising  from  the  pastures,  how  the  fish  were  jumping  and  plash- 
ing in  the  mill-stream !  There  was  the  church,  with  all  its 
windows  lighted  up  with  gold,  and  yonder  were  the  reapers 
sweeping  down  the  brown  corn.  She  tried  to  sing  as  she  went 
up  the  hill — what  was  it?  She  could  not  remember;  but  oh, 
how  well  she  remembered  the  sound  of  the  horse's  hoofs,  as  the}- 
came  quicker,  quicker —  nearer,  nearer  !  How  noble  he  looked 
on  his  great  horse  !  Was  he  thinking  of  her,  or  were  they  all 
silly  words  which  he  spoke  last  night,  merely  to  pass  away  the 
time  and  deceive  poor  girls  with?  Would  he  remember  them, 
would  he? 

•  •••••  •  • 

"  Cat  my  dear,"  here  cried  Mr.  Brock,  alias  Captain,  alias 
Dr.  Wood,  "  here's  the  meat  a-getting  cold,  and  I  am  longing 
for  my  breakfast." 

As  the}^  w^ent  in  he  looked  her  hard  in  the  face.  "  What, 
sfM  at  it,  you  silly  girl?  I've  been  watching  you  these  five 
minutes.  Cat ;  and  be  hanged  but  I  think  a  word  from  Galgen- 
stein,  and  you  would  follow  him  as  a  fly  does  a  treacle-pot?  " 

They  went  in  to  breakfast ;  but  though  there  was  a  hot 
shoulder  of  mutton  and  onion-sauce  —  Mrs.  Catherine's  favor- 
ite dish  —  she  never  touched  a  morsel  of  it. 


366  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

In  the  meanwhile  Mr.  Thomas  Billings,  in  his  new  clothes 
which  his  mamma  had  given  him,  in  his  new  ribbon  which  the 
fair  Miss  Beinkleider  had  tied  round  his  neck,  and  having  his 
Excellency's  breeches  wrapped  in  a  silk  handkerchief  in  his  right 
hand,  turned  down  in  the  direction  of  Whitehall,  where  the 
Bavarian  Envoy  lodged.  But,  before  he  waited  on  him,  Mr. 
Billings,  being  excessively  pleased  with  his  personal  appear- 
ance, made  an  early  visit  to  Mrs.  Briggs,  who  lived  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Swallow  Street ;  and  who,  after  expressing 
herself  with  much  enthusiasm  regarding  her  Tommy's  good 
looks,  immediately  asked  him  what  he  would  stand  to  drink? 
Raspberry  gin  being  suggested,  a  pint  of  that  liquor  was  sent 
for ;  and  so  great  was  the  confidence  and  intimacy  subsisting 
between  these  two  young  people,  that  the  reader  will  be  glad 
to  hear  that  Mrs.  Polly  accepted  every  shilling  of  the  money 
which  Tom  Billings  had  received  from  his  mamma  the  day 
before  ;  nay,  could  with  difficulty  be  prevented  from  seizing  upon 
the  cut-velvet  breeches  which  he  was  carrying  to  the  nobleiDan 
for  whom  they  were  made.  Having  paid  his  adieux  to  Mrs. 
Polly,  Mr.  Billings  departed  to  visit  his  father. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

INTERVIEW    BETVTEEN    COUNT    GALGENSTEIN    AND    MASTER   THOMAS 
BILLINGS,  WHEN  HE    INFORMS  THE   COUNT  OF   HIS   PARENTAGE. 

I  don't  know  in  all  this  miserable  world  a  more  miserable 
spectacle  than  that  of  a  young  fellow  of  five  or  six  and  forty. 
The  British  army,  that  nursery  of  valor,  turns  out  many  of  the 
young  fellows  I  mean  :  who,  having  flaunted  in  dragoon  uni- 
forms from  seventeen  to  six-and-thirty ;  having  bought,  sold, 
or  swapped  during  that  period  some  two  hundred  horses; 
having  played,  say  fifteen  thousand  games  at  billiards  ;  having 
drunk  some  six  thousand  bottles  of  wine  ;  having  consumed  a 
reasonable  number  of  Nugee  coats,  spht  many  dozen  pairs  of 
high-heeled  Hoby  boots,  and  read  the  newspaper  and  the  army- 
list  duly,  retire  from  the  service  when  they  have  attained  their 
eighth  lustre,  and  saunter  through  the  world,  trailing  from 
London  to  Cheltenham,  and  from  Boulogne  to  Paris,  and  from 
Paris  to  Baden,  their  idleness,  their  ill-health,  and  their  ennui. 


CATHERINE  :    A   STORY.  367 

"In  the  morning  of  3'outli,"  and  when  seen  along  with  whole 
troops  of  their  companions,  these  flowers  look  gaudy  and  bril- 
liant enough  ;  but  there  is  no  object  more  dismal  than  one  of 
them  alone,  and  in  its  autumnal  or  seedy  state.  My  friend, 
Captain  Popjoy,  is  one  of  them  who  has  arrived  at  this  condi- 
tion, and  whom  everybody  knows- by  his  title  of  "Father  Pop. 
A  kinder,  simpler,  inore  empty-headed  fellow  does  not  exist. 
He  is  forty-seven  3-ears  old,  and  appears  a  young,  good-looking- 
man  of  sixtj-.  At  the  time  of  the  Army  of  Occupation  he 
reallj'  was  as  good-looking  a  man  as  any  in  the  Dragoons.  He 
now  uses  all  sorts  of  stratagems  to  cover  the  bald  place  on  his 
head,  b}'  combing  certain  thin  gray  side-locks  over  it.  He  has, 
in  revenge,  a  pair  of  enormous  moustaches,  which  he  dj-es  of 
the  richest  blue-black.  His  nose  is  a  good  deal  larger  and 
redder  than  it  used  to  be  ;  his  eyelids  have  grown  flat  and 
heav}^ ;  and  a  little  pair  of  red,  watery  eyeballs  float  in  the 
midst  of  them  :  it  seems  as  if  the  light  which  was  once  in  those 
sicklj'  green  pupils  had  extravasated  into  the  white  part  of  the 
eye.  If  Pop's  legs  are  not  so  firm  and  muscular  as  the}'  used 
to  be  in  those  da^'s  when  he  took  such  leaps  into  White's  buck- 
skins, in  revenge  his  waist  is  much  larger.  He  wears  a  very 
good  coat,  however,  and  a  waistband,  which  he  lets  out  after 
dinner.  Before  ladies  he  blushes,  and  is  as  silent  as  a  school- 
boy. He  calls  them  "  modest  women."  His  societ}-  is  chiefly 
among  young  lads  belonging  to  his  former  profession.  He 
knows  the  best  wine  to  be  had  at  each  tavern  or  cafe,  and  the 
waiters  treat  him  with  much  respectful  familiarity.  He  knows 
the  names  of  every  one  of  them  ;  and  shouts  out,  "  Send  Mark- 
well  here  !  "  or,  "  Tell  Cuttriss  to  give  us  a  bottle  of  the  yellow 
seal!"  or,  "  Dizz}^  voo,  Monsure  Borrel,  noo  donn}-  shampang 
frappy,"  &c.  He  alwaA's  makes  the  salad  or  the  punch,  and 
dines  out  three  hundred  days  in  the  3-ear :  the  other  days  you 
see  him  in  a  two-franc  eating-house  at  Paris,  or  prowling  about 
Rupert  Street  or  St.  Martin's  Court,  where  you  get  a  capital 
cut  of  meat  for  eightpence.  He  has  decent  lodgings  and 
scrupulously  clean  linen  ;  his  animal  functions  are  still  tolerably 
well  preserved,  his  spiritual  have  evaporated  long  since  ;  he 
sleeps  well,  has  no  conscience,  believes  himself  to  be  a  respec- 
table fellow,  and  is  tolerably  happ}'  on  the  daj's  when  he  is 
asked  out  to  dinner. 

Poor  Pop  is  not  very  high  in  the  scale  of  created  beings  ; 
but,  if  you  fancy  there  is  none  lower,  3-ou  are  in  egregious 
error.  There  was  once  a  man  who  had  a  mysterious  exhibi- 
tion of  an  animal  quite  unknown  to  naturalists,  called  "the 


368  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

wnsser."  Those  curious  individuals  who  desired  to  see  the 
wusser  were  introduced  into  an  apartment  where  appeared  be- 
fore them  nothing  more  than  a  little  lean,  shrivelled,  hideous, 
blear-eyed,  mangy  pig.  Every  one  cried  out  "  Swindle  !  " 
and  "Shame!"  "Patience,  gentlemen,  be  heas}-,"  said  the 
showman :  "  look  at  that  there  hanimal :  it's  a  perfect  phe- 
nomaly  of  hugliness  :  I  engage  you  never  see  such  a  pig." 
Nobody  ever  had  seen.  "Now,  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "I'll 
keep  my  promise,  has  per  bill ;  and  bad  as  that  there  pig  is, 
look  at  this  here"  (he  showed  another).  "  Look  at  this  here, 
and  you'll  see  at  once  that  it's  a  lousser."  In  lil^e  manner  the 
Popjoy  breed  is  bad  enough,  but  it  serves  only  to  show  off  the 
Galgenstein  race  ;  which  is  wusser. 

Galgenstein  had  led  a  very  gay  life,  as  the  saying  is,  for 
the  last  fifteen  years  ;  such  a  gay  one,  that  he  had  lost  all 
capacity  of  enjojaiient  b}'  this  time,  and  onl}'  possessed  inclina- 
tions without  powers  of  gratifying  them.  He  had  grown  to  be 
exquisitely  curious  and  fastidious  about  meat  and  drink,  for 
instance,  and  all  that  he  wanted  was  an  appetite.  He  carried 
about  with  him  a  French  cook,  who  could  not  make  him  eat ; 
a  doctor,  who  could  not  make  him  well ;  a  mistress,  of  whom 
he  was  heartily  sick  after  two  da3's  ;  a  priest,  who  had  been 
a  favorite  of  the  exemplar}^  Dubois,  and  by  turns  used  to  tickle 
him  by  the  imposition  of  a  penance,  or  by  the  repetition  of  a 
tale  from  the  recueil  of  Noce,  or  La  Fare.  All  his  appetites 
were  wasted  and  worn  ;  only  some  monstrosity  would  galvanize 
them,  into  momentary  action.  He  was  in  that  effete  state  to 
which  many  noblemen  of  his  time  had  arrived  ;  who  were  ready 
to  believe  in  ghost-raising  or  in  gold-making,  or  to  retire  into 
monasteries  and  wear  hair-shirts,  or  to  dabble  in  conspiracies, 
or  to  die  in  love  with  little  cook-maids  of  fifteen,  or  to  pine 
for  the  smiles  or  at  the  frowns  of  a  prince  of  the  blood,  or  to 
go  mad  at  the  refusal  of  a  chamberlain's  key.  The  last  grati- 
fication he  remembered  to  have  enjoyed  was  that  of  riding  bare- 
headed in  a  soaking  rain  for  three  hours  by  the  side  of  his 
Grand  Duke's  mistress's  coach  ;  taking  the  pas  of  Count  Krjih- 
winkel,  who  challenged  him,  and  was  run  through  the  bod}"  for 
this  very  dispute.  Galgenstein  gained  a  rheumatic  gout  b}'  it, 
which  put  him  to  tortures  for  many  months  ;  and  was  further 
gratified  with  the  post  of  English  Envoy.  He  had  a  fortune, 
he  asked  no  salary,  and  could  look  the  envoy  verj'  well.  Father 
O'Flahert}'  did  all  the  duties,  and  furthermore  acted  as  a  spy 
over  the  ambassador  —  a  sinecure  post ;  for  the  man  had  no 
feelings,  wishes,  or  opinions  —  absolutely  none. 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  369 

"Upon  my  life,  father,"  said  this  worth}-  man,  "I  care  for 
Qothing.  You  have  been  talking  for  an  hour  about  the  Regent's 
death,  and  the  Duchess  of  Phalaris,  and  sly  old  Fleury,  and 
what  not :  and  I  care  just  as  much  as  if  30U  told  me  that  one 
of  my  Bauers  at  Galgenstein  had  killed  a  pig ;  or  as  if  my 
lacky.  La  Rose  3'onder,  had  made  love  to  my  mistress." 

''  He  does  !  "  said  the  reverend  gentleman. 

"  Ah,  Monsieur  I'Abbe  !  "  said  La  Rose,  who  was  arranging 
his  master's  enormous  court  periwig,  "you  are,  helas  !  wrong. 
Monsieur  le  Comte  will  not  be  angry  at  my  saying  that  I  wish 
the  accusation  were  true." 

The  Count  did  not  take  the  slightest  notice  of  La  Rose's 
wit,  but  continued  his  own  complaints. 

"I  tell  .you.  Abbe,  I  care  fbr  nothing.  I  lost  a  thousand 
guineas  t'other  night  at  basset ;  I  wish  to  m}'  heart  I  could 
have  been  vexed  about  it.  Egad !  I  remember  the  da}-  when 
to  lose  a  hundred  made  me  half  mad  for  a  month.  Well,  next 
da}'  I  had  my  revenge  at  dice,  and  threw  thirteen  mains. 
There  was  some  delay ;  a  call  for  fresh  bones,  I  think  ;  and 
would  you  believe  it?     I  fell  asleep  with  the  box  in  my  hand  !  " 

"A  desperate  case,  indeed,"  said  the  Abbe. 

"If  it  had  not  been  for  Krahwinkel  I  should  have  been  a 
dead  man,  that's  positive.     That  pinking  him  saved  me." 

"  I  make  no  doubt  of  it,"  said  the  Abbe.  "  Had  your  Ex- 
cellency not  run  him  through,  he,  without  a  doubt,  would  have 
done  the  same  for  you." 

"  Psha !  you  mistake  my  words,  Monsieur  I'Abbe"  (yawn- 
ing).    "  I  mean  —  what  cursed  chocolate  !  —  that  I  was  dying 

for  want  of  excitement.     Not  that  I  care  fpr  dying  ;  no,  d 

me,  if  I  do  !  " 

"  When  you  do,*  your  Excellency  means,"  said  the  Abbe,  a 
fat,  gray-haired  Irishman,  from  the  Irlandois  College  at  Paris. 

His  Excellency  did  not  langh,  nor  understand  jokes  of  any 
kind;  he  was  of  an  undeviating  stupidity,  and  only  replied, 
"  Sir,  I  mean  what  I  say.  I  don't  care  for  living:  no,  nor  for 
dying  either ;  but  I  can  speak  as  well  as  another,  and  I'll 
thank  you  not  to  be  correcting  my  phrases  as  if  I  were  one 
of  your  cursed  school-boys,  and  not  a  gentleman  of  fortune 
and  blood." 

Herewith  the  Count,  who  had  uttered  four  sentences  about 
himself  (he  never  spoke  of  anything  else),  sunk  back  on  his 
pillows  again,  quite  exhausted  by  his  eloquence.  The  Abbc^, 
who  had  a  seat  and  a  table  by  the  bedside,  resumed  the  labors 
wliich   had  brought   him   into   the  room   in   the   morning,   and 

49 


.'570  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

busied  himself  with  papers,  which  occasionally  he  handed  over 
to  his  superior  for  approval. 

Presentlj^  Monsieur  La  Rose  appeared. 

"Here  is  a  person  with  clothes  from  Mr.  Beinkleider's. 
Will  your  Excellency  see  him,  or  shall  I  bid  him  leave  the 
clothes  ? " 

The  Count  was  very  much  fatigued  by  this  time  ;  he  had 
signed  three  papers,  and  read  the  first  half-dozen  lines  of  a  pair 
of  them. 

"  Bid  the  fellow  come  in,  La  Rose ;  and,  hark  3'e,  give  me 
my  wig :  one  must  sliow  one's  self  to  be  a  gentleman  before 
these  scoundrels."  And  he  therefore  mounted  a  large  chestnut- 
colored,  orange-scented  pyramid  of  horse-hair,  which  was  to 
awe  the  new-comer. 

He  was  a  lad  of  about  seventeen,  in  a  smart  waistcoat  and 
a  blue  ribbon :  our  friend  Tom  BiUings,  indeed.  He  carried 
under  his  arm  the  Count's  destined  breeches.  He  did  not  seem 
in  the  least  awed,  however,  b}'  his  ExcellencA's  appearance, 
but  looked  at  him  with  a  great  degree  of  curiosity'  and  boldness. 
In  the  same  manner  he  surveyed  the  chaplain,  and  then  nodded 
to  him  with  a  kind  look  of  recognition. 

"Where  have  I  seen  the  lad?"  said  the  father.  "Oh,  I 
have  it !  My  good  friend,  you  were  at  the  hanging  yesterday, 
Itliink?" 

Mr.  Billings  gave  a  very  significant  nod  with  his  head.  "  I 
never  miss,"  said  he. 

"  What  a  young  Turk  !  And  pray,  sir,  do  you  go  for  pleas- 
ure, or  for  business?" 

"Business  !  whijt  do  you  mean  by  business?" 

"  Oh,  I  did  not  know  whether  3'ou  might  be  brought 
up  to  the  trade,  or  your  relations  be  unclergoing  the  opera- 
tion." 

"My  relations,"  said  Mr.  Billings,  proudly,  and  staring  the 
Count  full  in  the  face,  "  was  not  made  for  no  such  tiling.  I'm 
a  tailor  now,  but  I'm  a  gentleman's  son  :  as  good  a  man,  ay,  as 
his  lordship  there  :  for  you  a'n't  his  lordship  —  you're  the  Pop- 
isli  priest  30U  are  ;  and  we  were  very  near  giving  you  a  touch 
of  a  few  Protestant  stones,  master." 

The  Count  began  to  be  a  little  amused  ;  he  was  pleased  to 
see  the  Abbe  loolf  alarmed,  or  even  foolish. 

"  Egad,  Abbe,"  said  he,  "  3'ou  turn  as  white  as  a  sheet." 

"  I  don't  fancy  being  murdered,  my  lord,"  said  the  Abbe, 
hastily;  "and  murdered  for  a  good  work.  It  was  but  to  be 
useful  to  yonder  poor  Irishman,  who  saved  me  as  a  prisoner  in 


^  CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  ,        371 

Flanders,  when  Marlborough  would  have  hung  me  up  like  poor 
Macshane  himself  was  3'esterday." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  Count,  bursting  out  with  some  energy,  "  I 
was  thinking  who  the  fellow  could  be,  ever  since  he  robbed  me 
on  the  Heath.  I  recollect  the  scoundrel  now  :  he  was  a  second 
in  a  duel  I  had  here  in  the  year  6." 

"Along  with  Major  Wood,  behind  Montague  House,"  said 
Mr.  BilUngs.  "  I've  heard  on  it."  And  here  he  looked  more 
knowing  than  ever. 

"  You  !  "  cried  the  Count,  more  and  more  surprised.  "  And 
pray  who  the  devil  are  you  ?  " 

"  My  name's  Billings." 

"  Billings?"  said  the  Count. 

"  I  come  out  of  Warwickshire,"  said  Mr.  Billings. 

"  Indeed !  " 

"  I  was  born  at  Birmingham  town." 

"  Were  j'ou  really  !  " 

"My  mother's  name  was  Hayes,"  continued  BilHngs,  in  a 
solemn  voice.  "  I  was  put  out  to  nurse  along  with  John  Bill- 
ings, a  blacksmith ;  and  m^^  father  run  away.  Now  do  3-ou 
know  wlio  I  am  ? " 

"  Wh}^  upon  honor,  now,"  said  the  Count,  who  was  amused, 
—  "  upon  honor,  Mr.  Billings,  I  have  not  that  advantage." 

"  Well,  then,  my  lord,  yoiCre  my  father  !  " 

Mr.  Billings,  when  he  said  this,  came  forward  to  the  Count 
with  a  theatrical  air ;  and,  flinging  down  the  breeches  of  which 
he  was  the  bearer,  held  out  his  arms  and  stared,  having  very 
little  doubt  but  that  his  lordship  would  forthwith  spring  out  of 
bed  and  hug  him  to  his  heart.  A  similar  piece  of  naivete  many 
fathers  of  families  have,  I  have  no  doubt,  remarked  in  their 
children  ;  who,  not  caring  for  their  parents  a  single  doit,  con- 
ceive, nevertheless,  that  the  latter  are  bound  to  show  all  sorts 
of  affection  for  them.  His  lordship  did  move,  but  backwards 
towards  the  wall,  and  began  pulling  at  the  bell-rope  with  an 
exj^ressioli  of  the  most  intense  alarm. 

"  Keep  back,  sirrah  !  —  keep  back  !  Suppose  I  am  j-our 
father,  do  you  want  to  murder  me?  Good  heavens,  how  the 
boy  smells  of  gin  and  tobacco  !  Don't  turn  away,  my  lad  !  sit 
doM'n  there  at  a  proper  distance.  And,  La  Rose,  give  him 
some  eau-de-Cologne,  and  get  a  cup  of  coffee.  Well,  now,  go 
on  with  your  stor}-.  P^gad,  my  dear  Abbe,  I  think  it  is  very 
likely  that  what  the  lad  sa3-s  is  true." 

"If  it  is  a  family  conversation,"  said  the  Abbe,  "I  had 
better  leave  you." 


372  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 


(( 


Oh,  for  heaven's  sake,  no !  I  could  not  stand  the  bo}^ 
alone.  Now,  Mister,  ah!  —  What's-your-name ?  Have  the 
goodness  to  tell  jour  story," 

Mr.  BiUings  was  wofuUy  disconcerted  ;  for  his  mother  and 
he  had  agreed  that  as  soon  as  his  father  saw  him  -he  would  be 
recognized  at  once,  and,  mayhap,  made  heir  to  the  estates  and 
title  ;  in  which,  being  disappointed,  he  very  sulkily  went  on  with 
his  narrative,  and  detailed  mau}^  of  those  events  with  which  the 
I'eader  has  already'  been  made  acquainted.  The  Count  asked 
the  boy's  mother's  Christian  name,  and  being  told  it,  his  mem- 
ory at  once  returned  to  him. 

"What!  are  you  little  Cat's  son?"  said  his  Excellenc}'. 
"By  heavens,  mon  cher  Abbe,  a- charming  creature,  but  a  ti- 
gress —  positively  a  tigress.  I  recollect  the  whole  aftair  now. 
She's  a  little,  fresh,  black-haired  woman,  a' n't  she?  with  a  sharp 
nose  and  thick  eyebrows,  ay?  Ah  !  yes,  yes,"  went  on  m}'  lord, 
"  I  recollect  her,  I  recollect  her.  It  was  at  Birmingham  I  first 
met  her  :  she  was  my  Lady  Trippet's  woman,  wasn't  she  ?  " 

"  She  was  no  such  thing,"  said  Mr.  Billings,  hotly.  "  Her 
aunt  kept  the  '  Bugle  Inn  '  on  Waltham  Green,  and  your  lord- 
ship seduced  her." 

"  Seduced  her!  Oh,  'gad,  so  I  did.  Stap  me,  now,  I  did. 
Yes,  I  made  her  jump  on  my  black  horse,  and  bore  her  off  like 

—  like  JEneas  bore  awa}^  his  wife  from  the  siege  of  Rome  !  hey, 
I'Abbe?" 

"  The  events  were  precisely  similar,"  said  the  Abbe.  "  It 
is  wonderful  what  a  memory  you  have  ! " 

"  I  was  always  remarkable  for  it,"  continued  his  Excellencj'. 
"  Well,  where  was  I,  — at  the  black  horse?  Yes,  at  the  black 
horse.  Well,  I  mounted  her  on  the  black  horse,  and  rode  her 
en  croupe,  egad  —  ha,  ha! — to  Birmingham;  and  there  we 
billed  and  cooed  together  like  a  pair  of  turtle-doves  :  yes  —  ha  ! 

—  that  we  did!" 

"And  this,  I  suppose,  is  the  end  of  some  of  the  billings  f  " 
said  the  Abbe,  pointing  to  Mr.  Tom. 

"  Billings  !  what  do  you  mean  ?  Yes  —  oh  —  ah  —  a  pun,  a 
calembourg.  Fi  done,  M.  I'Abbe."  And  then,  after  the  wont 
of  very  stupid  people,  M.  de  Galgenstein  went  on  to  explain 
to  the  Abbe  his  own  pun.  "  Well,  but  to  proceed,"  cries  he. 
"We  lived  together  at  Birmingham,  and  I  was  going  to  be 
married  to  a  rich  heiress,  egad  !  when  what  do  you  think  this 
little  Cat  does?  She  murders  me,  egad!  and  makes  me  tnan- 
quer  the  mai'riage.  Twenty  thousand,  I  think  it  was  ;  and  I 
wanted  the  money  in  those  rinya.     Now,  wasn't  she  an  abomi- 


CATHERINE:    A    STORY.-  oio 

liable  monster,  that  mother  of  yours,  he}-,  Mr.  a  —  What's- 
your-name  ?  " 

"She  served  you  right!"  said  Mr.  Billings,  with  a  great 
oath,  starting  up  out  of  all  patience. 

"  Fellow  !  "  said  his  Excellenc}',  quite  aghast,  "  do  3'ou  know 
to  whom  you  speak  ?  —  to  a  nobleman  of  seventy-eight  descents  ; 
a  count  of  the  Holy  Roman  Empire  ;  a  representative  of  a  sov- 
ereign ?  Ha,  egad !  Don't  stamp,  fellow,  if  3'ou  hope  for  my 
protection." 

"■  D — n  your  protection!"  said  Mr.  Billings,  in  a  ftny. 
"  Curse  3'ou  and  your  protection  too  !     I'm  a  free-born  Briton, 

and   no  French  Papist !     And    any  man  who  insults  my 

mother — ay,  or  calls  me  feller,  had  better  look  to  himself  and 
the  two  e^'es  in  his  head,  I  can  tell  him  !  "  And  with  this  Mr. 
Billings  put  himself  into  the  most  approved  attitude  of  the 
Cockpit,  and  invited  his  father,  the  reverend  gentleman,  and 
M.  La  Rose  the  valet,  to  engage  with  him  in  a  pugilistic  en- 
counter. The  two  latter,  the  Abbe  especiall}',  seemed  drcad- 
fulh-  frightened ;  but  the  Count  now  looked  on  with  much 
interest ;  and  giving  utterance  to  a  feeble  kind  of  chuckle, 
which  lasted  for  about  half  a  minute,  said,  — 

"Paws  off,  Pcmpey  !  You  young  hang-dog,  3'Ou  ■ — egad, 
3'es,  aha!  'pon  honor,  you're  a  lad  of  spirit?  some  of  your 
father's  spunk  in  you,  hey?  I  know  him  by  that  oath.  Why, 
sir,  when  I  was  sixteen,  I  used  to  swear  —  to  swear,  egad,  like  a 
Thames  waterman,  and  e:^actly  in  this  fellow's  way  !  Buss  me, 
my  lad;  no,  kiss  my  hand.  That  will  do" — and  he  held  out 
a  very  lean  3'ellow  hand,  peering  from  a  pair  of  3'ellow  ruffles. 
It  shook  ver3'  much,  and  the  shaking  made  all  the  rings  upon 
it  shine  onlv  the  more. 

"  Well,"  says  Mr.  Billings,  "  if  you  wasn't  a-going  to  abuse 
me  nor  mother,  I  don't  care  if  I  shake  hands  with  3^ou.  I  ain't 
proud  !  " 

The  Abbe  laughed  with  great  glee  ;  and  that  very  evening 
sent  off  to  his  court  a  most  ludicrous,  spicy  description  of  the 
whole  scene  of  meeting  between  this  amiable  father  and  child  ; 
in  which  he  said  that  young  Billings  was  the  Sieve  favorite  of 
M.  Kitch,  Ecuyer,  le  bourrcau  de  Londres,  and  which  made 
the  Duke's  mistress  laugh  so  much  that  she  vowed  that  the 
Abbe  should  have  a  bisliopric  on  his  return  :  for,  with  such 
store  of  wisdom,  look  you,  m3-  son,  was  the  world  governed  in 
those  days. 

The  Count  and  his  offspring  meanwhile  conversed  with  some 
cordialit}'.     The  former  informed  the  latter  of  all  the  diseases  to 


374  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

which  he  was  subject,  his  manner  of  curing  them,  his  great 
consideration  as  chamberlain  to  the  Duke  of  Bavaria ;  how  he 
wore  his  court  suits,  and  of  a  particular  powder  which  he  had 
invented  for  the  hair ;  how,  when  he  was  seventeen,  he  had  run 
away  with  a  canoness,  egad !  who  was  afterwards  locked  up  in 
a  convent,  and  grew  to  be  sixteen  stone  in  weight ;  how  he  re- 
membered the  time  when  ladies  did  not  wear  patches  ;  and  how 
the  Duchess  of  Marlborough  boxed  his  ears  when  he  was  so 
high,  because  he  wanted  to  kis^  her. 

All  these  important  anecdotes  took  some  time  in  the  telling, 
and  were  accompanied  b}^  man^-  profound  moral  remarks  ;  such 
as,  "I  can't  abide  garlic,  nor  white-wine,  stap  me !  nor  Sauer- 
kraut, though  his  Highness  eats  half  a  bushel  per  day.  I  ate  it 
the  first  time  at  court ;  but  when  they  brought  it  me  a  second 
time,  I  refused  —  refused,  split  me  and  grill  me  if  I  didn't! 
Everybody  stared ;  his  Highness  looked  as  fierce  as  a  Turk ; 
and  that  infernal  Krahwinkel  (my  dear,  I  did  for  him  after- 
wards)—  that  cursed  Krahwinkel,  I  saj',  looked  as  pleased  as 
possible,  and  whispered  to  Countess  Fritsch,  '  Blitzchen  Frau 
Griiflnn,'  says  he,  '  it's  all  over  with  Galgenstein.'  What  did 
I  do?  I  had  the  entree^  and  demanded  it.  '  Altesse,'  says  I, 
falling  on  one  knee,  '  I  ate  no  Kraut  at  dinner  to-day.  You 
remarked  it :  I  sav*^  3'our  Highness  remark  it.' 

"  '  I  did,  M.  le  Comte,'  said  his  Highness,  graveI3^ 

"  1  had  almost  tears  in  my  e^-es  ;  but  it  was  necessary  to 
come  to  a  resolution,  you  know.  '  Sij','  said  I,  '  I  speak  with 
deep  grief  to  3'our  Highness,  who  are  my  benefactor,  mj' friend, 
my  father  ;  but  of  this  I  am  resolved,  I  will  never  eat  Sauer- 
kraut MORE  :  it  don't  agree  with  me.  After  being  laid  up  for 
four  weeks  by  the  last  dish  of  Sauerkraut  of  which  I  partook,  I 
may  say  with  confidence  —  it  don't  agree  with  me.  B3'  impair- 
ing m3'  health,  it  impairs  my  intellect,  and  weakens  m3^  strength  ; 
and  both  I  would  keep  for  your  Highness's  service.' 

"  '  Tut,  tut ! '  said  his  Highness.  '  Tut,  tut,  tut ! '  Those 
were  his  ver3'  words. 

"  '  Give  me  m3^  sword  or  my  pen,'  said  I.  '  Give  me  m3' 
sword  or  my  pen,  and  with  these  Maximilian  de  Galgenstein  is 
read)'  to  serve  you  ;  but  sure,  —  sure,  a  great  prince  will  pity 
the  weak  health  of  a  faithful  subject,  who  does  not  know  how 
to  eat  Sauerkraut?'  His  Highness  was  walking  about  the 
room  :  I  was  still  on  my  knees,  and  stretched  forward  my  hand 
to  seize  his  coat. 

"  '  Geht  zum  Teufel,  sir  ! '  said  he,  in  a  loud  voice  (it  means 
'  Go  to  the  deuce,'  my  dear),  —  '  Geht  zum  Teufel,  and  eat  what 


CATHERINE:    A  STORY.  375 

you  like  ! '  With  this  he  went  out  of  the  room  abruptly ;  leav- 
ing in  my  hand  one  of  his  buttons,  which  I  lieep  to  this  day. 
As  soon  as  I  was  alone,  amazed  by  his  great  goodness  and 
bounty",  I  sobbed  aloud  —  cried  like  a  child"  (the  Count's  eyes 
filled  and  winked  at  the  very  recollection),  "  and  when  I  went 
back  into  the  card-room,  stepping  up  to  Kriihwinkel,  '  Count,' 
says  I,  '  who  looks  foolish  now?'  —  Key  there.  La  Rose,  give 
me  tlie  diamond  —  Yes,  that  was  the  very  pun  I  made,  and 
very  good  it  was  thought.  '  Kriihwinkel,'  saj^s  I,  '  who  looks 
foolish  now  ? '  and  from  that  day  to  this  I  was  never  at  a  court- 
day  asked  to  eat  Sauerkraut  —  never. 

"  Hey  there,  La  Rose  !  Briug  me  that  diamond  snuff-box  in 
the  drawer  of  my  secretoiVe  ,•  "  and  the  snuff-box  was  brought. 
"  Look  at  it,  my  dear,"  said  the  Count,  "  for  I  saw  3'ou  seemed 
to  doubt.  There  is  the  button  —  the  very  one  that  came  off 
Ms  grace's  coat." 

Mr.  Billings  received  it  and  twisted  it  about  with  a  stupid 
air.  The  story  had  quite  mystified  him  ;  for  he  did  not  dare  3'et 
to  think  his  father  was  a  fool  —  his  respect  for  the  aristocracy 
prevented  him. 

When  the  Count's  communications  had  ceased,  which  they 
did  as  soon  as  the  story  of  the  Sauerkraut  was  finished,  a  silence 
of  some  minutes  ensued.  Mr.  Billings  was  trying  to  compre- 
hend the  circumstances  above  narrated ;  his  lordship  was  ex- 
hausted ;  the  chaplain  had  quitted  the  room  directly  the  word 
Sauerkraut  was  mentioned  —  he  knew  what  was  coming.  His 
lordship  looked  for  some  time  at  his  son ;  who  returned  the 
gaze  with  his  mouth  wide  open.  '"Well,"  said  the  Count  — 
"  well,  sir?  What  are  you  sitting  there  for?  If  3-ou  have  noth- 
ing to  say,  sir,  you  had  better  go.  I  had  you  here  to  amuse 
me  —  split  me  —  and  not  to  sit  there  staring  !  " 

Mr.  Billings  rose  in  a  fury. 

"  Hark  ye,  my  lad,"  said  the  Count,  "  tell  La  Rose  to  give 
thee  five  guineas,  and,  ah  —  come  again  some  morning.  A 
nice,  well-grown  young  lad,"  mused  the  Count,  as  Master 
Tommy  walked  wondering  out  of  the  apartment;  "a  prett}^ 
fellow  enough,  and  intcUigent  too." 

"  Well,  he  is  an  odd  fellow,  mj-  father,"  thought  Mr.  Billings, 
as  he  walked  out,  having  received  the  sum  offered  to  him.  And 
he  immediatel}"  went  to  call  upon  his  friend  P0II3'  Briggs,  from 
whom  he  had  separated  in  the  morning. 

What  was  the  result  of  their  interview  is  not  at  all  neces- 
sary to  the  progress  of  this  history.  Having  made  her, 
however,   acquainted  with  the  particulars  of  his  visit  to  his 


376  CATHERINE:    A    STORY. 

father,  he  went  to  his  mother's  and  related  to  her  all  that 
had  occurred. 

Poor  thing,  she  was  very  differently  interested  in  the  issue 
of  it! 


CHAPTER  X. 

SHOWING     HOW   GALGENSTEIN     AND    JIES.    CAT    RECOGNIZE     EACH 

OTHER     IN     MARYLEBONE     GARDENS AND     HOW   THE     COUNT 

DRIVES    HER   HOME    IN    HIS    CARRIAGE. 


About  a  month  after  the  touching  conversation  above 
related,  there  was  given,  at  Marylebone  Gardens,  a  grand 
concert  and  entertainment,  at  which  the  celebrated  Madame 
Amenaide,  a  dancer  of  the  theatre  at  Paris,  was  to  perform, 
under  the  patronage  of  several  English  and  foreign  noblemen  ; 
among  whom  was  his  Excellency  the  Bavarian  Envoy.  Madame 
Amenaide  was,  in  fact,  no  other  than  the  maitresse  en  litre  of  the 
Monsieur  de  Galgenstein,  who  had  her  a  great  bargain  from  the 
Duke  de  Rohan-Chabot  at  Paris. 

It  is  not  our  purpose  to  make  a  great  and  learned  display- 
here,  otherwise  the  costumes  of  the  compau}'  assembled  at  this 
fete  might  afford  scope  for  at  least  half  a  dozen  pages  of  fine 
writing  ;  and  we  might  give,  if  need  were,  specimens  of  the 
very  songs  and  music  sung  on  the  occasion.  Does  not  the 
Burney  collection  of  music,  at  the  British  Museum,  afford  one 
an  ample  store  of  songs  from  which  to  choose  ?  Are  there  not 
the  memoirs  of  CoUey  Cibber  ?  those  of  Mrs.  Clark,  the  daughter 
of  Colley?  Is  there  not  Congreve,  and  Farquhar  —  nay,  and 
at  a  pinch,  the  "  Dramatic  Biography,"  or  even  the  Spectator^ 
from  which  the  observant  genius  might  borrow  passages,  and 
construct  pretty  antiquarian  figments  ?  Leave  we  these  trifles 
to  meaner  souls  !  Our  business  is  not  with  the  breeches  and 
periwigs,  with  the  hoops  and  patches,  but  with  the  divine 
hearts  of  men,  and  the  passions  which  agitate  them.  What 
need,  therefore,  have  we  to  sa^^  that  on  this  evening,  after  the 
dancing,  the  music,  and  the  fireworks.  Monsieur  de  Galgenstein 
felt  the  strange  and  welcome  pangs  of  appetite,  and  was  pick- 
ing a  cold  chicken,  along  with  some  other  friends,  in  an  arbor 
—  a  cold  chicken,  witli  an  accompaniment  of  a  bottle  of  cham- 
pagne—  when  lie  was  led  to  remark  that  a  very  handsome, 
plump  little  person,  in  a  gorgeous  stiff  damask  gown  and  petti- 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  377 

coat,  was  sauntering  up  and  down  the  walk  running  opposite 
his  supping-place,  and  bestowing  continual  glances  towards  his 
Excellency.  The  lady,  whoever  she  was,  was  in  a  mask,  such 
as  ladies  of  high  and  low  fashion  wore  at  public  places  in  those 
days,  and  had  a  male  companion.  He  was  a  lad  of  onl}-  seven- 
teen, marvellodsly  well  dressed  —  indeed,  no  other  than  the 
Count's  own  son,  Mr.  Thomas  Billings  ;  who  had  at  length  re- 
ceived from  his  mother  tlie  silver-hilted  sword,  and  the  wig, 
wliich  that  affectionate  parent  had  promised  to  him. 

In  the  course  of  the  month  which  had  elapsed  since  the  in- 
terview that  has  been  described  in  the  former  chapter,  Mr. 
Billings  had  several  times  had  occasion'  to  wait  on  his  father ; 
but  though  he  had,  according  to  her  wishes,  frequently'  alluded 
to  the  existence  of  his  inother,  the  Count  had  never  at  any 
time  expressed  the  slightest  wish  to  renew  his  acquaintance 
with  that  lady ;  who,  if  she  had  seen  him,  had  only  seen  him 
by  stealth. 

The  fact  is,  that  after  Biljings  had  related  to  her  the  par- 
ticulars of  his  first  meeting  with  his  Excellency ;  which  ended, 
like  many  of  the  latter  visits,  in  nothing  at  all ;  Mrs.  Hayes 
had  found  some  pressing  business,  which  continually  took  her 
to  Whitehall,  and  had  been  prowling  from  da}'  to  day  about 
Monsieur  de  Galgenstein's  lodgings.  Four  or  five  times  in  the 
week,  as  his  Excellency  stepped  into  his  coach,  he  might  have 
remarked,  had  he  chosen,  a  woman  in  a  black  hood,  who  was 
looking  most  eagerly  into  his  eyes  :  but  those  e3'es  had  long 
since  left  off  the  practice  of  observing  ;  and  Madam  Catherine's 
visits  had  so  far  gone  for  nothinsf. 

On  this  night,  however,  inspired  b}^  gaj'ety  and  drink,  the 
Count  had  been  amazingly  stricken  b}-  the  gait  and  ogling  of 
the  lady  in  the  mask.  The  Reverend  O'Flaherty,  M'ho  was 
with  him,  and  had  observed  the  figure  in  the  black  cloak,  recog- 
nized, or  thought  he  recognized,  her.  "It  is  the  woman  who 
dogs  your  Excellency  every  daj-,"  said  he.  "  She  is  with  that 
tailor  lad  who  loves  to  see  people  hanged  —  your  Excellency's 
son,  I  mean."  And  he  was  just  about  to  warn  the  Count  of  a 
conspiracy  evidently  made  against  him,  and  that  the  son  had 
brought,  most  likely,  the  mother  to  pla}-  her  arts  upon  him  — 
he  was  just  about,  I  say,  to  show  to  the  Count  the  foll_y  and 
danger  of  renewing  an  old  liaison  with  a  woman  such  as  he  had 
described  Mrs.  Cat  to  be,  when  his  Excellency,  starting  up, 
and  interrupting  his  ghostly  adviser  at  the  very  beginning  of 
his  sentent-e,  said,  "Egad,  I'Abbe,  3'ou  are  right  —  it  is  my 
son,  and  a  mightj'  smart-looking   creature  with   him.      Hey  I 


378  CATHERINE:    A  STORY. 

Mr.  What's-your-name  —  Tom,  j^ou  rogue,  clon't  you  know 
your  own  father?"  And  so  saying,  and  cocking  his  beaver 
on  one  side.  Monsieur  de  Galgenstein  strutted  jauntily  after 
Mr.  BilUngs  and  the  lad}'. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  the  Count  had  formally  recognized 
his  son. 

"  Tom,  you  rogue,"  stopped  at  this,  and  the  Count  camenp. 
He  had  a  white  velvet  suit,  covered  over  with  stars  and  orders, 
a  neat  modest  wig  and  bag,  and  peach-colored  silk-stockings 
with  silver  clasps.  The  lady  in  the  mask  gave  a  start  as  his 
Excellency  came  forward.  "  Law,  mother,  don't  squeege  so," 
said  Tom.  The  poor  woman  was  trembling  in  every  limb  ; 
but  she  had  presence  of  mind  to  "  squeege"  Tom  a  great  deal 
harder ;  and  the  latter  took  the  hint,  I  suppose,  and  was  silent. 

The  splendid  Count  came  up.  Ye  gods,  how  his  embroidery 
glittered  in  the  lamps  !  What  a  ro^'al  exhalation  of  musk  and 
bergamot  came  from  his  wig,  his  handkerchief,  and  his  grand 
lace  ruffles  and  frills  !  A  broad  3'ellow  riband  passed  across 
his  breast,  and  ended  at  his  hip  in  a  shining  diamond  cross  — 
a  diamond  cross,  and  a  diamond  sword-hilt1  Was  an3'thing 
ever  seen  so  beautiful?  And  might  not  a  poor  woman  tremble 
when  such  a  noble  creature  drew  near  to  her,  and  deigned, 
from  the  height  of  his  rank  and  splendor,  to  look  down  upon 
her?  As  Jove  came  down  to  Semele  in  state,  in  his  habits  of 
ceremony,  with  all  the  grand  cordons  of  his  orders  blazing 
about  his  imperial  person  —  thus  dazzling,  magnificent,  trium- 
phant, the  great  Galgenstein  descended  towards  Mrs.  Catherine. 
Her  cheeks  glowed  red  hot  under  her  coy  velvet  mask,  her  heart 
thumped  against  the  whalebone  prison  of  her  stag's.  What 
a  delicious  storm  of  vanity  was  raging  in  her  bosom  !  What  a 
rush  of  long-pent  recollections  burst  forth  at  the  sound  of  that 
enchanting  voice  ! 

As  3'ou  wind  up  a  hundred-guinea  chronometer  with  a  two- 
penn}-^  watch-ke}'  —  as  by  means  of  a  dirty  wooden  plug  you 
set  all  the  waters  of  Versailles  a-raging,  and  splashing,  and 
storming  —  in  like  manner,  and  by  like  humble  agents,  were 
Mrs.  Catherine's  tumultuous  passions  set  going.  The  Count, 
we  have  said,  slipped  up  to  his  son,  and  merel}-  saving,  "  How 
do,  Tom?"  cut  the  .young  gentleman  altogether,  and  passing 
round  to  the  ladj^'s  side,  said,  "Madam,  'tis  a  charming  even- 
ing —  egad  it  is  !  "  She  almost  fainted  :  it  was  the  old  voice. 
There  he  was,  after  seventeen  3'ears,  once  more  at  her  side  ! 

Now  I  know  what  I  could  have  done.  I  can*turn  out  a 
quotation  from  Sophocles  (by  looking  to  the  index)  as  well  as 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  379 

another :  I  can  throw  off  a  bit  of  fine  writing  too,  with  passion, 
similes,  and  a  moral  at  the  end.  What,  pra}^,  is  the  last  sen- 
tence but  one  but  the  very  finest  writing?  Suppose,  for  ex- 
ample, I  had  made  Maximilian,  as  he  stood  by  the  side  of 
Catherine,  look  up  towards  the  clouds,  and  exclaim,  in  the 
words  of  the  voluptuous  Cornelius  Nepos, 

^ ApOufxev  (pavipal 

Apoaepav  (pixriv  evayrjToi,  k.  t.  A. 

Or  suppose,  again,  I  had  said,  in  a  st3'le  still  more  popular :  — 
The  Count  advanced  towards  the  maiden.  They  both  were 
mute  for  a  while  ;  and  only  the  beating  of  her  heart  interrupted 
that  thrilling  and  passionate  silence.  Ah,  what  3'ears  of  buried 
joys  and  fears,  hopes  and  disappointments,  arose  from  their 
graves  in  the  far  past,  and  in  those  brief  moments  flitted  before 
the  united  ones !  How  sad  was  that  delicious  retrospect,  and 
oh,  how  sweet !  The  tears  that  rolled  down  the  cheek  of  each 
were  bubbles  from  the  choked  and  moss-growni  wells  of  3'outh  ; 
the  sigh  that  heaved  each  bosom  had  some  lurking  odors  in  it 
—  memories  of  the  fragrance  of  boyhood,  echoes  of  the  hymns 
of  the  young  heart !  Thus  is  it  ever  —  for  these  blessed  recol- 
lections the  soul  always  has  a  place  ;  and  while  crime  perishes, 
and  sorrow  is  forgotten,  the  beautiful  alone  is  eternal. 

"O  golden  legends,  written  in  the  skies!"  mused  Be  Gal- 
genstein,  "  ye  shine  as  ye  did  in  the  olden  days  !  We  change, 
but  ye  speak  ever  the  same  language.  Gazing  in  3-our  abysmal 
depths,  the  feeble  ratioci — " 


There,  now,  are  six  columns*  of  the  best  writing  to  be 
found  in  this  or  any  other  book.  Galgenstein  has  quoted 
Euripides  thrice,  Plato  once,  Lycophron  nine  times,  besides 
extracts  from  the  Latin  S3'ntax  and  the  minor  Greek  poets. 
Catherine's  passionate  embreathings  are  of  the  most  fashion- 
able order ;  and  I  call  upon  the  ingenious  critic  of  the  X 

newspaper  to  say  whether  the3'  do  not  possess  the  real  impress 
of  the  giants  of  the  olden  time  —  the  real  Platonic  smack,  in  a 

*  There  were  six  columns,  as  mentioned  by  the  accurate  Mr.  Solomons; 
but  we  have  withdrawn  two  pages  and  tiirce-quarters,  because,  although 
our  correspondent  has  been  excessively  eloquent,  according  to  custom,  we 
were  anxious  to  come  to  the  facts  of  the  story. 

Mr.  Solomons,  by  sending  to  our  office,  may  have  the  cancelled  pas- 
sages.—  O.  Y. 


380  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

word  ?  Not  that  I  want  in  the  least  to  show  off ;  but  it  is  as 
well,  every  now  and  then,  to  show  the  public  what  one  can  do. 

Instead,  however,  of  all  this  rant  and  nonsense,  how  much 
finer  is  the  speech  that  the  Count  really  did  make?  "It  is  a 
very  fine  evening,  —  egad  it  is  !  "  The  ' '  egad  "  did  the  whole 
business :  Mrs.  Cat  was  as  much  in  love  with  him  now  as  ever 
she  had  been  ;  and,  gathering  up  all  her  energies,  she  said, 
"It  is  dreadful  hot  too,  I  think;"  and  with  this  she  made  a 
curts}^ 

"Stifling,  split  me!"  added  his  Excellency.  "What  do 
you  sa}',  madam,  to  a  rest  in  an  arbor,  and  a  drink  of  some- 
thing cool ? " 

"  Sir  !  "  said  the  lady,  drawing  back. 

"Oh,  a  drink  —  a  drink  by  all  means,"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Billings,  who  was  troubled  with  a  perpetual  thirst.     "Come, 

mo ,  Mrs.  Jones,  I  mean :  you're  fond  of  a  glass  of  cold 

punch,  you  know ;  and  the  rum  here  is  prime,  I  can  tell 
you." 

The  lady  in  the  mask  consented  with  some  difficulty  to  the 
proposal  of  Mr.  Billings,  and  was  led  by  the  two  gentlemen 
into  an  arbor,  where  she  was  seated  between  them ;  and  some 
wax-candles  being  lighted,  punch  was  brought. 

She  drank  one  or  two  glasses  very  eagerl}',  and  so  did  her 
two  companions ;  although  it  was  evident  to  see,  from  the 
flushed  looks  of  both  of  them,  that  they  had  little  need  of  any 
such  stimulus.  The  Count,  in  the  midst  of  his  champagne,  it 
must  be  said,  had  been  amazingly  stricken  and  scandalized  by 
the  appearance  of  such  a  youth  as  Billings  in  a  public  place, 
with  a  lady  under  his  arm.  He  was,  the  reader  will  therefore 
understand,  in  the  moral  stage  of  liquor ;  and  when  he  issued 
out,  it  was  not  merely  with  the  intention  of  examining  Mr. 
Billings's  female  companion,  but  of  administering  to  him  some 
sound  correction  for  venturing,  at  his  early  period  of  life,  to 
form  any  such  acquaintances.  On  joining  Billings,  his  Excel- 
lency's first  step  was  naturally  to  examine  the  lady.  After 
they  had  been  sitting  for  a  while  over  their  punch,  he  bethought 
him  of  his  original  purpose,  and  began  to  address  a  number  of 
moral  remarks  to  his  son. 

We  have  already  given  some  specimens  of  Monsieur  de 
Galgenstein's  sober  conversation  ;  and  it  is  hardly  necessar}'  to 
trouble  the  reader  with  any  further  reports  of  his  speeches. 
They  were  intolerably  stupid  and  dull ;  as  egotistical  as  his 
morning  lecture  had  been,  and  a  hundred  times  more  rambling 
and  p^0S3^     If  Cat  had  been  in  the  possession  of  her  sober 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  381 

senses,  she  would  have  seen  in  five  minutes  that  her  ancient 
lover  was  a  ninny,  and  have  left  him  with  scorn ;  but  she  was 
under  the  charm  of  old  recollections,  and  the  sound  of  that  silly 
voice  was  to  her  magical.  As  for  Mr.  Billings,  he  allowed  his 
Excellency  to  continue  his  prattle  ;  only  frowning,  yawning, 
cursing  occasionally,  but  drinking  continually. 

So  the  Count  descanted  at  lengtti  upon  the  enormity  of 
young  Billings's  early  liaisons;  and  then  he  told  his  own,  in 
the  year  four,  with  a  burgomaster's  daughter  at  Ratisbon,  when 
he  was  in  the  Elector  of  Bavaria's  service  —  then,  after  Blen- 
heim, when  he  had  come  over  to  the. Duke  of  Marlborough, 
when  a  physician's  wife  at  Bonn  poisoned  herself  for  him, 
&c.  &c.  ;  of  a  piece  with  the  story  of  the  canoness,  which  has 
been  recorded  before.  All  the  tales  were  true.  A  clever, 
ugl}'  man  every  now  and  then  is  successful  with  the  ladies  ;  but 
a  handsome  fool  is  irresistible.  Mi-s.  Cat  listened  and  listened. 
Good  heavens !  she  had  heard  all  these  tales  before,  and 
recollected  the  place  and  the  time  —  how  she  was  hemming 
a  handkerchief  for  Max ;  who  came  round  and  kissed  her, 
vowing  that  the  phj-sician's  wife  was  nothing  compared  to  her 
—  how  he  was  tired,  and  lying  on  the  sofa,  just  come  home 
from  shooting.  How  handsome  he  looked  !  Cat  tliought  he 
was  only  the  handsomer  now ;  and  looked  more  grave  and 
thoughtful,  the  dear  fellow  ! 

The  garden  was  filled  with  a  vast  deal  of  company  of  all 
kinds,  and  parties  were  passing  every  moment  before  the  arbor 
where  our  trio  sat.  About  half  an  hour  after  his  Excellenc}' 
had  quitted  his  own  box  and  party,  the  Rev.  Mr.  O' Flaherty 
came  discreetly  round,  to  examine  the  proceedings  of  his  diplo- 
matical  chef.  The  lady  in  the  mask  was  listening  with  all  her 
inight ;  Mr.  Billings  was  drawing  figures  on  the  table  with 
punch  ;  and  the  count  talking  incessantly.  The  Father  Con- 
fessor listened  for  a  moment ;  and  then,  with  something  re- 
sembling an  oath,  walked  away  to  the  entry  of  the  gardens, 
where  his  Excellencj^'s  gilt  coach,  with  three  footmen,  was 
waiting  to  carry  him  back  to  London.  "  Get  me  a  chair, 
Joseph,"  said  his  Reverence,  who  infinitely  preferred  a  seat 
gratis  in  the  coach.  "That  fool,"  muttered  he,  "will  not 
move  for  this  hour."  The  reverend  gentleman  knew  that, 
when  the  Count  was  on  the  subject  of  the  phj'sician's  wife, 
his  discourses  were  intolerably  long ;  and  took  upon  himself, 
therefore,  to  disappear,  along  with  the  rest  of  the  Coinit's 
party  ;  who  procured  other  conveyances,  and  returned  to  their 
homes. 


382  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

After  this  quiet,  shadow  had  passed  before  the  Count's  box, 
many  groups  of  persons  passed  and  repassed  ;  and  among  them 
was  no  other  than  Mrs.  Polly  Briggs,  to  whom  we  have  been 
already  introduced.  Mrs.  Folly  was  in  company  with  one  or 
two  other  ladies,  and  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  gentleman  with 
large  shoulders  and  calves,  a  fierce  cock  to  his  hat,  and  a 
shabby  genteel  air.  His  name  was  Mr.  Moffat,  and  his  present 
occupation  was  that  of  door-keeper  at  a  gambling-house  in 
Covent  Garden  ;  where,  though  he  saw  many  thousands  pass 
daily  under  his  eyes,  his  own  salary  amounted  to  no  more  than 
four-and-sixpence  weekly, — -a  sum  quite  insufficient  to  main- 
tain him  in  the  rank  which  he  held. 

Mr.  Moffat  had,  however,  received  some  funds  —  amounting, 
indeed,  to  a  matter  of  twelve  guineas  —  within  the  last  month, 
and  was  treating  Mrs.  Briggs  very  generousl^^  to  the  concert. 
It  may  be  as  well  to  say  that  ever}'  one  of  the  twelve  guineas 
had  come  out  of  Mrs.  Polly's  own  pocket ;  who,  in  return,  had 
received  them  from  Mr.  Billings.  And  as  the  reader  may 
remember  that,  on  the  day  of  Tommy's  first  interview  with  his 
father,  he  had  previously  paid  a  visit  to  Mrs.  Briggs,  having 
under  his  arm  a  pair  of  breeches,  which  Mrs.  Briggs  coveted  — 
he  should  now  be  informed  that  she  desired  these  breeches,  not 
for  pincushions,  but  for  Mr.  Moffat,  who  had  long  been  in  want 
of  a  pair. 

Having  thus  episodically  narrated  Mr.  Moffat's  history,  let 
us  state  that  he,  his  lad}',  and  their  fi'iends,  passed  before  the 
Count's  arbor,  joining  in  a  melodious  chorus  to  a  song  which 
one  of  the  society,  an  actor  of  Betterton's,  was  singing  :  — 

"  'Tis  my  will,  when  I'm  dead,  that  no  tear  shall  be  shed, 
No  '  Hie  jacet'  be  graved  on  my  stone; 
But  pour  o'er  my  ashes  a  bottle  of  red, 
And  say  a  good  fellow  is  gone, 

My  brave  boys ! 
And  say  a  good  fellow  is  gone." 

"My  brave  boys"  was  given  with  vast  emphasis  by  the 
party ;  Mr.  Moffat  growling  it  in  a  rich  bass,  and  Mrs.  Briggs 
in  a  soaring  treble.  As  to  the  notes,  when  quavering  up  to 
the  skies,  they  excited  various  emotions  among  the  people  in 
the  gardens.  "  Silence  them  blackguards  !  "  shouted  a  barber, 
who  was  taking  a  pint  of  small  beer  along  with  his  lad}'.  "  Stop 
that  there  infernal  screeching ! "  said  a  couple  of  ladies,  who 
were  sipping  ratafia  in  compau}^  with  two  pretty  fellows. 

"  Dang  it,  it's  Polly ! "  said  Mr.  Tom  BilUngs,  bolting  out 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  383 

of  the  box,  and  rushing  towards  the  sweet-voiced  Mrs.  Briggs. 
When  he  reached  her,  which  he  did  quickly,  and  made  his 
arrival  known  bj'  tipping  Mrs.  Briggs  slightly  on  the  waist,  and 
suddenty  bouncing  down  before  her  and  her  friend,  both  of  the 
latter  drew  back  somewhat  startled. 

"Law,  Mr,  BilUngs  ! "  says  Mrs.  Polly,  rather  coolly,  "is 
it  you  ?     Who  thought  of  seeing  you  here  ?  " 

"  Who's  this  here  young  feller?"  says  towering  Mr.  Moffat, 
with  his  bass  voice. 

"It's  Mr.  Billings,  cousin,  a  friend  of  mine,"  said  Mrs. 
Poll}^  beseechingly. 

"  Oh,  cousin,  if  it's  a  friend  of  yours,  he  should  know  better 
how  to  conduct  himself,  that's  all.  Har  you  a  dancing-master, 
young  feller,  that  you  cut  tliem  there  capers  before  gentlemen?" 
growled  Mr.  Moffat ;  who  hated  Mr.  Billings,  for  the  excellent 
reason  that  he  lived  upon  him. 

"Dancing-master  be  hanged!"  said  Mr.  Billings,  with 
becoming  spirit :  "if  you  call  me  dancing-master,  I'll  pull  your 
nose." 

"  What !"  roared  Mr.  Moffat,  "pull  my  nose?  3Ifj  nose! 
I'll  tell  you  what,  m}^  lad,  if  you  durst  move  me,  I'll  cut  your 
throat,  curse  me  ! " 

"Oh,  Mofl}'  —  cousin,  I  mean  —  'tis  a  shame  to  treat  the 
poor  boy  so.  Go  away,  Tommy  ;  do  go  awa}' ;  m}'  cousin's  in 
liquor,"  whimpered  Madam  Briggs,  who  reall}'  thought  that  the 
great  door-keeper  would  put  his  threat  into  execution. 

"  Tomm}' !  "  said  Mr.  Moffat,  frowning  horribly  ;  "  Tommy. 

to  me  too  ?     Dog,  get  out  of  my  ssss "  sight  was  the  word 

which  Mr.  Moffat  intended  to  utter ;  but  he  was  interrupted  ; 
for,  to  the  astcmishment  of  his  friends  and  himself,  Mr.  Billings 
did  actually  make  a  spring  at  the  monster's  nose,  and  caught  it 
so  firml}',  that  the  latter  could  not  finish  his  sentence. 

The  operation  was  performed  with  amazing  celerity  ;  and, 
having  concluded  it,  Mr.  Billings  sprang  back,  and  whisked 
from  out  its  sheath  that  new  silver-hilted  sword  which  his 
mamma  had  given  him.  "  Now,"  said  he,  with  a  fierce  kind 
of  calmness,  "now  for  the  throat-cutting,  cousin:  I'm  j-our 
man  !  " 

How  the  brawl  might  have  ended,  no  one  can  say,  had  the 
two  gentlemen  actuall}-  crossed  swords  ;  but  IMrs.  Polly,  with 
a  wonderful  presence  of  mind,  restored  peace  b}'  exclaiming, 
"  Hush,  hush  !  the  beaks,  the  beaks  !  "  Upon  which,  with  one 
common  instinct,  the  whole  party  made  a  rush  for  the  garden 
gates,  and  disappeared  into  the  fields.     Mrs.  Briggs  knew  her 


384  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

companj' :  there  was  something  in  the  veiy  name  of  a  constable 
which  sent  them  all  a-fl^ing. 

After  running  a  reasonable  time,  Mr.  Billings  stopped.  But 
the  great  Moffat  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  and  Polly  Briggs  had 
likewise  vanished.  Then  Tom  bethought  him  that  he  would  go 
back  to  his  mother ;  but,  arriving  at  the  gate  of  the  gardens, 
was  refused  admittance,  as  he  had  not  a  shilling  in  his  pocket. 
"  I've  left,"  says  Tomm}',  giving  himself  the  airs  of  a  gentle- 
man, "some  friends  in  the  gardens.  I'm  with  his  .Excellenc}' 
the  Bavarian  henvy." 

"Then  you  had  better  go  away  with  him,"  said  the  gate 
people. 

"  But  I  tell  you  I  left  him  there,  in  the  grand  circle,  with  a 
lad}" ;  and,  what's  more,  in  the  dark  walk,  I  have  left  a  silver- 
hilted  sword." 

"  Oh,  my  lord,  I'll  go  and  tell  him  then,"  cried  one  of  the 
porters,  "if  3'ou  will  wait." 

Mr.  Billings  seated  himself  on  a  post  near  the  gate,  and 
there  consented  to  remain  until  the  return  of  his  messenger. 
The  latter  went  straight  to  the  dark  walk,  and  found  the  sword, 
sure  enough.  But,  instead  of  returning  it  to  its  owner,  this 
discourteous  knight  broke  the  trenchant  blade  at  the  hilt ; 
and  flinging  the  steel  away,  pocketed  the  baser  silver  metal, 
and  lurked  off  by  the  private  door  consecrated  to  the  wait- 
ers and  fiddlers. 

In  the  meantime,  Mr.  Billings  waited  and  waited.  And  what 
was  the  conversation  of  his  worthy  parents  inside  the  garden  ? 
I  cannot  say  ;  but  one  of  the  waiters  declared  that  he  had  served 
the  great  foreign  Count  with  two  bowls  of  rack-punch,  and 
some  biscuits,  in  No.  3  :  that  in  the  box  with  him  were  first 
a  young  gentleman,  who  went  awa}',  and  a  lacly,  splendidly 
dressed  and  masked  :  that  when  the  lady  and  his  lordship  were 
alone,  she  edged  away  to  the  further  end  of  the  table,  and  they 
had  much  talk  :  that  at  last,  when  his  Grace  had  pressed  her 
ver}'  much,  she  took  off  her  mask  and  said,  "Don't  you  know 
me  now.  Max?"  that  he  cried  out,  "My  own  Catherine,  thou 
art  more  beautiful  than  ever  ! "  and  wanted  to  kneel  down  and 
vow  eternal  love  to  her ;  but  she  begged  him  not  to  do  so  in  a 
place  where  all  the  world  would  see  :  that  then  his  Highness  paid, 
and  they  left  the  gardens,  the  lady  putting  on  her  mask  again. 

When  the}'  issued  from  the  gardens,  "  Ho  !  Joseph  La  Rose, 
my  coach  !  "  shouted  his  Excellency,  in  rather  a  husky  voice  ; 
and  the  men  who  had  been  waiting  came  up  with  the  carriage. 
A  3^oung  gentleman,  who  was  dozing  on  one  of  the  posts  at  the 


CATHERINE:    A  STORY.  385 

entr}^,  woke  up  suddenly'  at  the  blaze  of  the  torches  and  the 
noise  of  the  footmen.  The  Count  gave  his  arm  to  the  lad}-  in 
the  mask,  who  shpped  in  ;  and  he  was  whispering  La  Rose, 
when  the  lad  who  had  been  sleeping  hit  his  Excellency  on  the 
shoulder,  and  said,  "  I  sa}',  Count,  3-ou  can  give  me  a  cast  home 
too,"  and  jumped  into  the  coach. 

When  Catherine  saw  her  son,  she  threw  herself  into  his 
arms,  and  kissed  him  with  a  burst  of  hysterical  tears  ;  of  whicli 
Mr.  Billings  was  at  a  loss  to  understand  the  meaning.  The 
Count  joined  them,  looking  not  a  little  disconcerted;  and  the 
pair  were  landed  at  their  own  door,  where  stood  Mr.  Hayes, 
in  his  nightcap,  ready  to  receive  them,  and  astounded  at  the 
splendor  of  the  equipage  in  which  his  wife  returned  to  him. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

OF   SOME  DOMESTIC    QUARRELS,  AND   THE    CONSEQUENCE  THEREOF. 

An  ingenious  magazine-writer,  who  lived  in  the  time  of  Mr. 
Brock  and  the  Duke  of  Marlborough,  compared  the  latter  gen- 
tleman's conduct  in  battle,  when  he 

"In  peaceful  thought  the  field  of  death  surveyed, 
To  fainting  squadrons  lent  the  timely  aid ; 
Inspired  repulsed  battalions  to  engage, 
And  taught  the  doubtful  battle  where  to  rage  "  — 

Mr.  Joseph  Addison,  I  say,  compared  the  Duke  of  Marlborough 
to  an  angel,  who  is  sent  by  Divine  command  to  chastise  a  guilty 
people  — 

"And  pleased  his  Master's  orders  to  perform, 
Eides  on  the  whirlwind,  and  directs  the  storm." 

The  four  first  of  these  novel  lines  touch  off  the  Duke's  disposi- 
tion and  genius  to  a  tittle.  He  had  a  love  for  such  scenes  of 
strife  :  in  the  midst  of  them  his  spirit  rose  calm  and  supreme, 
soaring  (like  an  angel  or  not,  but  anywa}'  the  compliment  is 
a  very  pretty  one)  on  the  bnttle-clouds  majestic,  and  causing  to 
ebb  or  to  flow  the  mighty  tide  of  war. 

But  as  this  famous  simile  might  apply  with  equal  propriety 

50 


386  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

to  a  bad  angel  as  to  a  good  one,  it  ma}-  in  like  manner  be  em- 
ployed to  illustrate  small  quarrels  as  well  as  great  —  a  little 
family  squabble,  in  which  two  or  three  people  are  engaged,  as 
well  as  a  vast  national  dispute,  argued  on  each  side  by  the  roar- 
ing throats  of  five  hundred  angry  cannon.  The  poet  means,  in 
fact,  that  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  had  an  immense  genius  for 
mischief. 

Our  friend  Brock,  or  Wood  (whose  actions  we  love  to  illus- 
trate by  the  very  handsomest  similes),  possessed  this  genius  in 
common  with  his  Grace  ;  and  was  never  so  happy,  or  seen  to  so 
much  advantage,  as  when  he  was  employed  in  setting  people 
byihe  ears.  His  spirits,  usually  dull,  then  rose  into  the  utmost 
gayety  and  good-humor.  When  the  doubtful  battle  flagged, 
he  by  his  art  would  instantW  restore  it.  When,  for  instance, 
Tom's  repulsed  battalions  of  rhetoric  fled  from  his  mamma's 
fire,  a  few  words  of  apt  sneer  or  encouragement  on  Wood's  part 
would  bring  the  fight  round  again  ;  or  when  Mr.  Haj'es's  faint- 
ing squadrons,  of  abuse  broke  upon  the  stubborn  squares  of 
Tom's  bristling  obstinac}-,  it  was  Wood's  delight  to  rally  the 
former,  and  bring  him  once  more  to  the  charge.  A  great 
share  had  this  man  in  making  those  bad  people  worse.  Many 
fierce  words  and  bad  passions,  many  falsehoods  and  knaveries 
on  Tom's  part,  much  bitterness,  scorn,  and  jealousy  on  the  part 
of  Hayes  and  Catherine,  might  be  attributed  to  this  hoary  old 
tempter,  whose  joy  and  occupation  it  was  to  raise  and  direct 
the  domestic  storms  and  whirlwinds  of  the  famil}'  of  which  he 
was  a  member.  And  do  not  let  us  be  accused  of  an  undue 
propensity'  to  use  sounding  words,  because  we  compare  three 
scoundrels  in  the  Tyburn  Road  to  so  many  armies,  and  Mr. 
Wood  to  a  mighty  field-marshal.  My  dear  sir,  when  30U  have 
well  studied  the  world  — how  supremel}' great  the  meanest  thing 
in  this  world  is,  and  how  infinitelj-  mean  the  greatest  —  I  am 
mistaken  if  3'ou  do  not  make  a  strange  and  proper  jumble  of  the 
sublime  and  the  ridiculous,  the  lofty  and  the  low.  I  have  looked 
at  the  world,  for  my  part,  and  come  to  the  conclusion  that  I  know 
not  which  is  which. 

Well,  then,  on  the  night  when  Mrs.  Hayes,  as  recorded  by 
us,  had  been  to  the  Marylebone  Gardens,  Mr.  Wood  had  found 
the  sincerest  enjoyment  in  pl3ing  her  husband  with  drink ;  so 
that,  when  Catherine  arrived  at  home,  Mr.  Hayes  came  forward 
to  meet  her  in  a  manner  which  showed  that  he  was  not  only 
surly  but  drunk.  Tom  stepped  out  of  the  coacli  first ;  and 
Ha3-es  asked  him,  with  an  oath,  where  he  had  been?  The  oath 
Mr.  Billings  sternl3'  flung  back  again  (with  another  in  its  com- 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  387 

pany) ,  and  at  the  same  time  refiised  to  give  his  step-father  any 
sort  of  answer  to  his  query. 

"  Tiie  old  man  is  drunk,  mother,"  said  he  to  Mrs.  Ha^-es,  as 
he  handed  that  lad}'  out  of  the  coach  (before  leaving  whicli  she 
had  to  withdraw  her  hand  rather  violently  from  the  grasp  of  the 
Count,  who  was  inside).  Hayes  instantl}'  showed  the  correct- 
ness of  his  surmise  b}'  slamming  the  door  courageously  in  Tom's 
face,  when  he  attempted  to  enter  the  house  with  his  mother. 
And  when  Mrs.  Catherine  remonstrated,  according  to  her  wont, 
in  a  very  angry  and  supercilious  tone,  Mr.  Haj-es  replied  with 
equal  haughtiness,  and  a  regular  quarrel  ensued. 

People  were  accustomed  in  those  days  to  use  much  more 
simple  and  expressive  terms  of  language  than  are  now  thought 
polite  ;  and  it  would  be  dangerous  to  give,  in  this  present  year 
1840,  the  exact  words  of  reproach  which  passed  between  Hayes 
and  his  wife  in  1726.  Mr.  Wood  sat  near,  laughing  his  sides 
'out.  Mr.  Ha3-es  swore  that  his  wife  should  not  go  abroad  to 
tea-gardens  in  search  of  vile  Popish  noblemen  ;  to  which  Mrs. 
Hayes  replied  that  Mr.  Haj'es  was  a  pitiful,  hing,  sneaking 
cur,  and  that  she  would  go  where  she  pleased.  Mr.  Haj-es 
rejoined,  that  if  she  said  much  more,  he  would  take  a  stick  to 
•her.  Mr.  Wood  whispered,  "And  serve  her  right."  Mrs. 
Hayes  thereupon  swore  she  had  stood  his  cowardly  blows  once 
or  twice  before,  but  that  if  ever  he  did  so  again,  as  sure  as  she 
was  born,  she  would  stab  him.  Mr.  Wood  said,  "Curse  me, 
but  I  like  her  spirit." 

Mr.  Hayes  took  another  line  of  argument,  and  said,  "The 
neighbors  would  talk,  madam." 

"  Ay,  that  the}^  will,  no  doubt,"  said  Mr.  Wood. 

"  Then  let  them,"  said  Catherine.  "  What  do  w^e  care  about 
the  neighbors?  Didn't  the  neighbors  talk  when  you  sent 
Widow  Wilkins  to  gaol?  Didn't  the  neighbors  talk  when  you 
levied  on  poor  old  Thomson?  You  didn't  mind  t/te7i,  Mr. 
Hayes." 

"Business,  ma'am,  is  business;  and  if  I  did  distrain  on 
Thomson,  and  lock  up  Wilkins,  I  think  jou  knew  about  it  as 
much  as  I." 

"  1'  faith,  I  believe  j'ou're  a  pair,"  said  Mr.  Wood. 

"  Pra}',  sir,  keep  j'our  tongue  to  yourself.  Your  opinion 
isn't  asked  anyhow  —  no,  nor  3'our  company  wanted  neither," 
cried  Mrs.  Catherine,  with  proper  spirit. 

At  which  remark  Mr.  Wood  onl^'  whistled. 

"  I  have  asked  this  here  gentleman  to  i)ass  this  evening 
along  with  me.     We've  been  drinking  together,  ma'am.  " 


388  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

"That  we  have,"  said  Mr.  Wood,  looking  at  Mrs.  Cat  with 
the  most  perfect  good-humor. 

"I  sa}^,  ma'am,  that  we've  been  a-drinking  together;  and 
when  we've  been  a-drinking  together,  I  sa}'  that  a  man  is  my 
friend.  Dr.  Wood  is  my  friend,  madam  —  the  Rev.  Dr.  Wood. 
We've  passed  the  evening  in  company,  talking  about  politics, 
madam  —  politics  and  riddle-iddle-igion.  We've  not  been 
flaunting  in  tea-gardens,  and  ogling  the  men." 

"  It's  a  lie  !  "  shrieked  Mrs.  Hayes.  "  I  went  with  Tom  — 
3'ou  know  I  did :  the  boy  wouldn't  let  me  rest  till  1  promised 
to  go." 

"■  Hang  him,  I  hate  him,"  said  Mr.  Haj^es  :  "  he's  always  in 
my  way." 

"  He's  the  only  friend  I  have  in  the  world,  and  the  onh' 
being  I  care  a  pin  for,"  said  Catherine. 

"  He's  an  impudent,  idle,  good-for-nothing  scoundrel,  and  I 
hope  to  see  him  hanged!"  shouted  Mr.  Hayes.  "And  pray, 
madam,  whose  carriage  was  that  as  j'ou  came  home  in?  I 
warrant  30U  paid  something  for  the  ride  —  Ha,  ha  !  " 

"Another   lie!"    screamed    Cat,    and  clutched   hold   of  a 

supper-knife.     "  Say  it  again,  John  Haj^es,  and  by ,  I'll 

do  for  you." 

"Do  for  me?  Hang  me,"  said  Mr.  Hayes,  flourishing  a 
stick,  and  perfectly  pot-valiant,  "  do  you  think  I  care  for 
a  bastard  and  a ?  " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  for  the  woman  ran  at  him 
like  a  savage,  knife  in  hand.  He  bounded  back,  flinging  his 
arras  about  wildly,  and  struck  her  with  his  staff  sharply  across 
the  forehead.  The  woman  went  down  instantly.  A  lucky 
blow  was  it  for  Hayes  and  her  :  it  saved  him  from  death,  per- 
haps, and  her  from  murder. 

All  this  scene  —  a  very  important  one  of  our  drama  —  might 
have  been  described  at  much  greater  length  ;  but,  in  truth,  the 
author  has  a  natural  horror  of  dwelling  too  long  upon  such 
hideous  spectacles :  nor  would  the  reader  be  much  edified  by  a 
full  and  accurate  knowledge  of  what  took  place.  The  quan-el, 
however,  though  not  more  violent  than  man}:-  that  had  pre- 
viously taken  place  between  Hayes  and  his  wife,  was  about  to 
cause  Vast  changes  in  the  condition  of  this  unhapp}-  pair. 

Hayes  was  at  the  first  moment  of  his  victor}'  very  much 
alarmed ;  he  feared  that  he  had  killed  the  woman  ;  and  Wood 
started  up  rather  anxiously  too,  with  the  same  fancy.  But  she 
soon  began  to  recover.  Water  was  brought;  her  head  was 
raised  and  bound  up  ;  and  in  a  short  time  Mrs.  Catherine  gave 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  389 

vent  to  a  copious  fit  of  tears,  which  relieved  her  somewhat. 
These  did  not  affect  Ha^^es  mucli  —  the}' rather  pleased  him, 
for  he  saw  he  had  got  the  better ;  and  althongh  Cat  fiercely 
turned  npon  him  when  he  made  some  small  attempt  towards 
reconciliation,  he  did  not  heed  her  anger,  but  smiled  and 
winked  in  a  self-satisfied  wa}-  at  Wood.  The  coward  was 
quite  proud  of  his  victory  ;  and  finding  Catherine  asleep,  or 
apparently  so,  when  he  followed  her  to  bed,  speedily  gave  him- 
self up  to  slumber  too,  and  had  some  pleasant  dreams  to  his 
portion. 

Mr.  Wood  also  went  sniggering  and  happ}-  up  stairs  to  his 
chamber.  The  quarrel  had  been  a  real  treat  to  him  ;  it  excited 
the  old  man  —  tickled  him  into  good-humor;  and  he  promised 
himself  a  rare  continuation  of  the  fun  when  Tom  should  be 
made  acquainted  with  the  circumstances  of  the  dispute.  As 
for  his  Excellency  the  Count,  the  ride  from  Marylebone  Gar- 
dens, and  a  tender  squeeze  of  the  hand  which  Catherine  per- 
mitted to  him  on  parting,  had  so  inflamed  the  passions  of  the 
nobleman,  that  after  sleeping  for  nine  hours,  and  taking  his 
chocolate  as  usual  the  next  morning,  he  actuall}'  delayed  to 
read  the  newspaper,  and  kept  waiting  a  toN'-shop  lady  from 
Cornhill  (with  the  sweetest  bargain  of  mechlin  lace),  in  order 
to  discourse  to  his  chaplain  on  the  charms  of  Mrs.  Hayes. 

She,  poor  thing,  never  closed  her  lids,  except  when  she 
would  have  had  Mr.  Ha^-es  imagine  that  she  slumbei'ed  ;  but 
la}'  beside  him,  tossing  and  tumbling,  with  hot  eyes  wide  open, 
and  heart  thumping,  and  pulse  of  a  hundred  and  ten,  and  heard 
the  heav}'  hours  tolling ;  and  at  last  the  day  came  peering, 
haggard,  through  the  window-curtains,  and  found  her  still 
wakeful  and  wretched. 

Mrs.  Hayes  had  never  been,  as  we  h^ve  seen,  especially 
fond  of  her  lord  ;  but  now,  as  the  day  made  visible  to  her  the 
sleeping  figure  and  countenance  of  that  gentleman,  she  looked 
at  him  with  a  contempt  and  loathing  such  as  she  had  never  felt 
even  in  all  the  years  of  her  wedded  life.  Mr.  Hayes  was  snor- 
ing profoundly :  by  his  bedside,  on  his  ledger,  stood  a  large 
greasy  tin  candlestick,  containing  a  lank  tallow-candle,  turned 
down  in  the  shaft;  and  in  the  lower  part,  his  keys,  purse,  and 
tobacco-pipe :  his  feet  were  huddled  up  in  his  greasy,  thread- 
bare clothes  ;  his  head  and  half  his  sallow  face  mufHod  up  in  a 
red  woollen  nightcap  ;  his  beard  was  of  several  days'  growth  ; 
his  mouth  was  wide  open,  and  he  was  snoring  profoundly  :  on 
a  more  despicable  little  creature  the  sun  never  shone.  And 
to  this  sordid  wretcli  was  Catherine  united  for  ever.     What  a 


390  CATHERINE:    A  STORY. 

pretty  rascal  history  might  be  read  in  yonder  greasy  day-book, 
which  never  left  the  miser !  —  he  never  read  in  any  other.  Of 
what  a  treasure  were  yonder  ke^s  and  purse  the  keepers  !  not 
a  shilling  they  guarded  but  was  picked  from  the  pocket  of  neces- 
sity, plundered  from  needy  wantonness,  or  pitilessly  squeezed 
from  starvation.  "  A  fool,  a  miser,  and  a  coward  !  Why  was 
I  bound  to  this  wretch?"  thought  Catherine  ;  "  I,  who  am  high- 
spirited  and  beautiful  (did  not  he  tell  me  so  ?)  ;  I  who,  born  a 
beggar,  have  raised  myself  to  competence,  and  might  have 
mounted  —  who  knows  whither  ?  —  if  cursed  fortune  had  not 
balked  me !  " 

As  Mrs.  Cat  did  not  utter  these  sentiments,  but  onl}'  thought 
them,  we  have  a  right  to  clothe  her  thoughts  in  the  genteelest 
possible  language  ;  and,  to  the  best  of  our  power,  have  done  so. 
If  the  reader  examines  Mrs.  Hayes's  train  of  reasoning,  he  will 
not,  we  should  think,  fail  to  perceive  how  ingeniously  she  man- 
aged to  fix  all  the  wrong  upon  her  husband,  and  3'et  to  twist 
out  some  consolatory  arguments  for  her  own  vanity.  This 
perverse  argumentation  we  have  all  of  us,  no  doubt,  emplo3'ed 
in  our  time.  How  often  have  we,  —  we  poets,  politicians, 
philosophers,  family-men,  —  found  charming  excuses  for  our 
own  rascalities  in  the  monstrous  wickedness  of  the  world  about 
us  ;  how  loudly'  have  we  abused  the  times  and  our  neighbors ! 
All  this  devil's  logic  did  Mrs.  Catherine,  lying  wakeful  in 
her  bed  on  the  night  of  the  Marylebone  fete,  exert  in  gloomy 
triumph. 

It  must,  however,  be  confessed,  that  nothing  could  be  more 
just  than  Mrs.  Haj'es's  sense  of  her  husband's  scoundrelism  and 
meanness  ;  for  if  we  have  not  proved  these  in  the  course  of  this 
histor}^,  we  have  proved  nothing.  Mrs.  Cat  had  a  shrewd,  ob- 
serving mind  ;  and  if  she  wanted  for  proofs  against  Hayes,  she 
had  but  to  look  before  and  about  her  to  find  them.  This  amia- 
ble pair  were  Ijing  in  a  large  walnut-bed,  with  faded  silk  fur- 
niture, which  had  been  taken  from  under  a  respectable  old 
invalid  widow,  who  had  become  security  for  a  prodigal  son  ; 
the  room  was  hung  round  with  an  antique  tapestry  (representing 
Rebecca  at  the  Well,  Bathsheba  Bathing,  Judith  and  Holo- 
fernes,  and  other  subjects  from  H0I3'  Writ),  which  had  been 
many  score  times  sold  for  fifty  pounds,  and  bought  back  by 
Mr.  Hayes  for  two,  in  those  accommodating  bargains  which  he 
made  with  young  gentlemen,  who  received  fifty  pounds  of 
money  and  fifty  of  tapestry  in  consideration  of  their  hundred- 
pound  bills.  Against  this  tapestry,  and  just  cutting  off  Holo- 
fernes's  head,   stood  an  enormous  ominous   black  clock,  the 


CATHERn^i    A  STORY,  391 

spoil  of  some  other  usurious  transaction.  Some  chairs,  and 
a  dismal  old  black  cabinet,  completed  the  furniture  of  this 
apartment :  it  wanted  but  a  ghost  to  render  its  gloom  com- 
plete, 

Mrs.  Hayes  sat  up  in  the  bed  sternly  regarding  her  hus- 
band. There  is,  be  sure,  a  strong  magnetic  influence  in  wake- 
ful ej'es  so  examining  a  sleeping  person  (do  not  you,  as  a  hoy, 
remember  waking  of  bright  summer  mornings  and  finding  j'our 
mother  looking  over  you  ?  had  not  the  gaze  of  her  tender  eyes 
stolen  into  your  senses  long  before  you  woke,  and  cast  over 
3'our  slumbering  spirit  a  sweet  spell  of  peace,  and  love,  and 
fresh-springing  joy?)  Some  such  influence  had  Catherine's 
looks  upon  her  husband  :  for,  as  he  slept  under  them,  the  man 
began  to  writhe  about  uneasily,  and  to  burrow  his  head  in  the 
pillow,  and  to  utter  quick,  strange  moans  and  cries,  such  as 
have  often  jarred  one's  ear  while  watching  at  the  bed  of  the 
feverish  sleeper.  It  was  just  upon  six,  and  presentl}'  the  clock 
began  to  utter  those  dismal  grinding  sounds,  which  issue  from 
clocks  at  such  periods,  and  which  sound  like  the  death-rattle 
of  the  departing  hour.  Then  the  bell  struck  the  knell  of  it ; 
and  with  this  Mr.  Haj'es  awoke,  and  looked  up,  and  saw 
Catherine  gazing  at  him. 

Their  eyes  met  for  an  instant,  and  Catherine  turned  away, 
burning  red,  and  looking  as  if  she  had  been  caught  in  the  com- 
mission of  a  crime. 

A  kind  of  blank  terror  seized  upon  old  Ha3'es's  soul :  a  hor- 
rible icy  fear,  and  presentiment  of  coming  evil ;  and  yet  the 
woman  had  but  looked  at  him.  He  thought  rapidly  over  the 
occurrences  of  the  last  night,  the  quarrel,  and  the  end  of  it. 
He  had  often  struck  her  before  when  angry,  and  heaped  all 
kinds  of  bitter  words  upon  her;  but,  in  the  morning,  she 
bore  no  malice,  and  the  previous  quarrel  was  forgotten,  or,  at 
least,  passed  over.  Why  should  the  last  night's  dispute  not 
have  the  same  end?  Hayes  calculated  all  this,  and  tried  to 
smile. 

"  I  hope  we're  friends,  Cat?"  said  he.  "  You  know  I  was 
in  liquor  last  night,  and  sadly  put  out  by  the  loss  of  that  fifty 
pound.     They'll  ruin  me,  dear  —  I  know  they  wilL" 

Mrs.  Hayes  did  not  answer. 

"I  should  like  to  see  the  countr}'-  again,  dear,"  said  he,  in 
his  most  wheedling  way.  "  I've  a  mind,  do  you  know,  to  call 
in  all  our  money?  It's  you  who've  made  every  farthing  of  it, 
that's  sure  ;  and  it's  a  matter  of  two  thousand  pound  by  this 
time.      Suppose  we  go   into  Warwickshire,  Cat,  and   buj^  a 


392  CATHERINE;    A   STORY. 

farm,  and  live  genteel.  Shouldn't  you  like  to  live  a  lady  in 
3'our  own  county  again?  How  they'd  stare  at  Birmingham! 
hey,  Cat?" 

And  with  this  Mr.  Hayes  made  a  motion,  as  if  he  would 
seize  his  wife's  hand,  but  she  flung  his  back  again. 

"Coward!"  said  she,  "  you  want  liquor  to  give  you  cour- 
age, and  then  you've  only  heart  enough  to  strike  women." 

"  It  was  onl3'  in  self-defence,  my  dear,"  said  Hayes,  whose 
courage  was  all  gone.      "  You  tried,  you  know,  to  —  to  —  " 

"To  stab  3^ou ;  and  I  wish  I  had!"  said  Mrs.  Ha3'es,  set- 
ting her  teeth,  and  glaring  at  him  like  a  demon  ;  and  so  say- 
ing she  sprung  out  of  bed.  There  was  a  great  stain  of  blood 
on  her  pillow.  "Look  at  it,"  said  she.  "That  blood's  of 
your  shedding ! "  and  at  this  Hayes  fairly  began  to  weep,  so 
utterty  downcast  and  frightened  was  the  miserable  man. 
The  wretch's  tears  only  inspired  his  wife  with  a  still  greater 
rage  and  loathing ;  she  cared  not  so  much  for  the  blow,  but 
she  hated  the  man  :  the  man  to  whom  she  was  tied  for  ever  — 
forever!  The  bar  between  her  and  wealth,  happiness,  love, 
rank  perhaps.  "If  I  were  free,"  thought  Mrs.  Hayes  (the 
thought  had  been  sitting  at  her  pillow  all  night,  and  whisper- 
ing ceaselessly  into  her  ear)  —  "If  I  were  free.  Max  would 
marry  me  ;  I  know  he  would  ;  —  he  said  so  yesterday  !  " 

As  if  by  a  kind  of  intuition,  old  Wood  seemed  to  read  all 
this  woman's  thoughts  ;  for  he  said  that  day  with  a  sneer, 
that  he  would  wager  she  was  thinking  how  much  better  it 
would  be  to  be  a  Count's  ladj^  than  a  poor  miser's  wife.  "  And 
faith,"  said  he,  "  a  Count  and  a  chariot-and-six  is  better  than 
an  old  skinflint  with  a  cudgel."  And  then  he  asked  her  if  her 
head  was  better,  and  supposed  that  she  was  used  to  beating ; 
and  cut  sundry  other  jokes,  which  made  the  poor  wretch's 
wounds  of  mind  and  body  feel  a  thousand  times  sorer. 

Tom,  too,  was  made  acquainted  with  the  dispute,  and 
swore  his  accustomed  vengeance  against  his  step-father.  Such 
feelings.  Wood,  with  a  dexterous  malice,  would  never  let  rest ; 
it  was  his  joy,  at  first  quite  a  disinterested  one,  to  goad  Cath- 
erine and  to  frighten  Hayes  :  though,  in  truth,  that  unfortunate 
creature  had  no  occasion  for  incitements  from  without  to  keep 
up  the  dreadful  state  of  terror  and  depression  into  which  he 
had  fallen. 

For,  from  the  morning  after  the  quarrel,  the  horrible  words 
and  looks  of  Catherine  never  left  Hayes's  memorj^ ;  but  a  cold 
fear  followed  him  —  a  dreadful  prescience.     He  strove  to  over- 


CATHERINE:    A  STORY,  393 

come  this  fate  as  a  coward  would  — •  to  kneel  to  it  for  compassion 
—  to  coax  and  wheedle  it  into  forgiveness.  He  was  slavishly- 
gentle  to  Catherine,  and  bore  her  tierce  taunts  with  mean  res- 
ignation. He  trembled  before  .young  BiUings,  who  was  now 
established  in  the  house  (his  mother  said,  to  protect  her  against 
the  violence  of  her  husband),  and  suffered  his  brutal  language 
and  conduct  without  venturing  to  resist. 

The  young  man  and  his  mother  lorded  over  the  house  i 
Hayes  hardly  dared  to  speak  in  their  presence  ;  seldom  sat  with 
the  famih'  except  at  meals  ;  but  slipped  away  to  his  chamber 
(he  slept  apart  now  from  his  wife)  or  passed  the  evening  at  the 
public-house,  w^here  he  was  constrained  to  drink  —  to  spend 
some  of  his  beloved  sixpences  for  drink ! 

And,  of  course,  the  neighbors  began  to  say,  "John  Hayes 
neglects  his  wife."  "  He  tyrannizes  over  her,  and  beats  her." 
"  Alwaj's  at  the  public-house,  leaving  an  honest  woman  alone 
at  home  ! " 

The  unfortunate  wretch  did  not  hate  his  wife.  He  was  used 
to  her —  fond  of  her  as  much  as  he  could  be  fond  —  sighed  to 
be  friends  with  her  again — repeatedly  would  creep,  whimper- 
ing, to  Wood's  room,  when  the  latter  was  alone,  and  beg  him 
to  bring  about  a  reconciliation.  The}'  were  reconciled,  as  much 
as  ever  they  could  be.  The  woman  looked  at  him,  thought 
what  she  might  l)e  but  for  him,  and  scorned  and  loathed  him 
•with  a  feeling  that  almost  amounted  to  insanity.  What  nights 
she  lay  awake,  w^eeping  and  cursing  herself  and  him  !  His 
humility  and  beseeching  looks  only  made  him  more  despicable 
and  hateful  to  her. 

If  Hayes  did  not  hate  the  mother,  however,  he  hated  the 
boy  —  hated  and  feared  him  dreadfully.  He  would  have  poi- 
soned him  if  he  had  had  the  courage  ;  but  he  dared  not :  he 
dared  not  even  look  at  him  as  he  sat  there,  the  master  of  the 
house,  in  insolent  triumph.  O  God|  how  the  lad's  brulal 
laughter  rung  in  Hayes's  ears  ;  and  how  the  stare  of  his  fierce, 
bold  black  eyes  pursued  him  !  Of  a  truth,  if  Mr.  Wood  loved 
mischief,  as  he  did,  honestly  and  purely  for  mischief's  sake,  he 
had  enough  here.  There  was  mean  malice,  and  fierce  scorn, 
and  black  revenge,  and  sinful  desire,  boiling  up  in  the  hearts 
of  these  wretched  people,  enough  to  content  Mr.  Wood's  great 
master  himself. 

Hayes's  business,  as  we  have  said,  was  nominally  that  of  a 
carpenter  ;  but  since,  for  the  last  few  3-ears,  lie  had  added  to  it 
that  of  a  lender  of  money,  the  carpenter's  trade  had  been  neg- 
lected altogether  for  one  so  much  more  profitable.     Mrs.  Hayes 


394  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

had  exerted  herself,  with  much  benefit  to  her  husband,  in  his 
usurious  business.  She  was  a  resolute,  clear-sighted,  keen  wo- 
man, that  did  not  love  mone^',  but  loved  to  be  rich  and  push 
her  way  in  the  world.  She  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  the 
trade  now,  however,  and  told  her  husband  to  manage  it  himself. 
She  felt  that  she  was  separated  from  him  for  ever,  and  could  no 
more  be  brought  to  consider  her  interests  as  connected  with 
his  own. 

The  man  was  well  fitted  for  the  creeping  and  niggling  of  his 
dastardl}^  trade  ;  and  gathered  his  moneys,  and  busied  himself 
with  his  lawyer,  and  acted  as  his  own  book-keeper  and  clerk, 
not  witliout  satisfaction.  His  wife's  speculations,  when  they 
worked  in  concert,  used  often  to  frighten  him.  He  never  sent 
out  his  capital  without  a  pang,  and  only  because  he  dared  not 
question  her  superior  judgment  and  will.  He  began  now  to 
lend  no  more :  he  could  not  let  the  money  out  of  his  sight. 
His  sole  pleasure  was  to  creep  up  into  his  room,  and  count  and 
recount  it.  When  Billings  came  into  the  house,  Hayes  had 
taken  a  room  next  to  that  of  Wood.  It  was  a  protection  to 
him  ;  for  Wood  would  often  rebuke  the  lad  for  using  Hayes 
ill :  and  both  Catherine  and  Tom  treated  the  old  man  with 
deference. 

At  last  —  it  was  after  he  had  collected  a  good  deal  of  his 
monc}"  —  Haj-es  began  to  reason  with  himself,  "  Why  should 
I  stay  ?  —  stiiy  to  be  insulted  by  that  boy,  or  murdered  by  him  ? 
He  is  ready  for  any  crime."  He  determined  to  fly.  He  would 
send  Catlierine  money  eveiy  year.  No  —  she  had  the  furniture  ; 
let  her  let  lodgings  —  that  would  support  her.  He  would  go, 
and  live  away,  abroad  in  some  cheap  place  —  away  from  that 
boy  and  his  horrible  tlireats.  The  idea  of  freedom  was  agree- 
able to  the  poor  wretch  ;  and  he  began  to  wind  up  his  affairs  as 
quickly  as  he  could. 

Hayes  would  now  allow  no  one  to  make  his  bed  or  enter 
his  room  ;  and  Wood  could  hear  him  through  the  panels  fidget- 
ing perpetually  to  and  fro,  opening  and  shutting  of  chests, 
and  chnking  of  coin.  At  tlie  least  sound  he  would  start  up, 
and  would  go  to  Billings's  door  and  listen.  Wood  used  to  hear 
him  creeping  through  the  passages,  and  returning  stealthily  to 
his  own  chamber. 

One  day  the  woman  and  her  son  had  been  angrily  taunting 
him  in  the  ])resence  of  a  neighbor.  The  neighbor  retired  soon  ; 
and  Hayes,  who  had  gone  with  him  to  the  door,  heard,  on 
returning,  the  voice  of  Wood  in  the  parlor.  The  old  man 
laughed  in  his  usual  saturnine  way,  and  said,  "  Have  a  care. 


CATHERINE:    A    STORY.  395 

Mrs.  Cat ;  for  if  Hayes  were  to  die  suddenl}-,  by  the  laws,  the 
neighbors  would  accuse  thee  of  his  death." 

Hayes  started  as  if  he  had  been  sliot.  ' '  He  too  is  in  the 
plot,"  thought  he.  "  They  are  all  leagued  against  me:  they 
will  kill  me:  they  are  only  biding  their  time."  Fear  seized 
him,  and  he  thought  of  flying  that  instant  and  leaving  all ;  and 
he  stole  into  his  room  and  gathered  his  money  together.  But 
only  a  half  of  it  was  there  ;  in  a  few  weeks  all  would  have  come 
in.  He  had  not  the  heart  to  go.  But  that  night  Wood  heard 
Haj'es  pause  at  his  door,  before  he  went  to  listen  at  Mrs. 
Catherine's.  "What  is  the  man  thinking  of  ?"  said  Wood, 
"  He  is  gathering  his  money  together.  Has  he  a  hoard  yonder 
unknown  to  us  all  ?  " 

Wood  thought  he  would  watch  him.  There  was  a  closet 
between  the  two  rooms :  Wood  bored  a  hole  in  the  panel,  and 
peeped  through.  Hayes  had  a  brace  of  pistols,  and  four  or 
five  little  bags  before  him  on  the  table.  One  of  these  he  opened, 
and  placed,  one  by  one,  five-and-twenty  guineas  into  it.  Such 
a  sum  had  been  due  that  day  —  Catherine  spoke  of  it  only  in 
the  morning ;  for  the  debtor's  name  had  by  chance  been  men- 
tioned in  the  conversation.  Hayes  commonly  kept  but  a  few 
guineas  in  the  house.  For  what  was  he  amassing  all  these? 
The  next  day.  Wood  asked  for  change  for  a  twenty-pound  bill. 
Hayes  said  he  had  but  three  guineas.  And  when  asked  b}' 
Catherine  where  the  money  was  that  was  paid  the  day  before, 
said  that  it  was  at  the  banker's.  "  The  man  is  going  to  fly," 
said  Wood  ;  "  that  is  sure  :  if  he  does,  I  know  him —  he  will 
leave  his  wife  without  a  shilling." 

He  watched  him  for  several  days  regularly :  two  or  three 
more  bags  were  added  to  the  former  number.  "  They  are 
pretty  things,  guineas,"  thought  Wood,  "  and  tell  no  tales,  like 
bank-bills."  And  he  thought  over  the  days  when  he  and  Mac- 
shane  used  to  ride  abroad  in  search  of  them. 

I  don't  know  what  thoughts  entered  into  Mr.  Wood's  brain  ; 
but  the  next  day,  after  seeing  .young  Billings,  to  whom  he 
actually  made  a  present  of  a  guinea,  that  young  man,  in  con- 
versing with  his  mother,  said,  "  Do  you  know,  mother,  that  if 
you  were  free,  and  married  the  Count,  I  should  be  a  lord? 
It's  the  German  law,  Mr.  Wood  saj's  ;  and  3'ou  know  he  was 
in  them  countries  with  Marlborough." 

"  Ay,  that  he  would,"  said  Mr.  Wood,  "  in  Germany:  but 
Germany  isn't  England ;  and  it's  no  use  talking  of  such 
things." 

"  Hush,  child,"  said  Mrs.  Hayes,  quite  eagerly:  "  how  can 


396  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

imarrj'  the  Count?    Besides,  a'n't  I  married,  and  isn't  he  too 
great  a  lord  for  me  ?  " 

"  Too  great  a  lord?  — not  a  whit,  mother.  If  it  wasn't  for 
Hayes,  I  might  be  a  lord  now.  He  gave  me  five  guineas  only 
last  week  ;  but  curse  the  skinflint  who  never  will  part  with  a 
shilling." 

"  It's  not  so  bad  as  his  striking  your  mother,  Tom.  I  had 
my  stick  up,  and  was  ready  to  fell  him  t'other  night,"  added 
Mr.  Wood.  And  herewith  he  smiled,  and  looked  steadil}-  in 
Mrs.  Catherine's  face.  She  dared  not  look  again  ;  but  she  felt 
that  the  old  man  knew  a  secret  that  she  had  been  trying  to  hide 
from  herself.  Fool !  he  knew  it ;  and  Ha3es  knew  it  dimly  : 
and  never,  never,  since  that  day  of  the  gala,  had  it  left  her, 
sleeping  or  waking.  When  Ha3es,  in  his  fear,  had  proposed 
to  sleep  avva}'  from  her,  she  started  with  joy :  she  had  been 
afraid  that  she  might  talk  in  her  sleep,  and  so  let  slip  her  hor- 
rible confession. 

Old  Wood  knew  all  her  history  since  the  period  of  the 
Marylebone  fete.  He  had  wormed  it  out  of  her,  daj'  by  da}' ; 
he  had  counselled  her  how  to  act ;  warned  her  not  to  yield  ;  to 
procure,  at  least,  a  certain  provision  for  her  son,  and  a  hand- 
some, settlement  for  herself,  if  she  determined  on  quitting  her 
husband.  The  old  man  looked  on  the  business  in  a  proper 
philosophical  light,  told  her  bluntly  that  he  saw  she  was  bent 
upon  going  off  with  the  Count,  and  bade  her  take  precautions ; 
else  she  might  be  left  as  she  had  been  before. 

Catherine  denied  all  these  charges  ;  but  she  saw  the  Count 
dail3%  notwithstanding,  and  took  all  the  measures  which  Wood 
had  recommended  to  her.  They  were  very  prudent  ones. 
Galgenstein  grew  hourly  more  in  love  :  never  had  he  felt  such 
a  flame  ;  not  in  the  best  days  of  his  youth  ;  not  for  the  fairest 
princess,  countess,  or  actress,  from  Vienna  to  Paris. 

At  length  —  it  was  the  night  after  he  had  seen  Hayes  counting 
his  money-bags  —  old  Wood  spoke  to  Mrs.  Hayes  very  seriously. 
"  That  husband  of  }"ours.  Cat,"  said  he,  "  meditates  some  trea- 
son ;  ay,  and  fancies  we  are  about  such.  He  listens  nightly  at 
your  door  and  at  mine  :  he  is  going  to  leave  3'ou,  be  sure  on't ; 
and  if  he  leaves  3'ou,  he  leaves  3'ou  to  stai've." 

"  I  can  be  rich  elsewhere,"  said  Mrs.  Cat. 

"What,  with  Max?" 

"  Ay,  with  Max:  and  why  not?"  said  Mrs.  Hayes. 

"  Wh3'  not,  fool!  Do  3'ou  recollect  Birmingham?  Do  3'ou 
think  that  Galgenstein,  who  is  so  tender  now  because  he  hasn't 
won  you,  will  be  faithful  because  he  hus'^     Pslia,  woman,  men 


CATHERINE:    A    STORY.  397 

are  not  made  so !  Don't  go  to  him  until  you  are  sure  :  if  you 
were  a  widow  now,  he  would  marry  you  ;  but  never  leave 
yourself  at  his  mercy  :  if  you  were  to  leave  your  husband  to 
go  to  him,  he  would  desert  3'ou  in  a  fortnight !  " 

She  might  have  been  a  Countess  !  she  knew  she  might,  but 
for  this  cursed  barrier  between  her  and  her  fortune.  Wood 
knew  what  she  was  thinking  of,  and  smiled  grimly. 

"  Besides,"  he  continued,  "  remember  Tom.  As  sure  as 
you  leave  Hayes  without  some  security  from  Max,  the  boy's 
ruined  :  he  who  might  be  a  lord,  if  his  mother  had  but  —  Psha  ! 
never  mind  :  that  boy  will  go  on  the  road,  as  sure  as  my  name's 
Wood.  He's  a  Tnrpin  cock  in  his  eye,  m}"  dear —  a  regular 
Tyburn  look.  He  knows  too  man}'  of  that  sort  alread}' ;  and 
is  too  fond  of  a  bottle  and  a  girl  to  resist  and  be  honest  when 
it  comes  to  the  pinch." 

"It's  all  true,  said  Mrs.  Hayes.  "Tom's  a  high  mettle- 
some fellow,  and  would  no  more  mind  a  ride  on  Hounslow 
Heath  than  he  does  a  walk  now  in  the  Mall." 

"  Do  you  want  him  hanged,  mj'  dear? "  said  "Wood. 

"Ah,  Doctor!" 

"  It  is  a  pity,  and  that's  sure,"  concluded  Mr.  Wood,  knock- 
ing the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  and  closing  this  interesting 
conversation.  "  It  is  a  pity  that  that  old  skinflint  should  be 
in  the  wa\'  of  both  your  fortunes  ;  and  he  about  to  fling  you 
over,  too !  " 

Mrs.  Catherine  retired  musing,  as  Mr.  Billings  had  previously 
done  ;  a  sweet  smile  of  contentment  lighted  up  the  venerable 
features  of  Dr.  Wood,  and  he  walked  abroad  into  the  streets 
as  happy  a  fellow  as  any  in  London. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

TREATS    OF   LOVE,    AND   PREPARES   FOR   DEATH. 

And  to  begin  this  chapter,  we  cannot  do  better  than  quote 
a  part  of  a  letter  from  M.  I'Abbe  O'Flaherty  to  Madame  la 
Comtesse  de  X at  Paris  :  - 

"  Madam,  — The  little  Arouet  de  Voltaire,  who  hath  come 
'  hither  to  take  a  turn  in  England,'  as  I  see  by  the  post  of  this 


898  CATHERINE;    A  STORY. 

morning,  hath  brought  nie  a  charming  pacquet  from  3^our  lady- 
ship's hands,  which  ought  to  render  a  reasonable  man  happy ; 
but,  alas  !  malves  your  slaA'e  miserable.  I  think  of  dear  Paris 
(and  something  more  dear  than  all  Paris,  of  which,  Madam,  I 
may  not  venture  to  speak  further)  —  I  think  of  dear  Paris,  and 
find  myself  in  this  dismal  VitehalL  where,  when  the  fog  clears 
up,  I  can  catch  a  glimpse  of  muddy  Thames,  and  of  that  fatal 
jjalace  which  the  kings  of  England  have  been  obliged  to  ex- 
change for  your  noble  castle  of  St.  Germains,  that  stands 
so  stately  by  silver  Seine.  Truly,  uo  bad  bargain.  For  my 
part,  I  would  give  my  grand  ambassadorial  saloons,  hangings, 
gildings,  feasts,  valets,  ambassadors  and  all,  for  a  bicoqiie  in 
sight  of  the  Thuilleries'  towers,  or  my  little  cell  in  the  Irlandois. 

"  My  last  sheets  have  given  you  a  pretty  notion  of  our 
ambassador's  public  doings  :  now  for  a  pretty  piece  of  private 
scandal  respecting  that  great  man.  Figure  to  yourself.  Madam, 
his  Excellency  is  in  love  ;  actually  in  love,  talking  day  and 
night  about  a  certain  fair  one  whom  he  hath  picked  out  of  a 
gutter ;  who  is  wellnigh  forty  years  old  ;  who  was  his  mistress 
when  he  was  in  England  a  captain  of  dragoons,  some  sixty, 
seventy,  or  a  hundred  years  since  ;  who  hath  had  a  son  by  him, 
moreover,  a  sprightly  lad,  apprentice  to  a  tailor  of  eminence 
that  has  the  honor  of  making  his  Excellency's  breeches. 

"  Since  one  fatal  night  when  he  met  this  fair  creature  at  a 
certain  place  of  publique  resort,  called  Mar3'lebone  Gardens, 
our  Cyrus  has  been  an  altered  creature.  Love  hath  mastered 
this  brainless  ambassador,  and  his  antics  afford  me  food  for 
perpetual  mirth.  He  sits  now  opposite  to  me  at  a  table  inditing 
a  letter  to  his  Catherine,  and  cop3'ing  it  from  —  what  do  you 
think?  —  from  the  'Grand  Cyrus,'  '/  sioear,  madam,  that  my 
happiness  would  he  to  offer  you  this  hand,  as  I  have  my  heart  long 
ago,  ayid  I  beg  you  to  bear  in  mind  this  declaration.''  I  have  just 
dictated  to  him  the  above  tender  words  ;  for  our  envoy,  I  need 
not  tell  3'ou,  is  not  strong  at  writing  or  thinking. 

"  The  fair  Catherine,  I  must  tell  30U,  is  no  less  than  a  car- 
penter's wife,  a  well-to-do  bourgeois,  living  at  the  T3'burn,  or 
Gallows  Eoad.  She  found  out  her  ancient  lover  ver3^  soon  after 
our  arrival,  and  hath  a  marvellous  hankering  to  be  a  Count's 
lad3'.  A  pretty  little  creature  is  this  Madam  Catherine.  Bil- 
lets, breakfasts,  pretty  vfalks,  presents  of  silks  and  satins,  pass 
daily  between  the  pair ;  but,  strange  to  sa3',  the  lady  is  as  vir- 
tuous as  Diana,  and  hath  resisted  all  m3'  Count's  cajoleries 
hitherto.  The  poor  fellow  told  me,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  that 
he  believed  he  should  have  carried  her  by  storm  on  the  very 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  399 

« 

first  night  of  their  meeting,  but  that  her  son  stepped  into  the 
way  ;  and  he  or  somebody  else  hath  been  in  the  wa}-  ever  since. 
Madam  will  never  appear  alone.  I  believe  it  is  this  wondrous 
chastity  of  the  lady  that  has  elicited  this  wondrous  constancy 
of  the  gentleman.  She  is  holding  out  for  a  settlement ;  who 
knows  if  not  for  a  marriage?  Her  husband,  she  says,  is  ail- 
ing ;  her  lover  is  fool  enough,  and  she  herself  conducts  her 
negotiations,  as  I  must  honestly  own,  with  a  pretty  notion  of 
diplomacy." 

This  is  the  only  part  of  the  reverend  gentleman's  letter  that 
directly  affects  this  histor}'.  The  rest  contains  some  scandal 
concerning  greater  personages  about  the  court,  a  great  share  of 
abuse  of  the  Elector  of  Hanover,  and  a  pretty  description  of  a 
boxing-match  at  Mr.  Figg's  amphitheatre  in  Oxford  Eoad, 
where  John  Wells,  of  Edmund  Bury  (as  by  the  papers  may  be 
seen) ,  master  of  the  noble  science  of  self  defence,  did  engage 
with  Edward  Sutton,  of  Gravesend,  master  of  the  said  science  ; 
and  the  issue  of  the  combat. 

"  N,  B."  —  adds  the  Father,  in  a  postscript —  "  Monsieur 
Figue  gives  a  hat  to  be  cudgelled  for  before  the  Master  mount ; 
and  the  whole  of  this  fashionable  information  hath  been  given 
me  b}"  Monseigneur's  son.  Monsieur  Billings,  gargon-tailleur, 
Chevalier  de  Galgenstein." 

Mr.  Billings  was,  in  fact,  a  frequent  visitor  at  the  Ambas- 
sador's house  ;  to  whose  presence  he,  by  a  general  order,  was 
always  admitted.  As  for  the  connection  between  Mrs.  Cather- 
ine and  her  former  admirer,  the  Abbe's  history  of  it  is  perfectly 
correct;  nor  can  it  be  said  that  this  wretched  woman,  whose 
tale  now  begins  to  wear  a  darker  hue,  was,  in  anything  but  soul^ 
faithless  to  her  husband.  But  she  hated  him,  longed  to  leave 
him,  and  loved  another  :  the  end  was  coming  quickly,  and  every 
one  of  our  unknowing  actors  and  actresses  were  to  be  impli- 
cated, more  or  less,  in  the  catastrophe. 

It  will  be  seen  that  Mrs.  Cat  had  followed  pretty  closely 
the  injunctions  of  Mr.  Wood  in  regard  to  her  dealings  with  the 
Count :  who  grew  more  heart-stricken  and  tender  dailj',  as  the 
completion  of  his  wishes  was  dela^'ed,  and  his  desires  goaded 
b}'  contradiction.  The  Abbe  has  quoted  one  portion  of  a  letter 
written  by  him  ;  here  is  the  entire  performance,  extracted,  as 
the  holy  father  said,  chiefly  from  the  romance  of  the  "  Grand 
Cyrus :""  — 


400  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 


"UNHAPPY  MAXIMILIAN  UNTO    UNJUST   CATHERTNA. 

"  Madam,  —  It  must  needs  be  that  I  love  3^ou  better  than  any 
ever  did,  since,  notwithstanding  your  injustice  in  calling  me 
perfidious,  I  love  you  no  less  than  I  did  before.  On  the  con- 
trary, my  passion  is  sq  violent,  and  your  unjust  accusation 
makes  me  so  sensible  of  it,  that  if  you  did  but  know  the  resent- 
ments of  my  soule,  you  would  confess  3'ourselfe  the  most  cruell 
and  unjust  woman  in  the  world.  You  shall,  ere  long.  Madam, 
see  me  at  3-our  feete  ;  and  as  you  were  my  first  passion,  so  you 
will  be  my  last. 

"  On  my  knees  I  will  tell  you,  at  the  first  handsom  opportu- 
nit}',  that  the  grandure  of  my  passion  can  onl_y  be  equalled  by 
your  beauty ;  it  hath  driven  me  to  such  a  fatall  necessity,  as 
that  I  cannot  hide  the  misery  which  you  have  caused.  Sure, 
the  hostil  goddes  have,  to  plague  me,  ordayned  that  fatal  mar- 
ridge,  by  which  3'ou  are  bound  to  one  so  inflnitly  below  3'ou  in 
degree.  Were  that  bond  of  ill-omiiid  Hymen  cut  in  twayn  witch 
binds  3'ou,  I  swear,  Madam,  that  my  happiniss  woulde  be  to  ofler 
you  this  hande,  as  I  have  m^'  harte  long  agoe.  And  1  praj'e 
you  to  beare  in  minde  this  declaraQion,  which  I  here  sign  with 
m^'  hande,  and  witch  I  pray  you  may  one  day  be  called  upon  to 
prove  the  truth  on.  Beleave  me.  Madam,  that  there  is  none  iu 
the  world  who  doth  more  honor  to  your  vertue  than  m^  selfe, 
nor  who  wishes  your  happinesse  with  more  zeal  than  —  Maxi- 
milian. 

"From  my  lodgings  in  Whitehall,  this  25th  of  February. 

"  To    THE     INCOMPARABLE    CaTHERINA,    THESE,    WITH    A     SCARLET    SATTEN 

PETTICOAT." 

The  Count  had  debated  about  the  sentence  promising  mar- 
riage in  event  of  Hayes's  death  ;  but  the  honest  Abbe  cut  these 
scruples  very  short  by  saying,  justl}',  that,  because  he  wrote 
in  that  manner,  there  was  no  need  for  him  to  act  so  ;  that 
he  had  better  not  sign  and  address  the  note  in  full ;  and  that  he 
presumed  his  Excellency  was  not  quite  so  timid  as  to  fancy 
that  the  woman  would  follow  him  all  the  way  to  Germany, 
when  his  diplomatic  duties  would  be  ended ;  as  they  would 
soon. 

The  receipt  of  this  billet  caused  such  a  flush  of  joy  and  exul- 
tation to  unhappy  happy  Mrs,  Catherine,  that  Wood  did  not 
fail  to  remark  it,  and  speedily  learned  the  contents  of  the  letter. 
Wood  had  no  need  to  bid  the  poor  wretch  guard  it  very  care- 


CATHERINE:    A  STORY.  401 

fully  :  it  never  from  that  day  forth  left  her  ;  it  was  her  title  of 
nobility,  —  her  pass  to  rank,  wealth,  happiness.  She  began  to 
look  down  on  her  neighbors  ;  her  manner  to  her  husband  grew 
more  than  ordinarily  scornful ;  the  poor,  vain  wretch  longed  to 
tell  her  secret,  and  to  take  her  place  openly  in  the  world.  She 
a  Countess,  and  Tom  a  Count's  son !  She  felt  that  she  should 
royally  become  the  title  ! 

About  this  time  —  and  Hayes  was  very  much  frightened  at 
the  prevalence  of  the  rumor  —  it  suddenly  began  to  be  bruited 
about  in  his  quarter  that  he  was  going  to  quit  the  country. 
The  story  was  m  everybody's  mouth ;  people  used  to  sneer, 
when  he  turned  pale,  and  wept,  and  passionately  denied  it.  It 
was  said,  too,  that  Mrs.  Hayes  was  not  his  wife,  but  his  mis- 
tress—  everybody  had  this  story, — his  mistress,  whom  he 
treated  most  cruelly,  and  was  about  to  desert.  The  tale  of  the 
blow  which  had  felled  her  to  the  ground  was  known  in  all  quar- 
ters. When  he  declared  that  the  woman  tried  to  stab  him, 
nobody  believed  him  :  the  women  said  he  would  have  been 
served  right  if  she  had  done  so.  How  had  these  stories  gone 
abroad?  "  Three  days  more,  and  I  will  fly,"  thought  Hayes  ; 
"  and  the  world  may  say  what  it  pleases." 

Ay,  fool,  fly  —  away  so  swiftly  that  Fate  cannot  overtake 
thee  :  hide  so  cunningly  that  Death  shall  not  find  thy  place  of 
refuge ! 


CHAPTER  Xin. 

BEING    A    PREPARATION    FOR   THE    END. 

The  reader,  doubtless,  doth  now  partly  understand  what 
dark  acts  of  conspiracy  are  beginning  to  gather  around  Mr. 
Hayes  ;  and  possiblj-  hath  comprehended  — 

1.  That  if  the  rumor  was  universally  credited  which  declared 
that  Mrs.  Catherine  was  only  Hayes's  mistress,  and  not  his 
wife. 

She  might,  if  she  so  inclined,  marry  another  person  ;  and 
thereby  not  injure  her  fame  and  excite  wonderment,  but  actually 
add  to  her  reputation. 

2.  That  if  all  the  world  did  steadfastly  believe  that  Mr.  Hayes 
intended  to  desert  this  woman,  after  having  cruelly'  maltreated 
her. 

The  direction  which  his  journey  might  take  would  be  of  no 

51 


402  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

consequence ;  and  he  might  go  to  Highgate,  to  Edinburgh,  to 
Constantinople,  nay,  down  a  well,  and  no  soul  would  care  to 
ask  whither  he  had  gone. 

These  points  Mr.  Hayes  had  not  considered  duly.  The  lat- 
ter case  had  been  put  to  him  and  annoyed  him,  as  we  have 
seen  ;  the  former  had  actually  been  pressed  upon  him  bj^  Mrs. 
Hayes  herself;  who,  in  almost  the  only  communication  she  had 
had  with  him  since  their  last  quarrel,  had  asked  him  angril}'', 
in  the  presence  of  Wood  and  her  son,  whether  he  had  dared  to 
utter  such  lies,  and  how  it  came  to  pass  that  the  neighbors 
looked  scornfully  at  her,  and  avoided  her? 

To  this  charge  Mr.  Hayes  pleaded,  very  meekly,  that  he  was 
not  guilty- ;  and  young  Billings,  taking  him  by  the  collar,  and 
clinching  his  fist  in  his  face,  swore  a  dreadful  oath  that  he 
would  have  the  life  of  him,  if  he  dared  abuse  his  mother.  Mrs. 
Hayes  then  spoke  of  the  general  report  abroad,  that  he  was 
going  to  desert  her  ;  which,  if  he  attempted  to  do,  Mr.  Billings 
vowed  that  he  would  follow  him  to  Jerusalem,  and  have  his 
blood.  These  threats,  and  the  insolent  language  of  young  Bill- 
ings, rather  calmed  Hayes  than  agitated  him  :  he  longed  to  be 
oti  his  journey  ;  but  he  began  to  hope  that  no  obstacle  would  be 
placed  in  the  way  of  it.  For  the  first  time  since  many  da3's,  he 
began  to  enjoy  a  feeling  something  akin  to  security,  and  could 
look  with  tolerable  confidence  towards  a  comfortable  completion 
of  his  own  schemes  of  treason. 

These  points  being  duly  settled,  we  are  now  arrived,  O 
public,  at  a  point  for  which  the  author's  soul  hath  been  j-earn- 
ing  ever  since  this  history  commenced.  We  are  now  come,  O 
critic,  to  a  stage  of  the  work  when  this  tale  begins  to  assume 
an  appearance  so  interestingly  horrific,  that  you  must  have  a 
heart  of  stone  if  3-ou  are  not  interested  by  it.  O  candid  and 
discerning  reader,  w^ho  art  sick  of  the  hideous  scenes  of  brutal 
bloodshed  which  have  of  late  come  foi'th  from  pens  of  certain 
eminent  wits,*  if  you  turn  away  disgusted  from  the  book,  re- 
member that  this  passage  hath  not  been  written  for  j'ou,  or 
such  as  you,  who  have  taste  to  know  and  hate  the  style  in  which 
it  hath  been  composed  ;  but  for  the  public,  which  hath  no  such 
taste  :  —  for  the  public,  which  can  patronize  four  different  repre- 
sentations of  Jack  Sheppard,  — for  the  public,  whom  its  literary 
providers  have  gorged  with  blood  and  foul  Newgate  garbage,  — 
and  to  whom  we  poor  creatures,  humbly  following  at  the  tail  of 
our  great  high-priests  and  prophets  of  the  press,  may,  as  in  duty 

*  This  was  written  in  1840. 


CATHERINE:    A    STORY.  403 

bound,  offer  some  small  gift  of  our  own  :  a  little  mite  truly,  but 
given  with  good  will.  Come  up,  then,  fair  Catherine,  and 
brave  Count ;  —  appear,  gallant  Brock,  and  faultless  Billings  ; 
—  hasten  hither,  honest  John  Hayes  ;  the  former  chapters  are 
but  flowers  in  which  we  have  been  decking  you  for  the  sacrifice. 
Ascend  to  the  altar,  ^^e  innocent  lambs,  and  prepare  for  the 
final  act :  lo  !  the  knife  is  sharpened,  and  the  sacrificer  ready  ! 
Stretch  your  throats,  sweet  ones,  —  for  the  public  is  thirsty, 
and  must  have  blood  ! 


CHAPTER  THE  LAST. 

That  Mr.  Haj^es  had  some  notion  of  the  attachment  of 
Monsieur  de  Galgenstein  for  his  wife  is  very  certain  :  the  man 
could  not  but  perceive  that  she  was  more  gayl}'  dressed,  and 
more  frequently  absent  than  usual ;  and  must  have  been  quite 
aware  that  from  the  day  of  the  quarrel  until  the  present  period, 
Catherine  had  never  asked  him  for  a  shilling  for  the  house  ex- 
penses, lie  had  not  the  heart  to  offer,  however  ;  nor,  in  truth, 
did  she  seem  to  remember  that  money  was  due. 

She  received,  in  fact,  many  sums  from  the  tender  Count. 
Tom  was  likewise  liberally  provided  by  the  same  personage ; 
who  was,  moreover,  continually  sending  presents  of  various 
kinds  to  the  person  on  whom  his  affections  were  centred. 

One  of  these  gifts  was  a  hauiper  of  choice  mountain- wine, 
which  had  been  some  weeks  in  the  house,  and  excited  the 
longing  of  Mr.  Hayes ;  who  loved  wine  very  much.  This 
liquor  was  generally  drank  by  Wood  and  Bilhngs,  who  ap- 
plauded it  greatl}-  ;  and  many  times,  in  passing  through  the 
back-parlor,  which  he  had  to  traverse  in  order  to  reach  the 
stair,  Ha^'es  had  cast  a  ten'der  eye  towards  the  drink  ;  of  which, 
had  he  dared,  he  would  have  partaken. 

On  the  1st  of  March,  in  the  3'ear  1726,  Mr.  Ilaj'es  had 
gathered  together  almost  the  whole  sum  with  which  he  intended 
to  decamp  ;  and  having  on  that  very  da}'  recovered  the  amount 
of  a  bill  whieli  he  thought  almost  hopeless,  he  returned  home  in 
tolerable  good-humor ;  and  feeling,  so  near  was  his  period  of 
departure,  something  like  security.  Nobody  had  attempted  the 
least  violence  on  him  :  besides,  he  was  armed  with  pistols,  had 
his  money  in  bills  and  a  belt  about  his  person,   and  really 


404  CATHERINE:    A    STORY. 

reasoned  with  himself  that  there  was  no  danger  for  him  to 
apprehend. 

He  entered  the  house  about  dusk,  at  five  o'clock.  Mrs. 
Haj'es  was  absent  with  Mr.  Billings  ;  only  Mr.  Wood  was 
smoking,  according  to  his  wont,  in  the  little  back-parlor ;  and 
as  Mr.  Hayes  passed,  the  old  gentleman  addressed  him  in  a 
friendly  voice,  and,  wondering  that  he  had  been  such  a  stranger, 
invited  him  to  sit  and  take  a  glass  of  wine.  There  was  a  light 
and  a  foreman  in  the  shop  ;  Mr.  Hayes  gave  his  injunctions  to 
that  person,  and  saw  no  objection  to  Mr.  Wood's  invitation. 

The  conversation,  at  first  a  little  stiff  between  the  two  gen- 
tlemen, began  speedily  to  grow  more  easy  and  confidential : 
and  so  particularly  bland  and  good-humored  was  Mr.  or  Doctor 
Wood,  that  his  companion  was  quite  caught,  and  softened  by 
the  charm  of  his  manner ;  and  the  pair  became  as  good  friends 
as  in  the  former  days  of  their  intercourse. 

"I  wish  30U  would  come  down  sometimes  of  evenings," 
quoth  Doctor  Wood  ;  "  for  though  no  book-learned  man,  Mr. 
Hayes,  look  you,  3'ou  are  a  man  of  the  world,  and  I  can't  abide 
the  society  of  boys.  There's  Tom,  now,  since  this  tiff  with 
Mrs.  Cat,  the  scoundrel  pla3's  the  Grand  Turk  here !  The 
pair  of  'em,  betwixt  them,  have  completely  gotten  the  upper 
hand  of  3'ou.  Confess  that  you  9,re  beaten,  Master  Hayes,  and 
don't  like  the  boy?" 

"  No  more  I  do,"  said  Hayes;  "and  that's  the  truth  on't. 
A  man  doth  not  like  to  have  his  wife's  sins  flung  in  his  face, 
nor  to  be  pei-petually  buUied  in  his  own  house  by  such  a  fierj^ 
sprig  as  tliat." 

"  Mischief,  sir,  —  mischief  only,"  said  Wood  :  "  'tis  the  fun 
of  3'outh,  sir,  and  will  go  off  as  age  comes  to  the  lad.  Bad  as 
you  may  think  him  —  and  he  is  as  skittish  and  tierce,  sure 
enough,  as  a  3'oung  colt  —  there  is  good  stuff  in  him;  and 
though  he  hath,  or  fancies  he  hath,  the  right  to  abuse  every 
one,  by  the  Lord  he  will  let  none  others  do  so  !  Last  week, 
now,  didn't  he  tell  Mrs.  Cat  that  you  served  her  right  in  the 
last  beating  matter?  and  weren't  the}^  coming  to  knives,  just 
as  in  your  case?  By  my  faith,  the}'  were.  Ay,  and  at  the 
'  Braund's  Head,'  when  some  fellow  said  that  you  were  a  bloody 
Bluebeard,  and  would  murder  your  wife,  stab  me  if  Tom  wasn't 
up  in  an  instant  and  knocked  the  fellow  down  for  abusing  of 
you !  " 

The  first  of  these  stories  was  quite  true  ;  the  second  was 
only  a  charitable  invention  of  Mr.  Wood,  and  emploj^ed,  doubt- 
less, for  the  amiable  purpose  of  bringing  the  old  and  young  men 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  405 

together.  The  scheme  partiall}'  succeeded  ;  for,  though  Hayes 
was  not  so  far  mollified  towards  Tom  as  to  entertain  any 
afl'ection  for  a  3'ouug  man  whom  he  had  cordially  detested  ever 
since  he  knew  him,  3'et  he  felt  more  at  ease  and  cheerful  re- 
garding himself:  and  surely  not  without  reason.  While  in- 
dulging in  these  benevolent  sentiments,  Mrs.  Catherine  and  her 
son  arrived,  and  found,  somewhat  to  their  astonishment,  Mr. 
Hayes  seated  in  the  back-parlor,  as  in  former  times  ;  and  they 
were  invited  hy  Mr.  Wood  to  sit  down  and  drink. 

We  have  said  that  certain  bottles  of  mountain-wine  were 
presented  by  the  Count  to  Mrs.  Catherine  :  these  were,  at  Mr. 
Wood's  suggestion,  produced  ;  and  Hayes,  who  had  long  been 
coveting  them,  was  charmed  to  have  an  opportunity  to  drink 
his  fill.  He  forthwith  began  bragging  of  his  great  powers  as  a 
drinker,  and  vowed  that  he  could  manage  eight  bottles  without 
becoming  intoxicated. 

Mr.  Wood  grinned  strangelj',  and  looked  in  a  peculiar  way 
at  Tom  Billings,  who  grinned  too.  Mrs.  Cat's  eyes  were  turned 
towards  the  ground  ;  but  her  face  was  deadly  pale. 

The  party  began  drinking.  Ha^'es  kept  up  his  reputation 
as  a  toper,  and  swallowed  one,  two,  three  bottles  without 
wincing.  He  grew  talkative  and  merrj-,  and  began  to  sing 
songs  and  to  cut  jokes  ;  at  which  Wood  laughed  hugelj^,  and 
Billings  after  him.  Mrs.  Cat  could  not  laugh  ;  but  sat  silent. 
What  ailed  her?  Was  she  thinking  of  the  Count?  She  had 
been  with  Max  that  day,  and  had  promised  him,  for  the  next 
night  at  ten,  an  interview  near  his  lodgings  at  Whitehall.  It 
was  the  first  time  that  she  would  see  him  alone.  They  were  to 
meet  (not  a  very  cheerful  place  for  a  love-tryst)  at  St.  Marga- 
ret's churchyard,  near  Westminster  Abbey.  Of  this,  no  doubt. 
Cat  was  thinking  ;  but  what  could  she  mean  by  whispering  to 
Wood,  "  No,  no  !  for  God's  sake,  not  to-night !  " 

"She  means  we  are  to  have  no  more  liquor,"  said  Wood 
to  Mr.  Ha^es,  who  heard  this  sentence,  and  seemed  rather 
alarmed. 

,  "That's  it,  —  no  more  liquor,"  said  Catherine,  eagerly; 
"you  have  had  enough  to-night.  Go  to  bed,  and  lock  j'our 
door.,  and  sleep,  Mr.  Hayes." 

"  But  I  say  I've  not  had  enough  to  drink  !"  screamed  Hayes  ; 
"  I'm  good  for  five  bottles  more,  and  wager  I  will  drink  them 
too." 

"  Done,  for  a  guinea  !  "  said  Wood. 

"  Done,  and  done  !  "  said  Billing-s. 

"Beyow  quiet!"  growled  Hayes,  scowhng  at  the  lad.     "I 


406  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

will  drink  what  I  please,  and  ask  no  counsel  of  yours.'*  And 
he  muttered  some  more  curses  against  young  Billings,  which 
showed  what  his  feelings  were  towards  his  wife's  sou  ;  and 
which  the  latter,  for  a  wonder,  only  received  with  a  scornful 
smile,  and  a  knowing  look  at  Wood. 

Well !  the  five  extra  bottles  were  brought,  and  drank  by 
Mr.  Ha3'es  ;  and  seasoned  by  many  songs  from  the  recueil  of 
Mr.  Thomas  D'Urfe}^  and  others.  The  chief  part  of  the  talk 
and  merriment  was  on  Hayes's  part ;  as,  indeed,  was  natural, 
—  for,  while  he  drank  bottle  after  bottle  of  wine,  the  other  two 
gentlemen  confined  themselves  to  small  beer,  —  both  pleading 
illness  as  an  excuse  for  their  soliriety. 

And  now  might  we  depict,  with  much  accuracy,  the  course 
of  Mr.  Hayes's  intoxication,  as  it  rose  from  the  merriment  of 
the  three-bottle  point  to  the  madness  of  the  four  —  from  the 
uproarious  quarrelsomeness  of  the  sixth  bottle  to  the  sickly 
stupidity  of  the  seventh  ;  but  we  are  desirous  of  bringing  this 
tale  to  a  conclusion,  and  must  pretermit  all  consideration  of  a 
subject  so  curious,  so  instructive,  and  so  delightful.  Suffice  it 
to  say,  as  a  matter  of  history,  that  Mr.  Hayes  did  actually 
drink  seven  bottles  of  mountain-wine ;  and  that  Mr.  Thomas 
Billings  went  to  the  "  Braund's  Head,"  in  Bond  Street,  and 
purchased  another,  which  Hayes  hkewise  drank. 

"That'll  do,"  said  Mr.  Wood  to  ^oung  Billings ;  and  they 
led  Hayes  up  to  bed,  whither,  in  truth,  he  was  unable  to  walk 
himself. 


Mrs.  Springatt,  the  lodger,  came  down  to  ask  what  the  noise 
was.  "  'Tis  onl}^  Tom  Billings  making  merry  with  some  friends 
from  the  country,"  answered  Mrs.  Hayes  ;  whereupon  Springatt 
retired,  and  the  house  was  quiet. 


Some  scuffling  and  stamping  was  heard  about  eleven  o'clock. 


After  they  had  seen  Mr.  Hayes  to  bed,  Billings  remembered 
that  he  had  a  parcel  to  carry  to  some  person  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  Strand  ;  and,  as  the  night  was  remarkably  fine, 
he  and  Mr.  Wood  agreed  to  walk  together,  and  set  forth 
accordingl3^ 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  407 

[Here  follows  a  description  of  the  Thames  at  Midnight,  in  a  fine 
historical  style ;  witli  an  account  of  Lambeth,  Westminster,  the  Savoy, 
Baynard's  Castle,  Arundel  House,  the  Temple ;  of  Old  London  Bridge, 
with  its  twenty  arches,  "  on  which  be  houses  builded,  so  that  it  seemetli 
rather  a  continuall  street  than  a  bridge  ; "  of  Bankside  atid  the  "  Globe  " 
and  the  "  Fortune  "  Tiieatres ;  of  the  ferries  across  the  river,  and  of  the 
pirates  who  infest  the  same,  —  namely,  tinklermen,  petermen,  hebbermen, 
trawlermen  ;  of  the  fleet  of  barges  that  lay  at  the  Savoy  steps  ;  and  of  the 
long  lines  of  slim  wherries  sleeping  on  the  river-banks  and  basking  and 
shining  in  the  moonbeams.  A  combat  on  the  river  is  described,  that  takes 
place  between  the  crews  of  a  tinklernian's  boat  and  the  water-bailift's. 
Shouting  his  war-cry,  "  St.  Mary  Overy  a  la  rescousse  !  "  the  water-bailiff 
sprung  at  the  throat  of  the  tinklerman  captain.  The  crews  of  both  vessels, 
as  if  aware  that  the  struggle  of  their  chiefs  would  decide  the  contest,  ceased 
hostilities,  and  awaited  on  their  respective  poops  tlie  issue  of  the  death- 
shock.  It  was  not  long  coming.  "  Yield,  dog !  "  said  the  water-bailiff. 
The  tinklerman  could  not  answer,  —  for  his  tln-oat  was  grasped  too  tight 
in  the  iron  clench  of  the  city  champion ;  but  drawing  his  snickersnee,  he 
plunged  it  seven  times  in  the  bailiff's  chest :  still  the  latter  fell  not.  The 
death-rattle  gurgled  in  the  throat  of  his  opponent;  his  arms  fell  heavily  to 
his  side.  Foot  to  foot,  each  standing  at  the  side  of  his  boat,  stood  the  two 
brave  men,  —  thei/  were  both  dead  !  "  In  the  name  of  St.  Clement  Danes," 
said  the  master,  "  give  way,  my  men  !  "  and,  thrusting  forward  his  halberd 
(seven  feet  long,  richly  decorated  with  velvet  and  brass  nails,  and  having 
the  city  arms,  argent,  a  cross  gules,  and  in  the  first  quarter  a  dagger  dis- 
played of  the  second), he  thrust  the  tinklerman's  boat  away  from  his  own; 
and  at  once  the  bodies  of  the  captains  plunged  down,  down,  down,  dowu 
in  the  unfathomable  waters. 

After  this  follows  another  episode.  Two  masked  ladies  quarrel  at  the 
door  of  a  tavern  overlooking  the  Thames  :  they  turn  out  to  be  Stella  and 
Vanessa,  who  have  followed  Swift  thither ;  who  is  in  the  act  of  reading 
"  Gulliver's  Travels  "  to  Gay,  Arbuthnot,  Bolingbroke,  and  Pope.  Two 
fellows  are  sitting  shuddering  under  a  doorway  ;  "to  one  of  them  Tom  Bil- 
lings flung  a  sixpence.  He  little  knew  that  the  names  of  those  two  young 
men  were  —  Samuel  Johnson  and  Richard  Savage.] 


ANOTHER  LAST  CHAPTER. 


Mr. 


:r.  Hates  did  not  join  the  family  the  next  day ;  and  it 
appears  that  the  previous  night's  reconciliation  was  not  very 
durable  ;  for  when  Mrs.  Springatt  asked  Wood  for  Hayes,  Mr. 
Wood  stated  that  Hayes  had  gone  away  without  saying  whither 
he  was  bound,  or  how  long  he  might  be  absent.  He  only  said, 
in  rather  a  sulky  tone,  that  he  should  probably  pass  the  night 
at  a  friend's  house.  "  For  my  part,  I  know  of  no  friend  he 
hath,"  added  Mr.  Wood;  "and  pray  heaven  that  he  may  not 
think  of  deserting  his  poor  wife,  whom  he  hath  beaten  and  ill- 


408  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

•used  so  already !  "     In  this  prayer  Mrs.  Springatt  joined ;  and 
so  these  two  worthy  people  parted. 

What  business  Billings  was  about  cannot  be  said ;  but  he 
Was  this  night  bound  towards  Marylebone  Fields,  as  he  was  the 
night  before  for  the  Strand  and  Westminster ;  and,  although 
the  night  was  verj^  stormj'  and  rainy,  as  the  previous  evening 
had  been  fine,  old  Wood  good-naturedly  resolved  upon  accom- 
pan3-ing  him  ;  and  forth  they  sallied  together. 

Mrs.  Catherine,  too,  had  her  business,  as  we  have  seen  ;  but 
this  was  of  a  very  delicate  nature.  At  nine  o'clock,  she  had 
an  appointment  with  the  Count ;  and,  faitlifull}^,  by  that  hour, 
had  found  her  way  to  St.  Margaret's  churchyard,  near  West- 
minster Abbey,  where  she  awaited  Monsieur  de  Galgenstein. 

The  spot  was  convenient,  being  verj-  lonely-,  and  at  the  same 
time  close  to  the  Count's  lodgings  at  Whitehall.  His  Excel- 
lency came,  but  somewhat  after  the  hour  ;  for,  to  say  the  truth, 
being  a  freethinker,  he  had  the  most  firm  belief  in  ghosts  and 
demons,  and  did  not  care  to  pace  a  churchyard  alone.  He  was 
comforted,  therefore,  when  he  saw  a  woman  muffled  in^  cloak, 
who  held  out  her  hand  to  him  at  the  gate,  and  said,  "  Is  that 
you?"  He  took  her  hand, — it  was  very  clammy  and  cold; 
and  at  her  desire  he  bade  his  confidential  footman,  who  had 
attended  him  with  a  torch,  to  retire  and  leave  him  to  himself. 

The  torch-bearer  retired,  and  left  them  quite  in  darkness ; 
and  the  pair  entered  the  little  cemetery,  cautiously  threading 
their  way  among  the  tombs.  They  sat  doWn  on  one  under- 
neath a  tree  it  seemed  to  be  ;  the  wind  was  very  cold  and  its 
piteous  howling  was  the  only  noise  that  broke  the  silence  of  the 
place.  Catherine's  teeth  were  chattering,  for  all  her  wraps ; 
and  when  Max  drew  her  close  to  him,  and  encircled  her  waist 
with  one  arm,  and  pressed  her  hand,  she  did  not  repulse  him, 
but  rather  came  close  to  him,  and  with  her  own  damp  fingers 
feebly  returned  his  pressure. 

The  poor  thing  was  \'ery  wretched  and  weeping.  She  con- 
fided to  Max  the  cause  of  her  grief.  She  was  alone  in  the 
world,  —  alone  and  peniailess.  Her  husband  had  left  her;  she 
h;id  that  ver}-  <\ny  received  a  letter  from  him  which  confirmed 
all  that  she  had  suspected  so  long.  He  had  left  her,  carried 
awa}'  all  his  property,  and  would  not  return  ! 

If  we  say  that  a  selfish  joy  filled  the  breast  of  Monsieur  de 
Galgenstein,  the  reader  will  not  be  astonished.  A  heartless 
libertine,  he  felt  glad  at  the  prospect  of  Catherine's  ruin ;  for 
he  hoped  that  necessity  would  make  her  his  own.  He  clasped 
tiie   poor   thing  to  his  heart,  and  vowed  that  he  would  re- 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  409 

place  the  husband  she  had  lost,  and  that  his  fortune  should  be 
hers. 

"  Will  you  replace  him  ?  "  said  she. 

"Yes,  trul}',  in  everything  but  the  name,  dear  Catherine; 
and  when  he  dies,  I  swear  you  shall  be  Countess  of  Galgenstein." 

"  Will  3'ou  swear?"  she  cried,  eagerly. 

"  By  everything  that  is  most  sacred  :  were  3'ou  free  now,  I 
would"  (and  here  he  swore  a  terrific  oath)  "  at  once  make  j-ou 
mine." 

We  have  seen  before  that  it  cost  Monsieur  de  Galgenstein 
nothing  to  make  these  vows.  Hayes  was  likel}',  too,  to  live  as 
long  as  Catherine — as  long,  at  least,  as  the  Count's  connection 
with  her  ;  but  he  was  caught  in  his  own  snare. 

She  took  his  hand  and  kissed  it  repeatedly,  and  bathed  it  in 
her  tears,  and  pressed  it  to  her  bosom.  "  Max,"  she  said,  "  1 
am  free  !  Be  mine,  and  I  will  love  you  as  I  have  done  for  years 
and  years." 

Max  started  back.     •'  What,  is  he  dead?  "  he  said. 

"  No,  no,  not  dead  :  but  he  never  was  m}'  husband." 

He  let  go  her  hand,  and,  interrupting  her,  said  sharply, 
"Indeed,  madam,  if  this  carpenter  never  was  your  husband, 
I  see  no  cause  wh}'  /  should  be.  If  a  lady,  w^ho  hath  been  for 
twenty  years  the  mistress  of  a  miserable  country  boor,  cannot 
find  it  in  her  heart  to  put  up  with  the  protection  of  a  nobleman  — 
a  sovereign's  representative  —  she  may  seek  a  husband  else- 
where ! " 

"  I  was  no  man's  mistress  except  3-ours,"  sobbed  Catherine, 
wringing  her  hands  and  sobbing  wildly  ;  "but,  O  heaven!  I 
deserved  this.  Because  I  was  a  child,  and  you  saw,  and  ruined 
and  left  me  —  because,  in  my  sorrow  and  repentance,  I  wished 
to  repair  my  crime,  and  was  touched  by  that  man's  love,  and 
married  him  • —  because  he  too  deceives  and  leaves  me  —  be- 
cause, after  loving  you  —  madly  loving  you  for  twenty  years  — 
I  will  not  now  forfeit  your  respect,  and  degrade  myself  by  yield- 
ing to  your  will,  you  too  must  scorn  me  !  It  is  too  much  —  too 
much  —  O  heaven  !  "  And  the  wretched  woman  fell  back  almost 
fainting. 

Max  was  almost  frightene'd  by  this  burst  of  sorrow  on  her 
part,  and  was  coming  forward  to  support  her  ;  but  she  motioned 
him  away,  and  taking  from  her  bosom  a  letter,  said,  "  If  it 
were  light,  you  could  see.  Max,  how  cruelly  I  have  been  be- 
trayed by  that  man  who  called  himself  my  husband.  Long 
before  he  married  me,  he  was  married  to  another.  This  woman 
is  still  living,  he  says ;  and  he  says  he  leaves  me  forever." 


410  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

At  this  moment  the  moon,  which  had  been  hidden  behind 
"Westminster  Abbe}',  rose  above  the  vast  black  mass  of  that 
edifice,  and  poured  a  flood  of  silver  light  upon  the  little  church 
of  St.  Margaret's,  and  the  spot  where  the  lovers  stood.  Max 
was  a  little  distance  from  Catherine,  pacing  gloomil}-  up  and 
down  the  flags.  She  remained  at  her  old  position  at  the  tomb- 
stone under  the  tree,  or  pillar,  as  it  seemed  to  be,  as  the  moon 
got  up.  She  was  leaning  against  the  pillar,  and  holding  out  to 
Max,  with  an  arm  beautifully  white  and  rounded,  the  letter  she 
had  received  from  her  husband:  "Read  it,  Max,"^he  said: 
"  I  asked  for  light,  and  here  is  heaven's  own,  by  which  you  may 
read." 

But  Max  did  not  come  forward  to  receive  it.  On  a  sudden 
his  face  assumed  a  look  of  the  most  dreadful  surprise  and  agon}'. 
He  stood  still,  and  stared  with  wild  e3^es  starting  from  their 
sockets  ;  he  stared  upwards,  at  a  point  seemingly  above  Cathe- 
rine's head.  At  last  he  raised  up  his  finger  slowly,  and  said, 
"  Look,  Cat  —  the  head —  the  head!  "  Then  uttering  a  horrible 
laugh,  he  fell  down  grovelling  among  the  stones,  gibbering  and 
writhing  in  a  fit  of  epilepsy. 

Catherine  started  forward  and  looked  up.  She  had  been 
standing  against  a  post,  not  a  tree  —  the  moon  was  shining  full 
on  it  now  ;  and  on  the  summit,  strangely  distinct,  and  smiling 
ghastly,  was  a  livid  human  head. 

The  wretched  woman  fled  —  she  dared  look  no  more.  And 
some  hours  afterwards,  when,  alarmed  b}'  the  Count's  continued 
absence,  his  confidential  servant  came  back  to  seek  for  him  in 
the  church3'ard,  he  was  found  sitting  on  the  flags,  staring  full  at 
the  head,  and  laughing,  and  talking  to  it  wildly,  and  nodding 
at  it.  He  was  taken  up  a  hopeless  idiot,  and  so  lived  for  3'ears 
and  3'ears  ;  clanking  the  chain,  and  moaning  under  the  lash,  and 
howling  through  long  nights  when  the  moon  peered  through  the 
bars  of  his  solitary'  cell,  and  he  buried  his  face  la  the  straw. 


There  —  the  murder  is  out !  'And  having  indulged  himself 
in  a  chapter  of  the  very  finest  writing,  the  author  begs  the  at- 
tention of  the  British  public  towards  it ;  humbl}'  conceiving  that 
it  possesses  some  of  those  peculiar  merits  which  have  rendered 
the  fine  writing  in  other  chapters  of  the  works  of  other  authors 
so  famous. 

Without  bragging  at  all,  let  us  just  point  out  the  chief  claims 


CATHERINE:    A    STORY.  411 

of  the  above  pleasing  piece  of  composition.  In  the  first  place, 
it  is  perfectl}'  stilted  and  unnatural ;  the  dialogue  and  the  senti- 
ments being  artfully  arranged,  so  as  to  be  as  strong  and  majestic 
as  possible.  Our  dear  Cat  is  but  a  poor,  illiterate  country  wench, 
who  has  come  from  cutting  her  husband's  throat ;  and  3'et,  see  ! 
she  talks  and  looks  like  a  tragedy  princess,  who  is  suffering  in 
the  most  virtuous  blank  verse.  This  is  the  proper  end  of  fic- 
tion, and  one  of  the  greatest  triumphs  that  a  novelist  can 
achieve  :  for  to  make  people  sympathize  with  virtue  is  a  vulgar 
trick  that  any  common  fellow  can  do  ;  but  it  is  not  everybody 
who  can  take  a  scoundrel,  and  cause  us  to  weep  and  whimper 
over  him  as  though  he  were  a  very  saint.  Give  a  young  lady 
of  five  years  old  a  skein  of  silk  and  a  brace  of  netting-needles, 
and  she  will  in  a  short  time  turn  you  out  a  decent  silk  purse  — 
anybody  can  ;  but  try  her  with  a  sow's  ear,  and  see  whether  she 
can  make  a  silk  purse  out  of  that.  That  is  the  work  for  your 
real  great  artist ;  and  pleasant  it  is  to  see  how  many  have 
succeeded  in  these  latter  days. 

The  subject  is  strictly  historical,  as  anj^  one  may  see  by  re- 
ferring to  the  Daily  Post  of  March  3,  1726,  which  contains  the 
following  paragraph :  — 

"  Yesterday  morning,  early,  a  man's  head,  that  by  the  fresh- 
ness of  it  seemed  to  have  been  newly  cut  off  from  the  body, 
having  its  own  hair  on,  was  found  by  the  river's  side,  near  Mill- 
bank,  Westminster,  and  was  afterwards  exposed  to  public  view 
in  St.  Margaret's  Churchyard,  where  thousands  of  people  have 
seen  it ;  but  none  could  tell  who  the  unhappy  person  was,  much 
less  who  committed  such  a  horrid  and  barbarous  action.  There 
are  various  conjectures  relating  to  the  deceased  ;  but  there  be- 
ing nothing  certain,  we  omit  them.  The  head  was  much  hacked 
and  mangled  in  the  cutting  off'." 

The  head  which  caused  such  an  impression  upon  Mon- 
sieur de  Galgenstein  was,  indeed,  once  on  the  shoulders  of  Mr. 
John  Haj-es,  who  lost  it  under  the  following  circumstances. 
We  have  seen  how  Mr.  Hayes  was  induced  to  drink.  Mr. 
Hayes  having  been  encouraged  in  drinking  the  wine,  and  grow- 
ing very  merrj^  therewith,  he  sang  and  danced  about  the  room  ; 
but  his  wife,  fearing  the  quantity  he  had  drunk  would  not  have 
the  wished-for  effect  on  him,  she  sent  away  for  auother  bottle, 
of  which  he  drank  also.  This  effectuall}^  answered  their  expec- 
tations*; and  Mr.  Ha3-es  became  thereby  intoxicated,  and  de- 
prived of  his  understanding. 

He,  however,  made  shift  to  get  into  the  other  room,  and, 
throwing  himself  upon  the  bed,  fell  asleep:  upon  which  Mrs. 


412  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

Ha3'es  reminded  them  of  the  affair  in  hand,  and  told  them  that 
was  the  most  proper  juncture  to  finish  the  business.  * 

Ring,  ding,  ding !  the  gloom}'  green  curtain  drops,  the  dra- 
matis personee  are  duly  disposed  of,  the  nimble  candle-snuffers 
put  out  the  lights,  and  the  audience  goeth  pondering  home.  If 
the  critic  take  the  pains  to  ask  wliy  the  author,  who  hath  been 
so  diffuse  in  describing  the  earlj'  and  fabulous  acts  of  Mrs. 
Catherine's  existence,  should  so  hurry  off  the  catastrophe  where 
a  deal  of  the  very  finest  writing  might  have  been  emplo3'ed, 
Solomons  replies  that  the  "  ordinary- "  narrative  is  far  more 
emphatic  than  an}-  composition  of  his  owni  could  be,  with  all  tlie 
rhetorical  graces  which  he  might  employ.  Mr.  Aram's  trial,  as 
taken  by  the  iDenny-a-liners  of  those  da3's,  hath  always  inter- 
ested him  more  than  the  lengthened  and  poetical  report  which 
an  eminent  novelist  has  given  of  the  same.  Mr.  Turpin's  ad- 
ventures arc  more  instructive  and  agreeable  to  him  in  the  ac- 
count of  the  Newgate  Plutarch,  than  in  the  learned  Ainsworth's 
"  Biographical  Dictionary."  And  as  he  believes  that  the  pro- 
fessional gentlemen  who  are  employed  to  invest  such  heroes 
with  the  rewards  that  their  great  actions  merit,  will  go  through 
the  ceremony  of  the  grand  cordon  with  much  more  accuracy' 
and  despatch  than  can  be  shown  hy  the  most  distinguished 
amateur  ;  in  like  manner  he  thinks  that  the  historj-  of  such  in- 
vestitures should  be  written  by  people  directly  concerned,  and 
not  by  admiring  persons  without,  who  must  be  ignorant  of  many 
of  the  secrets  of  Ketchcraft.  We  very  much  doubt  if  Milton 
himself  could  make  a  description  of  an  execution  half  so  hor- 
rible as  the  simple  lines  in  the  Daily  Post  of  a  hundred  and  ten 
years  since,  that  now  lies  before  us  —  "  herrlich  wie  am  crsten 
Tag,"  —  as  bright  and  clean  as  on  the  day  of  publication.  Think 
of  it !  it  has  been  read  by  Belinda  at  her  toilet,  scanned  at 
"  Button's"  and  "  Will's,"  sneered  at  by  wits,  talked  off  in 
palaces  and  cottages,  by  a  busy  race  in  wigs,  red  heels,  hoops, 
patches,  and  rags  of  all  variety  —  a  busy  race  that  hath  long 

*  The  description  of  the  murder  and  the  execution  of  the  culprits, 
which  here  follows  in  the  original,  was  taken  from  the  newspapers  of  the 
day.  Coming  from  such  a  source  they  have,  as  may  be  imagined,  no  liter- 
ary merit  whatever.  The  details  of  the  crime  are  simply  horrible,  without 
one  touch  of  even  that  sort  of  romance  which  sometimes  gives  a  little 
dignity  to  murder.  As  such  they  precisely  suited  Mr.  Thackeray's  pur- 
pose at  the  time  —  which  was  to  show  the  real  manners  and  customs  of  the 
Sheppards  and  Turpins  who  were  then  the  popular  heroes  of  fiction.  But 
now-a-days  there  is  no  such  purpose  to  serve,  and  therefore  these  too  literal 
details  are  omitted. 


CATHERINE:    A   STORY.  413 

since  plunged  and  vanished  in  the  unfathomable  gulf  towards 
which  we  march  so  briskly 

Where  ai'e  they?  "  Afflavit  Deus"  —  and  they  are  gone! 
Hark  !  is  not  the  same  wind  roaring  still  that  shall  sweep  us 
down?  and  3'onder  stands  the  compositor  at  his  types  who 
shall  put  up  a  pretty  paragraph  some  day  to  say  how,  ^^Tester- 
day,  at  his  house  in  Grosvenor  Square,"  or  "At  Botany  Bay, 
universally  regretted,"  died  So-and-so.  Into  what  profound 
moralities  is  the  paragraph  concerning  Mrs.  Catherine's  burn- 
ing leading  us  ! 

Ay,  truly,  and  to  that  very  point  have  we  wished  to  come ; 
for,  having  finished  our  delectable  meal,  it  behoves  us  to  say  a 
word  or  two  by  way  of  grace  at  its  conclusion,  and  be  heartily 
thankful  that  it  is  over.  It  has  been  the  writer's  object  care- 
full}'  to  exclude  from  his  drama  (except  in  two  vcr}'  insignifi- 
cant instances  —  mere  walking-gen  tlemen  paints,)  any  characters 
but  those  of  scoundrels  of  the  very  highest  degree.  That 
he  has  not  altogether  failed  in  the  object  he  had  in  view,  is 
evident  from  some  newspaper  critiques  which  he  has  the  good 
fortune  to  see;  and  which  abuse  the  tale  of  "Catherine"  as 
one  of  the  dullest,  most  vulgar,  and  immoral  works  extant. 
It  is  highly  gratif3-ing  to  the  author  to  find  that  such  opinions 
are  abroad,  as  they  convince  him  that  the  taste  for  Newgate 
literature  is  on  the  wane,  and  that  when  the  public  critic  has 
right  down  undisguised  immorality  set  before  him,  the  honest 
creature  is  shocked  at  it,  as  he  should  be,  and  can  declare  his 
indignation  in  good  round  terms  of  abuse.  The  characters  of 
the  tale  are  immoral,  and  no  doubt  of  it ;  but  the  writer  humbly 
hopes  the  end  is  not  so.  The  public  was,  in  our  notion,  dosed 
and  poisoned  hy  the  prevailing  style  of  literar}'  practice,  and  it 
was  necessary  to  administer  some  medicine  that  would  produce 
a  wholesome  nausea,  and  afterwards  bring  about  a  more  healthy 
habit. 

And  thank  heaven,  this  effect  has  been  produced  in  very 
manj^  instances,  and  that  the  "  Catherine  "  cathartic  has  acted 
most  efficaciously.  The  author  has  been  pleased  at  the  disgust 
which  his  work  has  excited,  and  has  watched  with  benevolent 
carefulness  the  wry  faces  that  have  been  made  by  many  of 
the  patients  who  have  swallowed  the  dose.  Solomons  re- 
members, at  the  establishment  in  Birchin  Lane  where  he  had 
the  honor  of  receiving  his  education,  there  used  to  be  adminis- 
tered to  the  boys  a  certain  cough-medicine,  which  was  so  ex- 
cessively agreeable  that  all  the  lads  longed  to  have  colds  in 
order  to  partake  of  the  remedy.    Some  of  our  popular  novelists 


m 


414  CATHERINE:    A   STORY. 

i 
have  compounded  their  drugs  in  a  similar  way,  and  made  thei  ,^, 
so  palatable  that  a  public,  once  healthy  and  honest,  has  bee  ,n 
wellnigh  poisoned  by  their  wares.  Solomons  defies  any  on  [q 
to  say  the  like  of  himself — that  his  doses  have  been  as  pleai,. 
ant  as  champagne,  and  his  pills  as  sweet  as  barlej'-sngar  ;  —  U^^ 
has  been  his  attempt  to  make  vice  to  appear  entirely  vicious!  . 
and  in  those  instances  where  he  hath  occasionally  introduce^ 
something  like  virtue,  to  make  the  sham  as  evident  as  possiL 
ble,  and  not  allow  the  meanest  capacity  a  single  chance  to  mis 
take  it. 

And  what  has  been  the  consequence?  That  wholesom 
nausea  which  it  has  been  his  good  fortune  to  create  whereve 
he  has  been  allowed  to  practise  in  his  humble  circle. 

Has  any  one  thrown  awa}^  a  halfpennyworth  of  sympathy 
upon  any  person  mentioned  in  this  history  ?  Surely  no.  But 
abler  and  more  famous  men  than  Solomons  have  taken  a  differ- 
ent" plan  ;  and  it  becomes  every  man  in  his  vocation  to  cry  out 
against  such,  and  expose  their  errors  as  best  he  may. 

Laboring  under  such  ideas,  Mr.  Isaac  Solomons,  junior, 
produced  the  romance  of  Mrs.  Cat,  and  confesses  himself  com- 
pletel}^  liiippy  to  have  brought  it  to  a  conclusion.  His  poem 
may  be  dull  —  ay,  and  probably  is.  The  great  Blackmore,  the 
great  Dennis,  the  great  Sprat,  the  great  Pomfret,  not  to  men- 
tion great  men  of  our  own  time  —  have  the}^  not  also  been  dull, 
and  had  prett3r  reputations  too?  Be  it  granted,  Solomons  is 
dull ;  but  don't  attack  his  morality ;  he  humbly  submits  that, 
in  his  poem,  no  man  shall  mistake  virtue  for  vice,  no  man  shall 
allow  a  single  sentiment  of  pity  or  admiration  to  enter  his  bosom 
for  any  character  of  the  piece  ;  it  being,  from  beginning  to  end, 
a  scene  of  unmixed  rascality  performed  by  persons  who  never 
deviate  into  good  feeling.  And,  although  he  doth  not  pretend 
to  equal  the  great  modern  authors,  whom  he  hath  mentioned, 
in  wit  or  descriptive  powers  ;  3'et,  in  the  point  of  moral,  he 
meekly  believes  that  he  has  been  their  superior ;  feeling  the 
greatest  disgust  for  the  characters  he  describes,  and  using  his 
humble  endeavor  to  cause  the  public  also  to  hate  them. 

HoKSEMONGER  Lane,  January,  1840. 


THE  END. 

4 


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